1 KING HENRY IV
KING HENRY the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)
Prince of Wales (PRINCE HENRY:) |
| sons of the King
JOHN of Lancaster (LANCASTER:) |
SIR WALTER BLUNT:
THOMAS PERCY Earl of Worcester. (EARL OF WORCESTER:)
HENRY PERCY Earl of Northumberland. (NORTHUMBERLAND:)
HENRY PERCY surnamed HOTSPUR, his son. (HOTSPUR:)
EDMUND MORTIMER Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)
RICHARD SCROOP Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)
ARCHIBALD Earl of Douglas. (DOUGLAS:)
SIR RICHARD VERNON (VERNON:)
SIR JOHN FALSTAFF (FALSTAFF:)
SIR MICHAEL a friend to the Archbishop of York.
FRANCIS a waiter.
LADY PERCY wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.
LADY MORTIMER daughter to Glendower,
and wife to Mortimer.
MISTRESS QUICKLY hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. (Hostess:)
Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain,
Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, Attendants,
and an Ostler.
1 KING HENRY IV
SCENE I London. The palace.
[Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL
of WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others]
KING HENRY IV So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenced in strands afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
Nor more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way and be no more opposed
Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engaged to fight,
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
To chase these pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose now is twelve month old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go:
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
What yesternight our council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience.
WESTMORELAND My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight: when all athwart there came
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
A thousand of his people butchered;
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
Such beastly shameless transformation,
By those Welshwomen done as may not be
Without much shame retold or spoken of.
KING HENRY IV It seems then that the tidings of this broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
WESTMORELAND This match'd with other did, my gracious lord;
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north and thus it did import:
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour,
As by discharge of their artillery,
And shape of likelihood, the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.
KING HENRY IV Here is a dear, a true industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse.
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited:
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty knights,
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake the Earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas; and the Earl of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith:
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
WESTMORELAND In faith,
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
KING HENRY IV Yea, there thou makest me sad and makest me sin
In envy that my Lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a son,
A son who is the theme of honour's tongue;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride:
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners,
Which he in this adventure hath surprised,
To his own use he keeps; and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
WESTMORELAND This is his uncle's teaching; this is Worcester,
Malevolent to you in all aspects;
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.
KING HENRY IV But I have sent for him to answer this;
And for this cause awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords:
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said and to be done
Than out of anger can be uttered.
WESTMORELAND I will, my liege.
1 KING HENRY IV
SCENE II London. An apartment of the Prince's.
[Enter the PRINCE OF WALES and FALSTAFF]
FALSTAFF Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
PRINCE HENRY Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack
and unbuttoning thee after supper and sleeping upon
benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to
demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know.
What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the
day? Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes
capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and dials the
signs of leaping-houses and the blessed sun himself
a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no
reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand
the time of the day.
FALSTAFF Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take
purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not
by Phoebus, he,'that wandering knight so fair.' And,
I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God
save thy grace,--majesty I should say, for grace
thou wilt have none,--
PRINCE HENRY What, none?
FALSTAFF No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to
prologue to an egg and butter.
PRINCE HENRY Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.
FALSTAFF Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not
us that are squires of the night's body be called
thieves of the day's beauty: let us be Diana's
foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the
moon; and let men say we be men of good government,
being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and
chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
PRINCE HENRY Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the
fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and
flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is,
by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold
most resolutely snatched on Monday night and most
dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with
swearing 'Lay by' and spent with crying 'Bring in;'
now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder
and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.
FALSTAFF By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not my
hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?
PRINCE HENRY As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And
is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?
FALSTAFF How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and
thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a
PRINCE HENRY Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?
FALSTAFF Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a
time and oft.
PRINCE HENRY Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
FALSTAFF No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
PRINCE HENRY Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;
and where it would not, I have used my credit.
FALSTAFF Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent
that thou art heir apparent--But, I prithee, sweet
wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when
thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is
with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do
not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
PRINCE HENRY No; thou shalt.
FALSTAFF Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.
PRINCE HENRY Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have
the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.
FALSTAFF Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my
humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell
PRINCE HENRY For obtaining of suits?
FALSTAFF Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman
hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
as a gib cat or a lugged bear.
PRINCE HENRY Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.
FALSTAFF Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
PRINCE HENRY What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of
FALSTAFF Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and art indeed
the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young
prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more
with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a
commodity of good names were to be bought. An old
lord of the council rated me the other day in the
street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet
he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and
yet he t
2 KING HENRY VI
the Sixth (KING HENRY VI:)
HUMPHREY Duke of Gloucester, his uncle. (GLOUCESTER:)
CARDINAL BEAUFORT Bishop of Winchester, great-uncle to the King.
PLANTAGENET Duke of York. (YORK:)
| his sons
DUKE OF SOMERSET (SOMERSET:)
DUKE OF SUFFOLK (SUFFOLK:)
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (BUCKINGHAM:)
LORD CLIFFORD (CLIFFORD:)
YOUNG CLIFFORD his son.
EARL OF SALISBURY (SALISBURY:)
EARL OF WARWICK (WARWICK:)
LORD SCALES (SCALES:)
LORD SAY (SAY:)
STAFFORD (SIR HUMPHREY:)
WILLIAM STAFFORD Sir Humphrey Stafford's brother.
SIR JOHN STANLEY (STANLEY:)
A Sea-captain, (Captain:) Master, and Master's-Mate.
Two Gentlemen, prisoners with Suffolk.
JOHN HUME (HUME:) |
JOHN SOUTHWELL |
BOLINGBROKE a conjurer.
THOMAS HORNER an armourer. (HORNER:)
PETER Thomas Horner's man.
Clerk of Chatham. (Clerk:)
Mayor of Saint Alban's. (Mayor:)
SIMPCOX an impostor.
ALEXANDER IDEN a Kentish gentleman. (IDEN:)
JACK CADE a rebel. (CADE:)
GEORGE BEVIS (BEVIS:) |
JOHN HOLLAND (HOLLAND:) |
DICK the butcher (DICK:) |
| followers of Cade.
SMITH the weaver (SMITH:) |
MICHAEL (MICHAEL:) |
QUEEN MARGARET Queen to King Henry.
ELEANOR Duchess of Gloucester. (DUCHESS:)
MARGARET JOURDAIN a witch.
Wife to Simpcox (Wife:)
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants. Petitioners,
Aldermen, a Herald, a Beadle, Sheriff, and
Officers, Citizens, 'Prentices, Falconers,
Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, &c.
A Spirit. (Spirit:)
2 KING HENRY VI
SCENE I London. The palace.
[Flourish of trumpets: then hautboys. Enter KING
HENRY VI, GLOUCESTER, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and
CARDINAL, on the one side; QUEEN MARGARET, SUFFOLK,
YORK, SOMERSET, and BUCKINGHAM, on the other]
SUFFOLK As by your high imperial majesty
I had in charge at my depart for France,
As procurator to your excellence,
To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,
So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,
In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,
The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,
Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,
I have perform'd my task and was espoused:
And humbly now upon my bended knee,
In sight of England and her lordly peers,
Deliver up my title in the queen
To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
Of that great shadow I did represent;
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
The fairest queen that ever king received.
KING HENRY VI Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:
I can express no kinder sign of love
Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
QUEEN MARGARET Great King of England and my gracious lord,
The mutual conference that my mind hath had,
By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,
In courtly company or at my beads,
With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,
Makes me the bolder to salute my king
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords
And over-joy of heart doth minister.
KING HENRY VI Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys;
Such is the fulness of my heart's content.
Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.
ALL [Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's
QUEEN MARGARET We thank you all.
SUFFOLK My lord protector, so it please your grace,
Here are the articles of contracted peace
Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,
For eighteen months concluded by consent.
GLOUCESTER [Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French
king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of
Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that
the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret,
daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and
Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the
thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy
of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released
and delivered to the king her father'--
[Lets the paper fall]
KING HENRY VI Uncle, how now!
GLOUCESTER Pardon me, gracious lord;
Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart
And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.
KING HENRY VI Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.
CARDINAL [Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them,
that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be
released and delivered over to the king her father,
and she sent over of the King of England's own
proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'
KING HENRY VI They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,
We here discharge your grace from being regent
I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months
Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,
Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,
Salisbury, and Warwick;
We thank you all for the great favour done,
In entertainment to my princely queen.
Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
To see her coronation be perform'd.
[Exeunt KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, and SUFFOLK]
GLOUCESTER Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,
His valour, coin and people, in the wars?
Did he so often lodge in open field,
In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance?
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,
To keep by policy what Henry got?
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
Received deep scars in France and Normandy?
Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
With all the learned council of the realm,
Studied so long, sat in the council-house
Early and late, debating to and fro
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,
And had his highness in his infancy
Crowned in Paris in despite of foes?
And shall these labours and these honours die?
Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?
O peers of England, shameful is this league!
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
Blotting your names from books of memory,
Razing the characters of your renown,
Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
Undoing all, as all had never been!
CARDINAL Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,
This peroration with such circumstance?
For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.
GLOUCESTER Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;
But now it is impossible we should:
Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,
Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine
Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.
SALISBURY Now, by the death of Him that died for all,
These counties were the keys of Normandy.
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?
WARWICK For grief that they are past recovery:
For, were there hope to conquer them again,
My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.
Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:
And are the cities, that I got with wounds,
Delivered up again with peaceful words?
YORK For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,
That dims the honour of this warlike isle!
France should have torn and rent my very heart,
Before I would have yielded to this league.
I never read but England's kings have had
Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:
And our King Henry gives away his own,
To match with her that brings no vantages.
GLOUCESTER A proper jest, and never heard before,
That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth
For costs and charges in transporting her!
She should have stayed in France and starved
in France, Before--
CARDINAL My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:
It was the pleasure of my lord the King.
GLOUCESTER My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;
'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.
Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face
I see thy fury: if I longer stay,
We shall begin our ancient bickerings.
Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,
I prophesied France will be lost ere long.
CARDINAL So, there goes our protector in a rage.
'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,
And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,
And heir apparent to the English crown:
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,
There's reason he should be displeased at it.
Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words
Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.
What though the common people favour him,
Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of
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.
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 dis
2 KING HENRY IV
RUMOUR the Presenter.
KING HENRY the Fourth. (KING HENRY IV:)
PRINCE HENRY |
OF WALES (PRINCE HENRY:) |
afterwards KING HENRY V. |
THOMAS, DUKE OF | sons of King Henry.
CLARENCE (CLARENCE:) |
PRINCE HUMPHREY |
OF GLOUCESTER (GLOUCESTER:) |
EARL OF WARWICK (WARWICK:)
EARL OF SURREY:
Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench:
A Servant of the Chief-Justice.
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)
LORD MOWBRAY (MOWBRAY:)
LORD HASTINGS (HASTINGS:)
SIR JOHN COLEVILE (COLEVILE:)
| retainers of Northumberland.
SIR JOHN FALSTAFF (FALSTAFF:)
His Page. (Page:)
| country justices.
DAVY servant to Shallow.
WART | recruits.
| sheriff's officers.
MISTRESS QUICKLY hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.
Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers,
Beadles, Grooms, &c.
A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue.
2 KING HENRY IV
[Warkworth. Before the castle]
[Enter RUMOUR, painted full of tongues]
RUMOUR Open your ears; for which of you will stop
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth:
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride,
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert enmity
Under the smile of safety wounds the world:
And who but Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters and prepared defence,
Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief,
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war,
And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures
And of so easy and so plain a stop
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
The still-discordant wavering multitude,
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household? Why is Rumour here?
I run before King Harry's victory;
Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury
Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first? my office is
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword,
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have learn'd of me: from Rumour's tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than
2 KING HENRY IV
SCENE I The same.
[Enter LORD BARDOLPH]
LORD BARDOLPH Who keeps the gate here, ho?
[The Porter opens the gate]
Where is the earl?
Porter What shall I say you are?
LORD BARDOLPH Tell thou the earl
That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
Porter His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard;
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself wilt answer.
LORD BARDOLPH Here comes the earl.
NORTHUMBERLAND What news, Lord Bardolph? every minute now
Should be the father of some stratagem:
The times are wild: contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose
And bears down all before him.
LORD BARDOLPH Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
NORTHUMBERLAND Good, an God will!
LORD BARDOLPH As good as heart can wish:
The king is almost wounded to the death;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son,
Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir John,
Is prisoner to your son: O, such a day,
So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won,
Came not till now to dignify the times,
Since Caesar's fortunes!
NORTHUMBERLAND How is this derived?
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?
LORD BARDOLPH I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence,
A gentleman well bred and of good name,
That freely render'd me these news for true.
NORTHUMBERLAND Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
LORD BARDOLPH My lord, I over-rode him on the way;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties
More than he haply may retail from me.
NORTHUMBERLAND Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you?
TRAVERS My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings; and, being better horsed,
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed,
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse.
He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury:
He told me that rebellion had bad luck
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold.
With that, he gave his able horse the head,
And bending forward struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so
He seem'd in running to devour the way,
Staying no longer question.
NORTHUMBERLAND Ha! Again:
Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold?
Of Hotspur Coldspur? that rebellion
Had met ill luck?
LORD BARDOLPH My lord, I'll tell you what;
If my young lord your son have not the day,
Upon mine honour, for a silken point
I'll give my barony: never talk of it.
NORTHUMBERLAND Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers
Give then such instances of loss?
LORD BARDOLPH Who, he?
He was some hilding fellow that had stolen
The horse he rode on, and, upon my life,
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
NORTHUMBERLAND Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume:
So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury?
MORTON I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask
To fright our party.
NORTHUMBERLAND How doth my son and brother?
Thou tremblest; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless,
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone,
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him half his Troy was burnt;
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say, 'Your son did thus and thus;
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Douglas:'
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds:
But in the end, to stop my ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise,
Ending with 'Brother, son, and all are dead.'
MORTON Douglas is living, and your brother, yet;
But, for my lord your son--
NORTHUMBERLAND Why, he is dead.
See what a ready tongue suspicion hath!
He that but fears the thing he would not know
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton;
Tell thou an earl his divination lies,
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
MORTON You are too great to be by me gainsaid:
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain.
NORTHUMBERLAND Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead.
I see a strange confession in thine eye:
Thou shakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so;
The tongue offends not that reports his death:
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead,
Not he which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Remember'd tolling a departing friend.
LORD BARDOLPH I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
MORTON I am sorry I should force you to believe
That which I would to God I had not seen;
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out-breathed,
To Harry Monmouth; whose swift wrath beat down
The never-daunted Percy to the earth,
From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away
From the best temper'd courage in his troops;
For from his metal was his party steel'd;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead:
And as the thing that's heavy in itself,
Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed,
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety,
Fly from the field. Then was the noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner; and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had three times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs, and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full.
NORTHUMBERLAND For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In poison there is physic; and these news,
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well:
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints,
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs,
1 KING HENRY VI
HENRY THE SIXTH (KING HENRY VI:)
DUKE OF GLOUCESTER uncle to the King, and Protector. (GLOUCESTER:)
DUKE OF BEDFORD uncle to the King, and Regent of France. (BEDFORD:)
THOMAS BEAUFORT Duke of Exeter, great-uncle to the King. (EXETER:)
HENRY BEAUFORT great-uncle to the King, Bishop of Winchester, and
afterwards Cardinal. (BISHOP OF WINCHESTER:)
JOHN BEAUFORT Earl, afterwards Duke, of Somerset. (SOMERSET:)
PLANTAGENET son of Richard late Earl of Cambridge, (RICHARD
PLANTAGENET:) afterwards Duke of York.
EARL OF WARWICK (WARWICK:)
EARL OF SALISBURY (SALISBURY:)
EARL OF SUFFOLK (SUFFOLK:)
LORD TALBOT afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. (TALBOT:)
JOHN TALBOT Lord Talbot's son.
EDMUND MORTIMER Earl of March. (MORTIMER:)
SIR JOHN FASTOLFE (FASTOLFE:)
SIR WILLIAM LUCY (LUCY:)
WILLIAM GLANSDALE (GLANDSDALE:)
THOMAS GARGRAVE (GARGRAVE:)
Mayor of London (Mayor:)
WOODVILE Lieutenant of the Tower.
VERNON of the White-Rose or York faction.
BASSET of the Red-Rose or Lancaster faction.
A Lawyer. (Lawyer:)
Mortimer's Keepers. (First Gaoler:)
CHARLES Dauphin, and afterwards King, of France.
REIGNIER Duke of Anjou, and titular King of Naples.
DUKE OF BURGUNDY (BURGUNDY:)
DUKE OF ALENCON (ALENCON:)
BASTARD OF ORLEANS:
Governor of Paris.
Master-Gunner of Orleans, (Master-Gunner:)
and his Son. (Boy:)
General of the French forces in Bourdeaux. (General:)
A French Sergeant. (Sargeant:)
An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. (Shepherd:)
MARGARET daughter to Reignier, afterwards married to King Henry.
JOAN LA PUCELLE commonly called Joan of Arc.
Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers,
Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.
Fiends appearing to La Pucelle.
SCENE Partly in England, and partly in France.
1 KING HENRY VI
SCENE I Westminster Abbey.
[Dead March. Enter the Funeral of KING HENRY the
Fifth, attended on by Dukes of BEDFORD, Regent of
France; GLOUCESTER, Protector; and EXETER, Earl of
WARWICK, the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, Heralds, &c]
BEDFORD Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky,
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars
That have consented unto Henry's death!
King Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
GLOUCESTER England ne'er had a king until his time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command:
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams:
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
His sparking eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
More dazzled and drove back his enemies
Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
He ne'er lift up his hand but conquered.
EXETER We mourn in black: why mourn we not in blood?
Henry is dead and never shall revive:
Upon a wooden coffin we attend,
And death's dishonourable victory
We with our stately presence glorify,
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What! shall we curse the planets of mishap
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conjurers and sorcerers, that afraid of him
By magic verses have contrived his end?
OF WINCHESTER He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
Unto the French the dreadful judgement-day
So dreadful will not be as was his sight.
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought:
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.
GLOUCESTER The church! where is it? Had not churchmen pray'd,
His thread of life had not so soon decay'd:
None do you like but an effeminate prince,
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.
OF WINCHESTER Gloucester, whate'er we like, thou art protector
And lookest to command the prince and realm.
Thy wife is proud; she holdeth thee in awe,
More than God or religious churchmen may.
GLOUCESTER Name not religion, for thou lovest the flesh,
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st
Except it be to pray against thy foes.
BEDFORD Cease, cease these jars and rest your minds in peace:
Let's to the altar: heralds, wait on us:
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms:
Since arms avail not now that Henry's dead.
Posterity, await for wretched years,
When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck,
Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears,
And none but women left to wail the dead.
Henry the Fifth, thy ghost I invocate:
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils,
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens!
A far more glorious star thy soul will make
Than Julius Caesar or bright--
[Enter a Messenger]
Messenger My honourable lords, health to you all!
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter and discomfiture:
Guienne, Champagne, Rheims, Orleans,
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.
BEDFORD What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's corse?
Speak softly, or the loss of those great towns
Will make him burst his lead and rise from death.
GLOUCESTER Is Paris lost? is Rouen yielded up?
If Henry were recall'd to life again,
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
EXETER How were they lost? what treachery was used?
Messenger No treachery; but want of men and money.
Amongst the soldiers this is muttered,
That here you maintain several factions,
And whilst a field should be dispatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals:
One would have lingering wars with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
A third thinks, without expense at all,
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not sloth dim your horrors new-begot:
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.
EXETER Were our tears wanting to this funeral,
These tidings would call forth their flowing tides.
BEDFORD Me they concern; Regent I am of France.
Give me my steeled coat. I'll fight for France.
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes!
Wounds will I lend the French instead of eyes,
To weep their intermissive miseries.
[Enter to them another Messenger]
Messenger Lords, view these letters full of bad mischance.
France is revolted from the English quite,
Except some petty towns of no import:
The Dauphin Charles is crowned king of Rheims;
The Bastard of Orleans with him is join'd;
Reignier, Duke of Anjou, doth take his part;
The Duke of Alencon flieth to his side.
EXETER The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him!
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach?
GLOUCESTER We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats.
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.
BEDFORD Gloucester, why doubt'st thou of my forwardness?
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts,
Wherewith already France is overrun.
[Enter another Messenger]
Messenger My gracious lords, to add to your laments,
Wherewith you now bedew King Henry's hearse,
I must inform you of a dismal fight
Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.
OF WINCHESTER What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so?
Messenger O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown:
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last this dreadful lord,
Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
Having full scarce six thousand in his troop.
By three and twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon.
No leisure had he to enrank his men;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
Instead whereof sharp stakes pluck'd out of hedges
They pitched in the ground confusedly,
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued;
Where valiant Talbot above human thought
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance:
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him;
Here, there, and every where, enraged he flew:
The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms;
All the whole army stood agazed on him:
His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit
A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up,
If Sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward:
He, being in the vaward, placed behind
With purpose to relieve and follow them,
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre;
Enclosed were they with their enemies:
A base Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace,
Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back,
Whom all France with their chief assembled strength
Durst not presume to look once in the face.
BEDFORD Is Talbot slain? then I will slay myself,
For living idly here in pomp and ease,
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
Unto his dastard foemen is betray'd.
Messenger O no, he lives; but is took prisoner,
And Lord Scales with him and Lord Hungerford:
Most of the rest slaughter'd or took likewise.
BEDFORD His ransom there is none but I shall pay:
I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne:
His crown shall be the ransom of my friend;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours.
Farewell, my masters; to my task will I;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
To keep our great Saint George's feast withal:
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.
Messenger So you had need; for Orleans is besieged;
The English army is grown weak and faint:
The Earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
EXETER Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn,
Either to quell the Dauphin utterly,
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
BEDFORD I do remember it; and here take my leave,
To go about my preparation.
GLOUCESTER I'll to the Tower with all the haste I can,
To view the artillery and munition;
And then I will proclaim young Henry king.
EXETER To Eltham will I, where the young king is,
Being ordain'd his
3 KING HENRY VI
KING HENRY the Sixth.
PRINCE OF WALES his son. (PRINCE EDWARD:)
KING LEWIS XI King of France. (KING LEWIS XI:)
DUKE OF SOMERSET (SOMERSET:)
DUKE OF EXETER (EXETER:)
EARL OF OXFORD (OXFORD:)
LORD CLIFFORD (CLIFFORD:)
PLANTAGENET Duke of York. (YORK:)
EDWARD (EDWARD:) Earl of March, |
afterwards King Edward IV. |
(KING EDWARD IV:) |
EDMUND Earl of Rutland, (RUTLAND:) |
| his sons.
GEORGE (GEORGE:) afterwards Duke of |
Clarence (CLARENCE:) |
RICHARD (RICHARD:) afterwards Duke of |
Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:) |
DUKE OF NORFOLK (NORFOLK:)
EARL OF WARWICK (WARWICK:)
EARL OF PEMBROKE (PEMBROKE:)
LORD HASTINGS (HASTINGS:)
LORD STAFFORD (STAFFORD:)
SIR JOHN MORTIMER (JOHN MORTIMER:) |
| uncles to the Duke of York.
SIR HUGH MORTIMER (HUGH MORTIMER:) |
HENRY Earl of Richmond, a youth (HENRY OF RICHMOND:).
LORD RIVERS brother to Lady Grey. (RIVERS:)
WILLIAM STANLEY (STANLEY:)
JOHN MONTGOMERY (MONTGOMERY:)
JOHN SOMERVILLE (SOMERVILLE:)
Tutor to Rutland. (Tutor:)
Mayor of York. (Mayor:)
Lieutenant of the Tower. (Lieutenant:)
A Nobleman. (Nobleman:)
A Huntsman. (Huntsman:)
A Son that has killed his father. (Son:)
A Father that has killed his son. (Father:)
LADY GREY afterwards Queen to Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)
BONA sister to the French Queen.
Soldiers, Attendants, Messengers, Watchmen, &c.
SCENE England and France.
SCENE I London. The Parliament-house.
[Alarum. Enter YORK, EDWARD, RICHARD, NORFOLK,
MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers]
WARWICK I wonder how the king escaped our hands.
YORK While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
He slily stole away and left his men:
Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland,
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself,
Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in
Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.
EDWARD Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham,
Is either slain or wounded dangerously;
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow:
That this is true, father, behold his blood.
MONTAGUE And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood,
Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.
RICHARD Speak thou for me and tell them what I did.
[Throwing down SOMERSET's head]
YORK Richard hath best deserved of all my sons.
But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset?
NORFOLK Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt!
RICHARD Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head.
WARWICK And so do I. Victorious Prince of York,
Before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close.
This is the palace of the fearful king,
And this the regal seat: possess it, York;
For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs'
YORK Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will;
For hither we have broken in by force.
NORFOLK We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die.
YORK Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords;
And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night.
[They go up]
WARWICK And when the king comes, offer no violence,
Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce.
YORK The queen this day here holds her parliament,
But little thinks we shall be of her council:
By words or blows here let us win our right.
RICHARD Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.
WARWICK The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king,
And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice
Hath made us by-words to our enemies.
YORK Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute;
I mean to take possession of my right.
WARWICK Neither the king, nor he that loves him best,
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells.
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares:
Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown.
[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VI, CLIFFORD,
NORTHUMBERLAND, WESTMORELAND, EXETER, and the rest]
KING HENRY VI My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits,
Even in the chair of state: belike he means,
Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,
To aspire unto the crown and reign as king.
Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father.
And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge
On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends.
NORTHUMBERLAND If I be not, heavens be revenged on me!
CLIFFORD The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel.
WESTMORELAND What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down:
My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it.
KING HENRY VI Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland.
CLIFFORD Patience is for poltroons, such as he:
He durst not sit there, had your father lived.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.
NORTHUMBERLAND Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so.
KING HENRY VI Ah, know you not the city favours them,
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck?
EXETER But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly.
KING HENRY VI Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart,
To make a shambles of the parliament-house!
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats
Shall be the war that Henry means to use.
Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne,
and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet;
I am thy sovereign.
YORK I am thine.
EXETER For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York.
YORK 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.
EXETER Thy father was a traitor to the crown.
WARWICK Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown
In following this usurping Henry.
CLIFFORD Whom should he follow but his natural king?
WARWICK True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York.
KING HENRY VI And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne?
YORK It must and shall be so: content thyself.
WARWICK Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king.
WESTMORELAND He is both king and Duke of Lancaster;
And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.
WARWICK And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget
That we are those which chased you from the field
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
March'd through the city to the palace gates.
NORTHUMBERLAND Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.
WESTMORELAND Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons,
Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.
CLIFFORD Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words,
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger
As shall revenge his death before I stir.
WARWICK Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats!
YORK Will you we show our title to the crown?
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.
KING HENRY VI What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown?
Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York;
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March:
I am the son of Henry the Fifth,
Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop
And seized upon their towns and provinces.
WARWICK Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.
KING HENRY VI The lord protector lost it, and not I:
When I was crown'd I was but nine months old.
RICHARD You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose.
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.
EDWARD Sweet father, do so; set it on your head.
MONTAGUE Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms,
Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus.
RICHARD Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly.
YORK Sons, peace!
KING HENRY VI Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak.
WARWICK Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords;
And be you silent and attentive too,
For he that interrupts him shall not live.
KING HENRY VI Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne,
Wherein my grandsire and my father sat?
No: first shall war unpeople this my realm;
Ay, and their colours, often borne in France,
And now in England to our heart's great sorrow,
Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords?
My title's good, and better far than his.
WARWICK Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.
KING HENRY VI Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown.
YORK 'Twas by rebellion against his king.
KING HENRY VI [Aside] I know not what to say; my title's weak.--
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir?
YORK What then?
KING HENRY VI An if he may, then am I lawful king;
For Richard, in the view of many lords,
Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth,
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.
YORK He rose against him, being his sovereign,
And made him to resign his crown perforce.
WARWICK Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown?
EXETER No; for he could not so resign his crown
But that the next heir should succeed and reign.
KING HENRY VI Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter?
EXETER His is the right, and therefore pardon me.
YORK Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not?
EXETER My conscience tells me he is lawful king.
KING HENRY VI [Aside] All will revolt from me, and turn to him.
NORTHUMBERLAND Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
Think not that Henry shall be so deposed.
WARWICK Deposed he shall be, in despite of all.
NORTHUMBERLAND Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power,
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud,
Can set the duke up in despite of me.
CLIFFORD King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence:
May that ground gape and swallow me alive,
Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father!
KING HENRY VI O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!
YORK Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown.
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords?
WARWICK Do right unto this princely Duke of York,
Or I will fill the house with armed men,
And over the chair of state, where
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
KING OF FRANCE (KING:)
DUKE OF FLORENCE (DUKE:)
BERTRAM Count of Rousillon.
LAFEU an old lord.
PAROLLES a follower of Bertram.
| servants to the Countess of Rousillon.
A Page. (Page:)
ROUSILLON mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)
HELENA a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.
An old Widow of Florence. (Widow:)
DIANA daughter to the Widow.
| neighbours and friends to the Widow.
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine.
SCENE Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
SCENE I Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.
[Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,
and LAFEU, all in black]
COUNTESS In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.
BERTRAM And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death
anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to
whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.
LAFEU You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,
sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times
good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose
worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather
than lack it where there is such abundance.
COUNTESS What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?
LAFEU He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and
finds no other advantage in the process but only the
losing of hope by time.
COUNTESS This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was
almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
far, would have made nature immortal, and death
should have play for lack of work. Would, for the
king's sake, he were living! I think it would be
the death of the king's disease.
LAFEU How called you the man you speak of, madam?
COUNTESS He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.
LAFEU He was excellent indeed, madam: the king very
lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he
was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge
could be set up against mortality.
BERTRAM What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of?
LAFEU A fistula, my lord.
BERTRAM I heard not of it before.
LAFEU I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?
COUNTESS His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
her education promises; her dispositions she
inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
traitors too; in her they are the better for their
simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.
LAFEU Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.
COUNTESS 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all
livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;
go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect
a sorrow than have it.
HELENA I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.
LAFEU Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
excessive grief the enemy to the living.
COUNTESS If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
makes it soon mortal.
BERTRAM Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
LAFEU How understand we that?
COUNTESS Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence,
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
LAFEU He cannot want the best
That shall attend his love.
COUNTESS Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.
BERTRAM [To HELENA] The best wishes that can be forged in
your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable
to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.
LAFEU Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of
[Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]
HELENA O, were that all! I think not on my father;
And these great tears grace his remembrance more
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him: my imagination
Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
I am undone: there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
That I should love a bright particular star
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague,
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table; heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?
One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
And yet I know him a notorious liar,
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
PAROLLES Save you, fair queen!
HELENA And you, monarch!
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
PAROLLES There is none: man, sitting down before you, will
undermine you and blow you up.
HELENA Bless our poor virginity from underminers and
blowers up! Is there no military policy, how
virgins might blow up men?
PAROLLES Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be
blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with
the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It
is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to
preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational
increase and there was never virgin got till
virginity was first lost. That you were made of is
metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost
may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is
ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't!
HELENA I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.
PAROLLES There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the
rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,
is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible
disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin:
virginity murders itself and should be buried in
highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate
offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,
much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very
paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.
Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of
self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the
canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose
by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make
itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the
principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!
HELENA How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?
PAROLLES Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it
likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with
lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't
while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request.
Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out
of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just
like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not
now. Your date is better in your pie and your
porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,
your old virginity, is like one of our French
withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,
'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;
marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?
HELENA Not my virginity yet [ ]
There shall your master have a thousand loves,
A mother and a mistress and a friend,
A phoenix, captain and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
His humble ambition, proud humility,
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he--
I know not what he shall. God send him well!
The court's a learning place, and he is one--
PAROLLES What one, i' faith?
HELENA That I wish well. 'Tis pity--
PAROLLES What's pity?
HELENA That wishing well had not a body in't,
Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
Might with effects of them follow our friends,
And show what we alone must think, which never
Return us thanks.
Page Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
PAROLLES Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I
will think of thee at court.
HELENA Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.
PAROLLES Under Mars, I.
HELENA I especially think, under Mars.
PAROLLES Why under Mars?
HELENA The wars have so kept you under that you must needs
be born under Mars.
PAROLLES When he was predominant.
HELENA When he was retrograde, I think, rather.
PAROLLES Why think you so?
HELENA You go so much backward when you fight.
PAROLLES That's for advantage.
HELENA So is running away, when fear proposes the safety;
but the composition that your valour and fear makes
in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.
PAROLLES I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee
acutely. I will return perf
CAIUS MARCIUS (MARCUS:) Afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS.
TITUS LARTIUS (LARTIUS:) |
| generals against the Volscians.
MENENIUS AGRIPPA friend to Coriolanus. (MENENIUS:)
SICINIUS VELUTUS (SICINIUS:) |
| tribunes of the people.
JUNIUS BRUTUS (BRUTUS:) |
Young MARCUS son to Coriolanus.
A Roman Herald. (Herald:)
TULLUS AUFIDIUS general of the Volscians. (AUFIDIUS:)
Lieutenant to Aufidius. (Lieutenant:)
Conspirators with Aufidius.
A Citizen of Antium.
Two Volscian Guards.
VOLUMNIA mother to Coriolanus.
VIRGILIA wife to Coriolanus.
VALERIA friend to Virgilia.
Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia. (Gentlewoman:)
Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians,
AEdiles, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers,
Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants.
SCENE Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli
and the neighbourhood; Antium.
SCENE I Rome. A street.
[Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with staves,
clubs, and other weapons]
First Citizen Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.
All Speak, speak.
First Citizen You are all resolved rather to die than to famish?
All Resolved. resolved.
First Citizen First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people.
All We know't, we know't.
First Citizen Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price.
Is't a verdict?
All No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away!
Second Citizen One word, good citizens.
First Citizen We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good.
What authority surfeits on would relieve us: if they
would yield us but the superfluity, while it were
wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely;
but they think we are too dear: the leanness that
afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an
inventory to particularise their abundance; our
sufferance is a gain to them Let us revenge this with
our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know I
speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.
Second Citizen Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?
All Against him first: he's a very dog to the commonalty.
Second Citizen Consider you what services he has done for his country?
First Citizen Very well; and could be content to give him good
report fort, but that he pays himself with being proud.
Second Citizen Nay, but speak not maliciously.
First Citizen I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he did
it to that end: though soft-conscienced men can be
content to say it was for his country he did it to
please his mother and to be partly proud; which he
is, even till the altitude of his virtue.
Second Citizen What he cannot help in his nature, you account a
vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous.
First Citizen If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations;
he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition.
What shouts are these? The other side o' the city
is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol!
All Come, come.
First Citizen Soft! who comes here?
[Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA]
Second Citizen Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved
First Citizen He's one honest enough: would all the rest were so!
MENENIUS What work's, my countrymen, in hand? where go you
With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I pray you.
First Citizen Our business is not unknown to the senate; they have
had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do,
which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say poor
suitors have strong breaths: they shall know we
have strong arms too.
MENENIUS Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours,
Will you undo yourselves?
First Citizen We cannot, sir, we are undone already.
MENENIUS I tell you, friends, most charitable care
Have the patricians of you. For your wants,
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them
Against the Roman state, whose course will on
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
Of more strong link asunder than can ever
Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,
The gods, not the patricians, make it, and
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,
You are transported by calamity
Thither where more attends you, and you slander
The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers,
When you curse them as enemies.
First Citizen Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us
yet: suffer us to famish, and their store-houses
crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to
support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act
established against the rich, and provide more
piercing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain
the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and
there's all the love they bear us.
MENENIUS Either you must
Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,
Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you
A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it;
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
To stale 't a little more.
First Citizen Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not think to
fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, an 't please
MENENIUS There was a time when all the body's members
Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it:
That only like a gulf it did remain
I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive,
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments
Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
And, mutually participate, did minister
Unto the appetite and affection common
Of the whole body. The belly answer'd--
First Citizen Well, sir, what answer made the belly?
MENENIUS Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus--
For, look you, I may make the belly smile
As well as speak--it tauntingly replied
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts
That envied his receipt; even so most fitly
As you malign our senators for that
They are not such as you.
First Citizen Your belly's answer? What!
The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye,
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter.
With other muniments and petty helps
In this our fabric, if that they--
MENENIUS What then?
'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what then?
First Citizen Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd,
Who is the sink o' the body,--
MENENIUS Well, what then?
First Citizen The former agents, if they did complain,
What could the belly answer?
MENENIUS I will tell you
If you'll bestow a small--of what you have little--
Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer.
First Citizen Ye're long about it.
MENENIUS Note me this, good friend;
Your most grave belly was deliberate,
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd:
'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he,
'That I receive the general food at first,
Which you do live upon; and fit it is,
Because I am the store-house and the shop
Of the whole body: but, if you do remember,
I send it through the rivers of your blood,
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain;
And, through the cranks and offices of man,
The strongest nerves and small inferior veins
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live: and though that all at once,
You, my good friends,'--this says the belly, mark me,--
First Citizen Ay, sir; well, well.
MENENIUS 'Though all at once cannot
See what I do deliver out to each,
Yet I can make my audit up, that all
From me do back receive the flour of all,
And leave me but the bran.' What say you to't?
First Citizen It was an answer: how apply you this?
MENENIUS The senators of Rome are this good belly,
And you the mutinous members; for examine
Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly
Touching the weal o' the common, you shall find
No public benefit which you receive
But it proceeds or comes from them to you
And no way from yourselves. What do you think,
You, the great toe of this assembly?
First Citizen I the great toe! why the great toe?
MENENIUS For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, poorest,
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost:
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,
Lead'st first to win some vantage.
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;
The one side must have bale.
[Enter CAIUS MARCIUS]
Hail, noble Marcius!
MARCIUS Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,
That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
Make yourselves scabs?
First Citizen We have ever your good word.
MARCIUS He that will give good words to thee will flatter
Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,
That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him
And curse that justice did it.
Who deserves greatness
Deserves your hate; and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust Ye?
With every minute you do change a mind,
And call him noble that was now your hate,
Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter,
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who,
Under the gods, keep you in awe, whi
AS YOU LIKE IT
DUKE SENIOR living in banishment.
DUKE FREDERICK his brother, an usurper of his dominions.
| lords attending on the banished duke.
LE BEAU a courtier attending upon Frederick.
CHARLES wrestler to Frederick.
JAQUES (JAQUES DE BOYS:) | sons of Sir Rowland de Boys.
| servants to Oliver.
TOUCHSTONE a clown.
SIR OLIVER MARTEXT a vicar.
WILLIAM a country fellow in love with Audrey.
A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)
ROSALIND daughter to the banished duke.
CELIA daughter to Frederick.
PHEBE a shepherdess.
AUDREY a country wench.
Lords, pages, and attendants, &c.
SCENE Oliver's house; Duke Frederick's court; and the
Forest of Arden.
AS YOU LIKE IT
SCENE I Orchard of Oliver's house.
[Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]
ORLANDO As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,
and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his
blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my
sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,
he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more
properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you
that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that
differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses
are bred better; for, besides that they are fair
with their feeding, they are taught their manage,
and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his
brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the
which his animals on his dunghills are as much
bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so
plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave
me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets
me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my
gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that
grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I
think is within me, begins to mutiny against this
servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I
know no wise remedy how to avoid it.
ADAM Yonder comes my master, your brother.
ORLANDO Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will
shake me up.
OLIVER Now, sir! what make you here?
ORLANDO Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.
OLIVER What mar you then, sir?
ORLANDO Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God
made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.
OLIVER Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.
ORLANDO Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should
come to such penury?
OLIVER Know you where your are, sir?
ORLANDO O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.
OLIVER Know you before whom, sir?
ORLANDO Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know
you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle
condition of blood, you should so know me. The
courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that
you are the first-born; but the same tradition
takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers
betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as
you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is
nearer to his reverence.
OLIVER What, boy!
ORLANDO Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.
OLIVER Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?
ORLANDO I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice
a villain that says such a father begot villains.
Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand
from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy
tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.
ADAM Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's
remembrance, be at accord.
OLIVER Let me go, I say.
ORLANDO I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My
father charged you in his will to give me good
education: you have trained me like a peasant,
obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow
me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or
give me the poor allottery my father left me by
testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.
OLIVER And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled
with you; you shall have some part of your will: I
pray you, leave me.
ORLANDO I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.
OLIVER Get you with him, you old dog.
ADAM Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my
teeth in your service. God be with my old master!
he would not have spoke such a word.
[Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]
OLIVER Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will
physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand
crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!
DENNIS Calls your worship?
OLIVER Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?
DENNIS So please you, he is here at the door and importunes
access to you.
OLIVER Call him in.
'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
CHARLES Good morrow to your worship.
OLIVER Good Monsieur Charles, what's the new news at the
CHARLES There's no news at the court, sir, but the old news:
that is, the old duke is banished by his younger
brother the new duke; and three or four loving lords
have put themselves into voluntary exile with him,
whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke;
therefore he gives them good leave to wander.
OLIVER Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, be
banished with her father?
CHARLES O, no; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves
her, being ever from their cradles bred together,
that she would have followed her exile, or have died
to stay behind her. She is at the court, and no
less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter; and
never two ladies loved as they do.
OLIVER Where will the old duke live?
CHARLES They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and
a many merry men with him; and there they live like
the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young
gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time
carelessly, as they did in the golden world.
OLIVER What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new duke?
CHARLES Marry, do I, sir; and I came to acquaint you with a
matter. I am given, sir, secretly to understand
that your younger brother Orlando hath a disposition
to come in disguised against me to try a fall.
To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; and he that
escapes me without some broken limb shall acquit him
well. Your brother is but young and tender; and,
for your love, I would be loath to foil him, as I
must, for my own honour, if he come in: therefore,
out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you
withal, that either you might stay him from his
intendment or brook such disgrace well as he shall
run into, in that it is a thing of his own search
and altogether against my will.
OLIVER Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had
myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and
have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from
it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles:
it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full
of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's
good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
me his natural brother: therefore use thy
discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck
as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if
thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not
mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise
against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
treacherous device and never leave thee till he
hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other;
for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak
it, there is not one so young and so villanous this
day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.
CHARLES I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come
to-morrow, I'll give him his payment: if ever he go
alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize more: and
so God keep your worship!
OLIVER Farewell, good Charles.
Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see
an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of
all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much
in the heart of the world, and especially of my own
people, who best know him, that I am altogether
misprised: but it shall not be so long; this
wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that
I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.
AS YOU LIKE IT
SCENE II Lawn before the Duke's palace.
[Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]
CELIA I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
ROSALIND Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;
and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could
teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.
CELIA Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight
that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou
hadst been still with me, I could have taught my
love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,
if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously
tempered as mine is to thee.
ROSALIND Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
rejoice in yours.
CELIA You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is
like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt
be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy
father perforce, I will render thee again in
affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break
that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my
sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
ROSALIND From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let
me see; what think you of falling in love?
CYMBELINE king of Britain.
CLOTEN son to the Queen by a former husband.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS a gentleman, husband to Imogen.
BELARIUS a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan.
GUIDERIUS | sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names
| of Polydote and Cadwal, supposed sons to
ARVIRAGUS | Morgan.
PHILARIO friend to Posthumus, |
IACHIMO friend to Philario, |
CAIUS LUCIUS general of the Roman forces.
PISANIO servant to Posthumus.
CORNELIUS a physician.
A Roman Captain. (Captain:)
Two British Captains.
A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
Two Lords of Cymbeline's court.
Two Gentlemen of the same.
QUEEN wife to Cymbeline.
IMOGEN daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen.
HELEN a lady attending on Imogen.
Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes,
a Soothsayer, a Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musicians,
Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers,
and other Attendants. (Lord:)
SCENE Britain; Rome.
SCENE I Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.
[Enter two Gentlemen]
First Gentleman You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
Still seem as does the king.
Second Gentleman But what's the matter?
First Gentleman His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow
That late he married--hath referr'd herself
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
Be touch'd at very heart.
Second Gentleman None but the king?
First Gentleman He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,
That most desired the match; but not a courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.
Second Gentleman And why so?
First Gentleman He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--
I mean, that married her, alack, good man!
And therefore banish'd--is a creature such
As, to seek through the regions of the earth
For one his like, there would be something failing
In him that should compare. I do not think
So fair an outward and such stuff within
Endows a man but he.
Second Gentleman You speak him far.
First Gentleman I do extend him, sir, within himself,
Crush him together rather than unfold
His measure duly.
Second Gentleman What's his name and birth?
First Gentleman I cannot delve him to the root: his father
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
But had his titles by Tenantius whom
He served with glory and admired success,
So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
Died with their swords in hand; for which
Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
As he was born. The king he takes the babe
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--
Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,
A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
A glass that feated them, and to the graver
A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read
What kind of man he is.
Second Gentleman I honour him
Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
Is she sole child to the king?
First Gentleman His only child.
He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.
Second Gentleman How long is this ago?
First Gentleman Some twenty years.
Second Gentleman That a king's children should be so convey'd,
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
That could not trace them!
First Gentleman Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, sir.
Second Gentleman I do well believe you.
First Gentleman We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,
The queen, and princess.
[Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN]
QUEEN No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Please your highness,
I will from hence to-day.
QUEEN You know the peril.
I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
Hath charged you should not speak together.
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing--
Always reserved my holy duty--what
His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in the world
That I may see again.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS My queen! my mistress!
O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man. I will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.
QUEEN Be brief, I pray you:
If the king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure.
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.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!
IMOGEN Nay, stay a little:
Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep it till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS How, how! another?
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death!
[Putting on the ring]
Remain, remain thou here
While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
As I my poor self did exchange for you,
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
I still win of you: for my sake wear this;
It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.
[Putting a bracelet upon her arm]
IMOGEN O the gods!
When shall we see again?
[Enter CYMBELINE and Lords]
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Alack, the king!
CYMBELINE Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
If after this command thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!
Thou'rt poison to my blood.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS The gods protect you!
And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.
IMOGEN There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharp than this is.
CYMBELINE O disloyal thing,
That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
A year's age on me.
IMOGEN I beseech you, sir,
Harm not yourself with your vexation
I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.
CYMBELINE Past grace? obedience?
IMOGEN Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
CYMBELINE That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
IMOGEN O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
And did avoid a puttock.
CYMBELINE Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
A seat for baseness.
IMOGEN No; I rather added
A lustre to it.
CYMBELINE O thou vile one!
It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:
You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
A man worth any woman, overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.
CYMBELINE What, art thou mad?
IMOGEN Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son!
CYMBELINE Thou foolish thing!
They were again together: you have done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
QUEEN Beseech your patience. Peace,
Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
Out of your best advice.
CYMBELINE Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
Die of this folly!
[Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords]
QUEEN Fie! you must give way.
Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
PISANIO My lord your son drew on my master.
No harm, I trust, is done?
PISANIO There might have been,
But that my master rather play'd than fought
And had no help of anger: they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.
QUEEN I am very glad on't.
IMOGEN Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
I would they were in Afric both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
PISANIO On his command: he would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven; left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When 't pleased you to employ me.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
MARK ANTONY |
OCTAVIUS CAESAR | triumvirs.
M. AEMILIUS |
LEPIDUS (LEPIDUS:) |
SEXTUS POMPEIUS (POMPEY:)
DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS |
SCARUS | friends to Antony.
PROCULEIUS | friends to Caesar.
| friends to Pompey.
TAURUS lieutenant-general to Caesar.
CANIDIUS lieutenant-general to Antony.
SILIUS an officer in Ventidius's army.
EUPHRONIUS an ambassador from Antony to Caesar.
MARDIAN a Eunuch. |
| attendants on Cleopatra.
A Soothsayer. (Soothsayer:)
A Clown. (Clown:)
CLEOPATRA queen of Egypt.
OCTAVIA sister to Caesar and wife to Antony.
| attendants on Cleopatra.
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
SCENE In several parts of the Roman empire.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
SCENE I Alexandria. A room in CLEOPATRA's palace.
[Enter DEMETRIUS and PHILO]
PHILO Nay, but this dotage of our general's
O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper,
And is become the bellows and the fan
To cool a gipsy's lust.
[Flourish. Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, her Ladies,
the Train, with Eunuchs fanning her]
Look, where they come:
Take but good note, and you shall see in him.
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see.
CLEOPATRA If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
MARK ANTONY There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.
CLEOPATRA I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved.
MARK ANTONY Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
[Enter an Attendant]
Attendant News, my good lord, from Rome.
MARK ANTONY Grates me: the sum.
CLEOPATRA Nay, hear them, Antony:
Fulvia perchance is angry; or, who knows
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you, 'Do this, or this;
Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that;
Perform 't, or else we damn thee.'
MARK ANTONY How, my love!
CLEOPATRA Perchance! nay, and most like:
You must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.
Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? both?
Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's queen,
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays shame
When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messengers!
MARK ANTONY Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space.
Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life
Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair
And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
On pain of punishment, the world to weet
We stand up peerless.
CLEOPATRA Excellent falsehood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself.
MARK ANTONY But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours,
Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now. What sport tonight?
CLEOPATRA Hear the ambassadors.
MARK ANTONY Fie, wrangling queen!
Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself, in thee, fair and admired!
No messenger, but thine; and all alone
To-night we'll wander through the streets and note
The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
Last night you did desire it: speak not to us.
[Exeunt MARK ANTONY and CLEOPATRA with
DEMETRIUS Is Caesar with Antonius prized so slight?
PHILO Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.
DEMETRIUS I am full sorry
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
SCENE II The same. Another room.
[Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a Soothsayer]
CHARMIAN Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing Alexas,
almost most absolute Alexas, where's the soothsayer
that you praised so to the queen? O, that I knew
this husband, which, you say, must charge his horns
Soothsayer Your will?
CHARMIAN Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things?
Soothsayer In nature's infinite book of secrecy
A little I can read.
ALEXAS Show him your hand.
[Enter DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS]
DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough
Cleopatra's health to drink.
CHARMIAN Good sir, give me good fortune.
Soothsayer I make not, but foresee.
CHARMIAN Pray, then, foresee me one.
Soothsayer You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
CHARMIAN He means in flesh.
IRAS No, you shall paint when you are old.
CHARMIAN Wrinkles forbid!
ALEXAS Vex not his prescience; be attentive.
Soothsayer You shall be more beloving than beloved.
CHARMIAN I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
ALEXAS Nay, hear him.
CHARMIAN Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married
to three kings in a forenoon, and widow them all:
let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry
may do homage: find me to marry me with Octavius
Caesar, and companion me with my mistress.
Soothsayer You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.
CHARMIAN O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
Soothsayer You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune
Than that which is to approach.
CHARMIAN Then belike my children shall have no names:
prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?
Soothsayer If every of your wishes had a womb.
And fertile every wish, a million.
CHARMIAN Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch.
ALEXAS You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes.
CHARMIAN Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
ALEXAS We'll know all our fortunes.
DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall
be--drunk to bed.
IRAS There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else.
CHARMIAN E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine.
IRAS Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay.
CHARMIAN Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful
prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. Prithee,
tell her but a worky-day fortune.
Soothsayer Your fortunes are alike.
IRAS But how, but how? give me particulars.
Soothsayer I have said.
IRAS Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?
CHARMIAN Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than
I, where would you choose it?
IRAS Not in my husband's nose.
CHARMIAN Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas,--come,
his fortune, his fortune! O, let him marry a woman
that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! and let
her die too, and give him a worse! and let worst
follow worse, till the worst of all follow him
laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold! Good
Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me a
matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee!
IRAS Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people!
for, as it is a heartbreaking to see a handsome man
loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a
foul knave uncuckolded: therefore, dear Isis, keep
decorum, and fortune him accordingly!
ALEXAS Lo, now, if it lay in their hands to make me a
cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but
DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Hush! here comes Antony.
CHARMIAN Not he; the queen.
CLEOPATRA Saw you my lord?
DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS No, lady.
CLEOPATRA Was he not here?
CHARMIAN No, madam.
CLEOPATRA He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden
A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus!
DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS Madam?
CLEOPATRA Seek him, and bring him hither.
ALEXAS Here, at your service. My lord approaches.
CLEOPATRA We will not look upon him: go with us.
[Enter MARK ANTONY with a Messenger and Attendants]
Messenger Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.
MARK ANTONY Against my brother Lucius?
But soon that war had end, and the time's state
Made friends of them, joining their force 'gainst Caesar;
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy,
Upon the first encounter, drave them.
MARK ANTONY Well, what worst?
Messenger The nature of bad news infects the teller.
MARK ANTONY When it concerns the fool or coward. On:
Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus:
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd.
This is stiff news--hath, with his Parthian force,
Extended Asia from Euphrates;
His conquering banner shook from Syria
To Lydia and to Ionia; Whilst--
MARK ANTONY Antony, thou wouldst say,--
Messenger O, my lord!
MARK ANTONY Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue:
Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome;
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults
With such full licence as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds,
When our quick minds lie still; and our ills told us
Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.
Messenger At your noble pleasure.
MARK ANTONY From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak there!
First Attendant The man from Sicyon,--is there such an one?
Second Attendant He stays upon your will.
MARK ANTONY Let him appear.
These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
Or lose myself in dotage.
[Enter another Messenger]
What are you?
Second Messenger Fulvia thy wife is dead.
MARK ANTONY Where died she?
Second Messenger In Sicyon:
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
SOLINUS Duke of Ephesus. (DUKE SOLINUS:)
AEGEON a merchant of Syracuse.
OF EPHESUS |
| twin brothers, and sons to AEgeon and AEmilia.
OF SYRACUSE |
DROMIO OF EPHESUS |
| twin brothers, and attendants on the two Antipholuses.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE |
BALTHAZAR a merchant
ANGELO a goldsmith.
First Merchant friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.
Second Merchant to whom Angelo is a debtor.
PINCH a schoolmaster.
AEMILIA wife to AEgeon, an abbess at Ephesus.
ADRIANA wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.
LUCIANA her sister.
LUCE servant to Adriana.
Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
SCENE I A hall in DUKE SOLINUS'S palace.
[Enter DUKE SOLINUS, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other
AEGEON Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall
And by the doom of death end woes and all.
DUKE SOLINUS Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;
I am not partial to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more,
If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again: if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.
AEGEON Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
DUKE SOLINUS Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
Why thou departed'st from thy native home
And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.
AEGEON A heavier task could not have been imposed
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave.
In Syracusa was I born, and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me, had not our hap been bad.
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my factor's death
And the great care of goods at random left
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old
Before herself, almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,
Had made provision for her following me
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
There had she not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A meaner woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those,--for their parents were exceeding poor,--
I bought and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon,
We came aboard.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which though myself would gladly have embraced,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forced me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was, for other means was none:
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:
The children thus disposed, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispersed those vapours that offended us;
And by the benefit of his wished light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,--O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.
DUKE SOLINUS Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
AEGEON O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounterd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
DUKE SOLINUS And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.
AEGEON My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother: and importuned me
That his attendant--so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name--
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
DUKE SOLINUS Hapless AEgeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul would sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet I will favour thee in what I can.
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Gaoler I will, my lord.
AEGEON Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS
SCENE II The Mart.
[Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse,
and First Merchant]
First Merchant Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day a Syracusian merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here;
And not being able to buy out his life
According to the statute of the town,
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money that I had to keep.
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.
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.
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.
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.
OF SYRACUSE Stop in your wind, sir: tell
CLAUDIUS king of Denmark. (KING CLAUDIUS:)
HAMLET son to the late, and nephew to the present king.
POLONIUS lord chamberlain. (LORD POLONIUS:)
HORATIO friend to Hamlet.
LAERTES son to Polonius.
LUCIANUS nephew to the king.
ROSENCRANTZ | courtiers.
A Gentleman, (Gentlemen:)
A Priest. (First Priest:)
FRANCISCO a soldier.
REYNALDO servant to Polonius.
Two Clowns, grave-diggers.
FORTINBRAS prince of Norway. (PRINCE FORTINBRAS:)
English Ambassadors. (First Ambassador:)
GERTRUDE queen of Denmark, and mother to Hamlet.
OPHELIA daughter to Polonius.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers,
and other Attendants. (Lord:)
Ghost of Hamlet's Father. (Ghost:)
SCENE I Elsinore. A platform before the castle.
[FRANCISCO at his post. Enter to him BERNARDO]
BERNARDO Who's there?
FRANCISCO Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.
BERNARDO Long live the king!
FRANCISCO You come most carefully upon your hour.
BERNARDO 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
FRANCISCO For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.
BERNARDO Have you had quiet guard?
FRANCISCO Not a mouse stirring.
BERNARDO Well, good night.
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus,
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.
FRANCISCO I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who's there?
[Enter HORATIO and MARCELLUS]
HORATIO Friends to this ground.
MARCELLUS And liegemen to the Dane.
FRANCISCO Give you good night.
MARCELLUS O, farewell, honest soldier:
Who hath relieved you?
FRANCISCO Bernardo has my place.
Give you good night.
MARCELLUS Holla! Bernardo!
What, is Horatio there?
HORATIO A piece of him.
BERNARDO Welcome, Horatio: welcome, good Marcellus.
MARCELLUS What, has this thing appear'd again to-night?
BERNARDO I have seen nothing.
MARCELLUS Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy,
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us:
Therefore I have entreated him along
With us to watch the minutes of this night;
That if again this apparition come,
He may approve our eyes and speak to it.
HORATIO Tush, tush, 'twill not appear.
BERNARDO Sit down awhile;
And let us once again assail your ears,
That are so fortified against our story
What we have two nights seen.
HORATIO Well, sit we down,
And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
BERNARDO Last night of all,
When yond same star that's westward from the pole
Had made his course to illume that part of heaven
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
The bell then beating one,--
MARCELLUS Peace, break thee off; look, where it comes again!
BERNARDO In the same figure, like the king that's dead.
MARCELLUS Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
BERNARDO Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio.
HORATIO Most like: it harrows me with fear and wonder.
BERNARDO It would be spoke to.
MARCELLUS Question it, Horatio.
HORATIO What art thou that usurp'st this time of night,
Together with that fair and warlike form
In which the majesty of buried Denmark
Did sometimes march? by heaven I charge thee, speak!
MARCELLUS It is offended.
BERNARDO See, it stalks away!
HORATIO Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee, speak!
MARCELLUS 'Tis gone, and will not answer.
BERNARDO How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale:
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on't?
HORATIO Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.
MARCELLUS Is it not like the king?
HORATIO As thou art to thyself:
Such was the very armour he had on
When he the ambitious Norway combated;
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle,
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
MARCELLUS Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
HORATIO In what particular thought to work I know not;
But in the gross and scope of my opinion,
This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
MARCELLUS Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows,
Why this same strict and most observant watch
So nightly toils the subject of the land,
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon,
And foreign mart for implements of war;
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Does not divide the Sunday from the week;
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day:
Who is't that can inform me?
HORATIO That can I;
At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet--
For so this side of our known world esteem'd him--
Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal'd compact,
Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror:
Against the which, a moiety competent
Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same covenant,
And carriage of the article design'd,
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there
Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
For food and diet, to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in't; which is no other--
As it doth well appear unto our state--
But to recover of us, by strong hand
And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
So by his father lost: and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
BERNARDO I think it be no other but e'en so:
Well may it sort that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch; so like the king
That was and is the question of these wars.
HORATIO A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets:
As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse:
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on,
Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climatures and countrymen.--
But soft, behold! lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease and grace to me,
Speak to me:
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, O, speak!
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth,
For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death,
Speak of it: stay, and speak! Stop it, Marcellus.
MARCELLUS Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
HORATIO Do, if it will not stand.
BERNARDO 'Tis here!
HORATIO 'Tis here!
MARCELLUS 'Tis gone!
We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is, as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.
BERNARDO It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
HORATIO And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.
MARCELLUS It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
HORATIO So have I heard and do in part believe it.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill:
Break we our watch up; and by my advice,
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
MARCELLUS Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most conveniently.
SCENE II A room of state in the castle.
[Enter KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE, HAMLET,
POLONIUS, LAERTES, VOLTIMAND, CORNELIUS, Lords,
KING CLAUDIUS Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green, and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief and our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe,
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
That we with wisest sorrow think on him,
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
The imperial jointress to this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,--
With an auspicious and a dropping eye,
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,--
Taken to wife: nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
PRINCE HENRY son to the king.
ARTHUR Duke of Bretagne, nephew to the king.
The Earl of
The Earl of ESSEX (ESSEX:)
The Earl of
The Lord BIGOT (BIGOT:)
HUBERT DE BURGH (HUBERT:)
FAULCONBRIDGE Son to Sir Robert Faulconbridge. (ROBERT:)
PHILIP the BASTARD his half-brother. (BASTARD:)
JAMES GURNEY servant to Lady Faulconbridge. (GURNEY:)
PETER Of Pomfret a prophet. (PETER:)
PHILIP King of France. (KING PHILIP:)
LEWIS the Dauphin.
LYMOGES Duke of AUSTRIA. (AUSTRIA:)
CARDINAL PANDULPH the Pope's legate.
MELUN a French Lord.
CHATILLON ambassador from France to King John.
QUEEN ELINOR mother to King John.
CONSTANCE mother to Arthur.
BLANCH of Spain niece to King John. (BLANCH:)
Lords, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, Heralds,
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.
SCENE Partly in England, and partly in France.
SCENE I KING JOHN'S palace.
[Enter KING JOHN, QUEEN ELINOR, PEMBROKE, ESSEX,
SALISBURY, and others, with CHATILLON]
KING JOHN Now, say, Chatillon, what would France with us?
CHATILLON Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France
In my behavior to the majesty,
The borrow'd majesty, of England here.
QUEEN ELINOR A strange beginning: 'borrow'd majesty!'
KING JOHN Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.
CHATILLON Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim
To this fair island and the territories,
To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword
Which sways usurpingly these several titles,
And put these same into young Arthur's hand,
Thy nephew and right royal sovereign.
KING JOHN What follows if we disallow of this?
CHATILLON The proud control of fierce and bloody war,
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
KING JOHN Here have we war for war and blood for blood,
Controlment for controlment: so answer France.
CHATILLON Then take my king's defiance from my mouth,
The farthest limit of my embassy.
KING JOHN Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace:
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France;
For ere thou canst report I will be there,
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard:
So hence! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath
And sullen presage of your own decay.
An honourable conduct let him have:
Pembroke, look to 't. Farewell, Chatillon.
[Exeunt CHATILLON and PEMBROKE]
QUEEN ELINOR What now, my son! have I not ever said
How that ambitious Constance would not cease
Till she had kindled France and all the world,
Upon the right and party of her son?
This might have been prevented and made whole
With very easy arguments of love,
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.
KING JOHN Our strong possession and our right for us.
QUEEN ELINOR Your strong possession much more than your right,
Or else it must go wrong with you and me:
So much my conscience whispers in your ear,
Which none but heaven and you and I shall hear.
[Enter a Sheriff]
ESSEX My liege, here is the strangest controversy
Come from country to be judged by you,
That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?
KING JOHN Let them approach.
Our abbeys and our priories shall pay
This expedition's charge.
[Enter ROBERT and the BASTARD]
What men are you?
BASTARD Your faithful subject I, a gentleman
Born in Northamptonshire and eldest son,
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field.
KING JOHN What art thou?
ROBERT The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.
KING JOHN Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.
BASTARD Most certain of one mother, mighty king;
That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
But for the certain knowledge of that truth
I put you o'er to heaven and to my mother:
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.
QUEEN ELINOR Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother
And wound her honour with this diffidence.
BASTARD I, madam? no, I have no reason for it;
That is my brother's plea and none of mine;
The which if he can prove, a' pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
Heaven guard my mother's honour and my land!
KING JOHN A good blunt fellow. Why, being younger born,
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?
BASTARD I know not why, except to get the land.
But once he slander'd me with bastardy:
But whether I be as true begot or no,
That still I lay upon my mother's head,
But that I am as well begot, my liege,--
Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!--
Compare our faces and be judge yourself.
If old sir Robert did beget us both
And were our father and this son like him,
O old sir Robert, father, on my knee
I give heaven thanks I was not like to thee!
KING JOHN Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us here!
QUEEN ELINOR He hath a trick of Coeur-de-lion's face;
The accent of his tongue affecteth him.
Do you not read some tokens of my son
In the large composition of this man?
KING JOHN Mine eye hath well examined his parts
And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
What doth move you to claim your brother's land?
BASTARD Because he hath a half-face, like my father.
With half that face would he have all my land:
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year!
ROBERT My gracious liege, when that my father lived,
Your brother did employ my father much,--
BASTARD Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land:
Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother.
ROBERT And once dispatch'd him in an embassy
To Germany, there with the emperor
To treat of high affairs touching that time.
The advantage of his absence took the king
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's;
Where how he did prevail I shame to speak,
But truth is truth: large lengths of seas and shores
Between my father and my mother lay,
As I have heard my father speak himself,
When this same lusty gentleman was got.
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
His lands to me, and took it on his death
That this my mother's son was none of his;
And if he were, he came into the world
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
My father's land, as was my father's will.
KING JOHN Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him,
And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother,
Who, as you say, took pains to get this son,
Had of your father claim'd this son for his?
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
This calf bred from his cow from all the world;
In sooth he might; then, if he were my brother's,
My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
Being none of his, refuse him: this concludes;
My mother's son did get your father's heir;
Your father's heir must have your father's land.
ROBERT Shall then my father's will be of no force
To dispossess that child which is not his?
BASTARD Of no more force to dispossess me, sir,
Than was his will to get me, as I think.
QUEEN ELINOR Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land,
Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence and no land beside?
BASTARD Madam, an if my brother had my shape,
And I had his, sir Robert's his, like him;
And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
My arms such eel-skins stuff'd, my face so thin
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
Lest men should say 'Look, where three-farthings goes!'
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
Would I might never stir from off this place,
I would give it every foot to have this face;
I would not be sir Nob in any case.
QUEEN ELINOR I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?
I am a soldier and now bound to France.
BASTARD Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.
Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
Yet sell your face for five pence and 'tis dear.
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.
QUEEN ELINOR Nay, I would have you go before me thither.
BASTARD Our country manners give our betters way.
KING JOHN What is thy name?
BASTARD Philip, my liege, so is my name begun,
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.
KING JOHN From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bear'st:
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
Arise sir Richard and Plantagenet.
BASTARD Brother by the mother's side, give me your hand:
My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
Now blessed by the hour, by night or day,
When I was got, sir Robert was away!
QUEEN ELINOR The very spirit of Plantagenet!
I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.
BASTARD Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though?
Something about, a little from the right,
In at the window, or else o'er the hatch:
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night,
And have is have, however men do catch:
Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
And I am I, howe'er I was begot.
KING JOHN Go, Faulconbridge: now hast thou thy desire;
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
For France, for France, for it is more than need.
BASTARD Brother, adieu: good fortune come to thee!
For thou wast got i' the way of honesty.
[Exeunt all but BASTARD]
A foot of honour better than I was;
But many a many foot of land the worse.
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.
'Good den, sir Richard!'--'God-a-mercy, fellow!'--
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
'Tis too respective and too sociable
For your conversion. Now your traveller,
He and his toothpick at my worship's mess,
And when my knightly stomach is sufficed,
Why then I suck my teeth and catechise
My picked man of countries: 'My dear sir,'
Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,
'I shall beseech you'--t
KING HENRY VIII
the Eighth (KING HENRY VIII:)
CAPUCIUS Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V
CRANMER Archbishop of Canterbury.
DUKE OF NORFOLK (NORFOLK:)
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM (BUCKINGHAM:)
DUKE OF SUFFOLK (SUFFOLK:)
EARL OF SURREY (SURREY:)
Lord Chamberlain (Chamberlain:)
Lord Chancellor (Chancellor:)
GARDINER Bishop of Winchester.
Bishop of Lincoln. (LINCOLN:)
LORD ABERGAVENNY (ABERGAVENNY:)
LORD SANDS (SANDS:)
SIR THOMAS LOVELL (LOVELL:)
SIR ANTHONY DENNY (DENNY:)
SIR NICHOLAS VAUX (VAUX:)
Secretaries to Wolsey.
CROMWELL Servant to Wolsey.
GRIFFITH Gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine.
DOCTOR BUTTS Physician to the King.
Garter King-at-Arms. (Garter:)
Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. (Surveyor:)
A Sergeant-at-Arms. (Sergeant:)
Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter, (Porter:)
and his Man. (Man:)
Page to Gardiner. (Boy:)
A Crier. (Crier:)
QUEEN KATHARINE (QUEEN KATHARINE:) Wife to King Henry, afterwards
ANNE BULLEN (ANNE:) her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen. (QUEEN ANNE:)
An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. (Old Lady:)
PATIENCE woman to Queen Katharine.
Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women
attending upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards,
and other Attendants.
SCENE London; Westminster; Kimbolton
KING HENRY VIII
I come no more to make you laugh: things now,
That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
We now present. Those that can pity, here
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
The subject will deserve it. Such as give
Their money out of hope they may believe,
May here find truth too. Those that come to see
Only a show or two, and so agree
The play may pass, if they be still and willing,
I'll undertake may see away their shilling
Richly in two short hours. Only they
That come to hear a merry bawdy play,
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,
Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,
To rank our chosen truth with such a show
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,
To make that only true we now intend,
Will leave us never an understanding friend.
Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known
The first and happiest hearers of the town,
Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see
The very persons of our noble story
As they were living; think you see them great,
And follow'd with the general throng and sweat
Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see
How soon this mightiness meets misery:
And, if you can be merry then, I'll say
A man may weep upon his wedding-day.
KING HENRY VIII
SCENE I London. An ante-chamber in the palace.
[Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM
BUCKINGHAM Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
Since last we saw in France?
NORFOLK I thank your grace,
Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.
BUCKINGHAM An untimely ague
Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Andren.
NORFOLK 'Twixt Guynes and Arde:
I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
In their embracement, as they grew together;
Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd
Such a compounded one?
BUCKINGHAM All the whole time
I was my chamber's prisoner.
NORFOLK Then you lost
The view of earthly glory: men might say,
Till this time pomp was single, but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders its. To-day the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain India: every man that stood
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too,
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting: now this masque
Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them; him in eye,
Still him in praise: and, being present both
'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns--
For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis was believed.
BUCKINGHAM O, you go far.
NORFOLK As I belong to worship and affect
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing
Would by a good discourser lose some life,
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal;
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd.
Order gave each thing view; the office did
Distinctly his full function.
BUCKINGHAM Who did guide,
I mean, who set the body and the limbs
Of this great sport together, as you guess?
NORFOLK One, certes, that promises no element
In such a business.
BUCKINGHAM I pray you, who, my lord?
NORFOLK All this was order'd by the good discretion
Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.
BUCKINGHAM The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed
From his ambitious finger. What had he
To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder
That such a keech can with his very bulk
Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun
And keep it from the earth.
NORFOLK Surely, sir,
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
For eminent assistants; but, spider-like,
Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
The force of his own merit makes his way
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.
ABERGAVENNY I cannot tell
What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye
Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him: whence has he that,
If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,
Or has given all before, and he begins
A new hell in himself.
BUCKINGHAM Why the devil,
Upon this French going out, took he upon him,
Without the privity o' the king, to appoint
Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
Of all the gentry; for the most part such
To whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,
The honourable board of council out,
Must fetch him in the papers.
ABERGAVENNY I do know
Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sickened their estates, that never
They shall abound as formerly.
BUCKINGHAM O, many
Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em
For this great journey. What did this vanity
But minister communication of
A most poor issue?
NORFOLK Grievingly I think,
The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.
BUCKINGHAM Every man,
After the hideous storm that follow'd, was
A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
The sudden breach on't.
NORFOLK Which is budded out;
For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.
ABERGAVENNY Is it therefore
The ambassador is silenced?
NORFOLK Marry, is't.
ABERGAVENNY A proper title of a peace; and purchased
At a superfluous rate!
BUCKINGHAM Why, all this business
Our reverend cardinal carried.
NORFOLK Like it your grace,
The state takes notice of the private difference
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you--
And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
Honour and plenteous safety--that you read
The cardinal's malice and his potency
Together; to consider further that
What his high hatred would effect wants not
A minister in his power. You know his nature,
That he's revengeful, and I know his sword
Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said,
It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend,
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock
That I advise your shunning.
[Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him,
certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with
papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his
eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full
CARDINAL WOLSEY The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?
Where's his examination?
First Secretary Here, so please you.
CARDINAL WOLSEY Is he in person ready?
First Secretary Ay, please your grace.
CARDINAL WOLSEY Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham
Shall lessen this big look.
[Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train]
BUCKINGHAM This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
Outworths a noble's blood.
NORFOLK What, are you chafed?
Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only
Which your disease requires.
BUCKINGHAM I read in's looks
Matter against me; and his eye reviled
Me, as his abject object: at this instant
He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king;
I'll follow and outstare him.
NORFOLK Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first: anger is like
A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
Can advise me like you: be to yourself
As you would to your friend.
BUCKINGHAM I'll to the king;
And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim
There's difference in no persons.
NORFOLK Be advised;
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself: we may outrun,
KING HENRY V
KING HENRY the Fifth. (KING HENRY V)
DUKE OF GLOUCESTER (GLOUCESTER:) |
| brothers to the King.
DUKE OF BEDFORD (BEDFORD:) |
DUKE OF EXETER uncle to the King. (EXETER:)
DUKE OF YORK cousin to the King. (YORK:)
EARL OF SALISBURY (SALISBURY:)
EARL OF WARWICK (WARWICK:)
BISHOP OF ELY (ELY:)
EARL OF CAMBRIDGE (CAMBRIDGE:)
LORD SCROOP (SCROOP:)
SIR THOMAS GREY (GREY:)
THOMAS ERPINGHAM (ERPINGHAM:) |
FLUELLEN | Officers in King Henry's army.
COURT | soldiers in the same.
CHARLES the Sixth King of France. (KING OF FRANCE:) (FRENCH KING:)
LEWIS the Dauphin. (DAUPHIN:)
DUKE OF BURGUNDY (BURGUNDY:)
DUKE OF ORLEANS (ORLEANS:)
DUKE OF BOURBON (BOURBON:)
The Constable of France. (Constable:)
| French Lords.
GOVERNOR of Harfleur.
MONTJOY a French Herald.
Ambassadors to the King of England.
ISABEL Queen of France. (QUEEN ISABEL:)
KATHARINE daughter to Charles and Isabel.
ALICE a lady attending on her.
Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap formerly
Mistress Quickly, and now married to Pistol.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens,
Messengers, and Attendants. Chorus.
SCENE England; afterwards France.
KING HENRY V
Chorus O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire
Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
Attest in little place a million;
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces work.
Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide on man,
And make imaginary puissance;
Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,
Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.
KING HENRY V
SCENE I London. An ante-chamber in the KING'S palace.
[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP OF ELY]
CANTERBURY My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged,
Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd,
But that the scambling and unquiet time
Did push it out of farther question.
ELY But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?
CANTERBURY It must be thought on. If it pass against us,
We lose the better half of our possession:
For all the temporal lands which men devout
By testament have given to the church
Would they strip from us; being valued thus:
As much as would maintain, to the king's honour,
Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires;
And, to relief of lazars and weak age,
Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil.
A hundred almshouses right well supplied;
And to the coffers of the king beside,
A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill.
ELY This would drink deep.
CANTERBURY 'Twould drink the cup and all.
ELY But what prevention?
CANTERBURY The king is full of grace and fair regard.
ELY And a true lover of the holy church.
CANTERBURY The courses of his youth promised it not.
The breath no sooner left his father's body,
But that his wildness, mortified in him,
Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment
Consideration, like an angel, came
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him,
Leaving his body as a paradise,
To envelop and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made;
Never came reformation in a flood,
With such a heady currance, scouring faults
Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness
So soon did lose his seat and all at once
As in this king.
ELY We are blessed in the change.
CANTERBURY Hear him but reason in divinity,
And all-admiring with an inward wish
You would desire the king were made a prelate:
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You would say it hath been all in all his study:
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
A fearful battle render'd you in music:
Turn him to any cause of policy,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences;
So that the art and practic part of life
Must be the mistress to this theoric:
Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it,
Since his addiction was to courses vain,
His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow,
His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports,
And never noted in him any study,
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity.
ELY The strawberry grows underneath the nettle
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality:
And so the prince obscured his contemplation
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt,
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty.
CANTERBURY It must be so; for miracles are ceased;
And therefore we must needs admit the means
How things are perfected.
ELY But, my good lord,
How now for mitigation of this bill
Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty
Incline to it, or no?
CANTERBURY He seems indifferent,
Or rather swaying more upon our part
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us;
For I have made an offer to his majesty,
Upon our spiritual convocation
And in regard of causes now in hand,
Which I have open'd to his grace at large,
As touching France, to give a greater sum
Than ever at one time the clergy yet
Did to his predecessors part withal.
ELY How did this offer seem received, my lord?
CANTERBURY With good acceptance of his majesty;
Save that there was not time enough to hear,
As I perceived his grace would fain have done,
The severals and unhidden passages
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms
And generally to the crown and seat of France
Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather.
ELY What was the impediment that broke this off?
CANTERBURY The French ambassador upon that instant
Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come
To give him hearing: is it four o'clock?
ELY It is.
CANTERBURY Then go we in, to know his embassy;
Which I could with a ready guess declare,
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.
ELY I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it.
KING HENRY V
SCENE II The same. The Presence chamber.
[Enter KING HENRY V, GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER,
WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and Attendants]
KING HENRY V Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?
EXETER Not here in presence.
KING HENRY V Send for him, good uncle.
WESTMORELAND Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?
KING HENRY V Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved,
Before we hear him, of some things of weight
That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.
[Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, and the BISHOP of ELY]
CANTERBURY God and his angels guard your sacred throne
And make you long become it!
KING HENRY V Sure, we thank you.
My learned lord, we pray you to proceed
And justly and religiously unfold
Why the law Salique that they have in France
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim:
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,
Or nicely charge your understanding soul
With opening titles miscreate, whose right
Suits not in native colours with the truth;
For God doth know how many now in health
Shall drop their blood in approbation
Of what your reverence shall incite us to.
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,
How you awake our sleeping sword of war:
We charge you, in the name of God, take heed;
For never two such kingdoms did contend
Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint
'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords
That make such waste in brief mortality.
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord;
For we will hear, note and believe in heart
That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd
As pure as sin with baptism.
CANTERBURY Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,
That owe yourselves, your lives and services
To this imperial throne. There is no bar
To make against your highness' claim to France
But this, which they produce from Pharamond,
'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:'
'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:'
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar.
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
That the land Salique is in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;
Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons,
There left behind and settled certain French;
Who, holding in disdain the German women
For some dishonest manners of their life,
Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female
Should be inheritrix in Salique land:
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen.
Then doth it well appear that Salique law
Was not devised for the realm of France:
Nor did the French p
LEAR king of Britain (KING LEAR:)
KING OF FRANCE:
DUKE OF BURGUNDY (BURGUNDY:)
DUKE OF CORNWALL (CORNWALL:)
DUKE OF ALBANY (ALBANY:)
EARL OF KENT (KENT:)
EARL OF GLOUCESTER (GLOUCESTER:)
EDGAR son to Gloucester.
EDMUND bastard son to Gloucester.
CURAN a courtier.
Old Man tenant to Gloucester.
OSWALD steward to Goneril.
A Captain employed by Edmund. (Captain:)
Gentleman attendant on Cordelia. (Gentleman:)
Servants to Cornwall.
REGAN | daughters to Lear.
Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers,
Soldiers, and Attendants
SCENE I King Lear's palace.
[Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND]
KENT I thought the king had more affected the Duke of
Albany than Cornwall.
GLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now, in the
division of the kingdom, it appears not which of
the dukes he values most; for equalities are so
weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice
of either's moiety.
KENT Is not this your son, my lord?
GLOUCESTER His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have
so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am
brazed to it.
KENT I cannot conceive you.
GLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon
she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son
for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.
Do you smell a fault?
KENT I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it
being so proper.
GLOUCESTER But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year
elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account:
though this knave came something saucily into the
world before he was sent for, yet was his mother
fair; there was good sport at his making, and the
whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this
noble gentleman, Edmund?
EDMUND No, my lord.
GLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my
EDMUND My services to your lordship.
KENT I must love you, and sue to know you better.
EDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving.
GLOUCESTER He hath been out nine years, and away he shall
again. The king is coming.
[Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY,
GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants]
KING LEAR Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER I shall, my liege.
[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]
KING LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.
Give me the map there. Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,--
Since now we will divest us both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,--
Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.
GONERIL Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
As much as child e'er loved, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
CORDELIA [Aside] What shall Cordelia do?
Love, and be silent.
LEAR Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.
REGAN Sir, I am made
Of the self-same metal that my sister is,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short: that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses;
And find I am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.
CORDELIA [Aside] Then poor Cordelia!
And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.
KING LEAR To thee and thine hereditary ever
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy,
Although the last, not least; to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
CORDELIA Nothing, my lord.
KING LEAR Nothing!
KING LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.
CORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
According to my bond; nor more nor less.
KING LEAR How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,
Lest it may mar your fortunes.
CORDELIA Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.
KING LEAR But goes thy heart with this?
CORDELIA Ay, good my lord.
KING LEAR So young, and so untender?
CORDELIA So young, my lord, and true.
KING LEAR Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower:
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
By all the operation of the orbs
From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved,
As thou my sometime daughter.
KENT Good my liege,--
KING LEAR Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs?
Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughters' dowers digest this third:
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain
The name, and all the additions to a king;
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,
This coronet part betwixt you.
[Giving the crown]
KENT Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Loved as my father, as my master follow'd,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers,--
KING LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.
KENT Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man?
Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;
And, in thy best consideration, cheque
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.
KING LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more.
KENT My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.
KING LEAR Out of my sight!
KENT See better, Lear; and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye.
KING LEAR Now, by Apollo,--
KENT Now, by Apollo, king,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
KING LEAR O, vassal! miscreant!
[Laying his hand on his sword]
| Dear sir, forbear.
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom;
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee thou dost evil.
KING LEAR Hear me, recreant!
On thine allegiance, hear me!
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride
To come between our sentence and our power,
Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,
Our potency made good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee, for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world;
And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter,
This shall not be revoked.
KENT Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
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.
[Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE,
BURGUNDY, and Attendants]
GLOUCESTER Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
KING LEAR My lord of Burgundy.
We first address towards you, who with this king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love?
BURGUNDY Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than what your highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less.
KING LEAR Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands:
If aught within t
JULIUS CAESAR (CAESAR:)
OCTAVIUS CAESAR (OCTAVIUS:) |
MARCUS ANTONIUS (ANTONY:) | triumvirs after death of Julius Caesar.
M. AEMILIUS |
LEPIDUS (LEPIDUS:) |
PUBLIUS | senators.
POPILIUS LENA (POPILIUS:) |
MARCUS BRUTUS (BRUTUS:) |
| conspirators against Julius Caesar.
DECIUS BRUTUS |
METELLUS CIMBER |
Of Cnidos a teacher of rhetoric. (ARTEMIDORUS:)
A Soothsayer (Soothsayer:)
CINNA a poet. (CINNA THE POET:)
Another Poet (Poet:)
MESSALA | friends to Brutus and Cassius.
Young CATO (CATO:) |
| servants to Brutus.
PINDARUS servant to Cassius.
CALPURNIA wife to Caesar.
PORTIA wife to Brutus.
Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c.
SCENE Rome: the neighbourhood of Sardis: the neighbourhood
SCENE I Rome. A street.
[Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners]
FLAVIUS Hence! home, you idle creatures get you home:
Is this a holiday? what! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk
Upon a labouring day without the sign
Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?
First Commoner Why, sir, a carpenter.
MARULLUS Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
You, sir, what trade are you?
Second Commoner Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but,
as you would say, a cobbler.
MARULLUS But what trade art thou? answer me directly.
Second Commoner A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe
conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.
MARULLUS What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?
Second Commoner Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet,
if you be out, sir, I can mend you.
MARULLUS What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow!
Second Commoner Why, sir, cobble you.
FLAVIUS Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
Second Commoner Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I
meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's
matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon
to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I
recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon
neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork.
FLAVIUS But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?
Second Commoner Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself
into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday,
to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph.
MARULLUS Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The livelong day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Be gone!
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
FLAVIUS Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort;
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
[Exeunt all the Commoners]
See whether their basest metal be not moved;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I disrobe the images,
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
MARULLUS May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
FLAVIUS It is no matter; let no images
Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets:
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
Who else would soar above the view of men
And keep us all in servile fearfulness.
SCENE II A public place.
[Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course;
CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS,
CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among
them a Soothsayer]
CASCA Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.
CALPURNIA Here, my lord.
CAESAR Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
When he doth run his course. Antonius!
ANTONY Caesar, my lord?
CAESAR Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their sterile curse.
ANTONY I shall remember:
When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd.
CAESAR Set on; and leave no ceremony out.
CAESAR Ha! who calls?
CASCA Bid every noise be still: peace yet again!
CAESAR Who is it in the press that calls on me?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear.
Soothsayer Beware the ides of March.
CAESAR What man is that?
BRUTUS A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.
CAESAR Set him before me; let me see his face.
CASSIUS Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.
CAESAR What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.
Soothsayer Beware the ides of March.
CAESAR He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.
[Sennet. Exeunt all except BRUTUS and CASSIUS]
CASSIUS Will you go see the order of the course?
BRUTUS Not I.
CASSIUS I pray you, do.
BRUTUS I am not gamesome: I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
I'll leave you.
CASSIUS Brutus, I do observe you now of late:
I have not from your eyes that gentleness
And show of love as I was wont to have:
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.
Be not deceived: if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
Of late with passions of some difference,
Conceptions only proper to myself,
Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved--
Among which number, Cassius, be you one--
Nor construe any further my neglect,
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.
CASSIUS Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
BRUTUS No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.
CASSIUS 'Tis just:
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye,
That you might see your shadow. I have heard,
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
BRUTUS Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?
CASSIUS Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear:
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass,
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester; if you know
That I do fawn on men and hug them hard
And after scandal them, or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
[Flourish, and shout]
BRUTUS What means this shouting? I do fear, the people
Choose Caesar for their king.
CASSIUS Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.
BRUTUS I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honour in one eye and death i' the other,
And I will look on both indifferently,
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.
CASSIUS I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Caesar; so were you:
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he:
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me 'Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood,
And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
And bade him follow; so indeed he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy;
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Caesar cried 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!'
I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Caesar. And this man
Is now become a god, and Cassius is
A wretched creature and must bend his body,
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit
KING RICHARD II
KING RICHARD the Second. (KING RICHARD II:)
JOHN OF GAUNT Duke of Lancaster |
| uncles to the King.
EDMUND OF LANGLEY Duke of York (DUKE OF YORK:) |
BOLINGBROKE (HENRY BOLINGBROKE:) Duke of Hereford,
son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.
DUKE OF AUMERLE son to the Duke of York.
THOMAS MOWBRAY Duke of Norfolk.
DUKE OF SURREY:
EARL OF SALISBURY:
BAGOT | servants to King Richard.
OF NORTHUMBERLAND (NORTHUMBERLAND:)
surnamed HOTSPUR his son. (HENRY PERCY:)
BISHOP OF CARLISLE:
LORD MARSHAL (Lord Marshal:)
SIR STEPHEN SCROOP:
PIERCE OF EXTON (EXTON:)
Captain of a band of Welshmen. (Captain:)
to King Richard (QUEEN:)
DUCHESS OF YORK (DUCHESS OF YORK:)
OF GLOUCESTER (DUCHESS:)
Lady attending on the Queen. (Lady:)
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners,
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants. (Lord:)
SCENE England and Wales.
KING RICHARD II
SCENE I London. KING RICHARD II's palace.
[Enter KING RICHARD II, JOHN OF GAUNT, with other
Nobles and Attendants]
KING RICHARD II Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band,
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son,
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
JOHN OF GAUNT I have, my liege.
KING RICHARD II Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;
Or worthily, as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him?
JOHN OF GAUNT As near as I could sift him on that argument,
On some apparent danger seen in him
Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice.
KING RICHARD II Then call them to our presence; face to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser and the accused freely speak:
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
[Enter HENRY BOLINGBROKE and THOMAS MOWBRAY]
HENRY BOLINGBROKE Many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
THOMAS MOWBRAY Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!
KING RICHARD II We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come;
Namely to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
HENRY BOLINGBROKE First, heaven be the record to my speech!
In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor and a miscreant,
Too good to be so and too bad to live,
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move,
What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.
THOMAS MOWBRAY Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal:
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain;
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this:
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast
As to be hush'd and nought at all to say:
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech;
Which else would post until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and I spit at him;
Call him a slanderous coward and a villain:
Which to maintain I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I tied to run afoot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable,
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
Mean time let this defend my loyalty,
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage,
Disclaiming here the kindred of the king,
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
If guilty dread have left thee so much strength
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop:
By that and all the rites of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
THOMAS MOWBRAY I take it up; and by that sword I swear
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial:
And when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor or unjustly fight!
KING RICHARD II What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
It must be great that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true;
That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers,
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor and injurious villain.
Besides I say and will in battle prove,
Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge
That ever was survey'd by English eye,
That all the treasons for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in this land
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say and further will maintain
Upon his bad life to make all this good,
That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death,
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries,
And consequently, like a traitor coward,
Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me for justice and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
KING RICHARD II How high a pitch his resolution soars!
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
THOMAS MOWBRAY O, let my sovereign turn away his face
And bid his ears a little while be deaf,
Till I have told this slander of his blood,
How God and good men hate so foul a liar.
KING RICHARD II Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
As he is but my father's brother's son,
Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow,
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul:
He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou:
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.
THOMAS MOWBRAY Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest.
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais
Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers;
The other part reserved I by consent,
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt
Upon remainder of a dear account,
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen:
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death,
I slew him not; but to my own disgrace
Neglected my sworn duty in that case.
For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster,
The honourable father to my foe
Once did I lay an ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul
But ere I last received the sacrament
I did confess it, and exactly begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it.
This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd,
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor
Which in myself I boldly will defend;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot,
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom.
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.
KING RICHARD II Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood:
This we prescribe, though no physician;
Deep malice makes too deep incision;
Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed;
Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
Good uncle, let this end where it begun;
We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son.
JOHN OF GAUNT To be a make-peace shall become my age:
Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage.
KING RICHARD II And, Norfolk, throw down his.
JOHN OF GAUNT When, Harry, when?
Obedience bids I should not bid again.
KING RICHARD II Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot.
THOMAS MOWBRAY Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot.
My life thou shalt command, but not my shame:
The one my duty owes; but my fair name,
Despite of death that lives upon my grave,
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here,
Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear,
The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood
Which breathed this poison.
KING RICHARD II Rage must be withstood:
Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame.
THOMAS MOWBRAY Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame.
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation: that away,
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life; both grow in one:
Take honour from me, and my life is done:
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try;
In that I live and for that will I die.
KING RICHARD II Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin.
HENRY BOLINGBROKE O, God defend my soul from such deep sin!
Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue
Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear,
And spit it blee
KING RICHARD III
The Fourth (KING EDWARD IV:)
EDWARD Prince of Wales, (PRINCE EDWARD:) |
afterwards King Edward V., | sons to
| the King.
RICHARD Duke of York, (YORK:) |
GEORGE Duke of Clarence, (CLARENCE:) |
RICHARD Duke of Gloucester, (GLOUCESTER:) | Brothers to
afterwards King Richard III., | the King.
(KING RICHARD III:) |
A young son of Clarence. (Boy:)
HENRY Earl of Richmond, (RICHMOND:)
afterwards King Henry VII.
CARDINAL BOURCHIER Archbishop of Canterbury. (CARDINAL:)
THOMAS ROTHERHAM Archbishop of York. (ARCHBISHOP OF YORK:)
JOHN MORTON Bishop of Ely. (BISHOP OF ELY:)
DUKE of BUCKINGHAM (BUCKINGHAM:)
DUKE of NORFOLK (NORFOLK:)
EARL of SURREY His son. (SURREY:)
EARL RIVERS Brother to Elizabeth. (RIVERS:)
MARQUIS OF DORSET (DORSET:) |
| Sons to Elizabeth.
LORD GREY (GREY:) |
EARL of OXFORD (OXFORD:)
LORD HASTINGS (HASTINGS:)
LORD STANLEY (STANLEY:) Called also EARL of DERBY. (DERBY:)
LORD LOVEL (LOVEL:)
SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN (VAUGHAN:)
SIR JAMES TYRREL (TYRREL:)
SIR JAMES BLOUNT (BLOUNT:)
SIR WALTER HERBERT (HERBERT:)
BRAKENBURY Lieutenant of the Tower. (BRAKENBURY:)
URSWICK A priest. (CHRISTOPHER:)
Another Priest. (Priest:)
| Gentlemen attending on the Lady Anne.
BERKELEY | (Gentleman:)
Lord Mayor of London. (Lord Mayor:)
Sheriff of Wiltshire. (Sheriff:)
ELIZABETH Queen to King Edward IV. (QUEEN ELIZABETH:)
MARGARET Widow of King Henry VI. (QUEEN MARGARET:)
DUCHESS of YORK Mother to King Edward IV.
LADY ANNE Widow of Edward Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.;
afterwards married to Richard.
A young Daughter of Clarence [MARGARET PLANTAGENET] (Girl:)
Ghosts of those murdered by Richard III.,
Lords and other Attendants; a Pursuivant
Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers
(Ghost of Prince Edward:)
(Ghost of King Henry VI:)
(Ghost of CLARENCE:)
(Ghost of RIVERS:)
(Ghost of GREY:)
(Ghost of VAUGHAN:)
(Ghost of HASTING:)
(Ghosts of young Princes:)
(Ghost of LADY ANNE:)
(Ghost of BUCKINGHAM:)
KING RICHARD III
SCENE I London. A street.
[Enter GLOUCESTER, solus]
GLOUCESTER Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
[Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY]
Brother, good day; what means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?
CLARENCE His majesty
Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
GLOUCESTER Upon what cause?
CLARENCE Because my name is George.
GLOUCESTER Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
He should, for that, commit your godfathers:
O, belike his majesty hath some intent
That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?
CLARENCE Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest
As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.
And says a wizard told him that by G
His issue disinherited should be;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these
Have moved his highness to commit me now.
GLOUCESTER Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower:
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship,
Anthony Woodville, her brother there,
That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.
CLARENCE By heaven, I think there's no man is secure
But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
Lord hastings was to her for his delivery?
GLOUCESTER Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men and wear her livery:
The jealous o'erworn widow and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen.
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.
BRAKENBURY I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.
GLOUCESTER Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man: we say the king
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks:
How say you sir? Can you deny all this?
BRAKENBURY With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.
GLOUCESTER Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best he do it secretly, alone.
BRAKENBURY What one, my lord?
GLOUCESTER Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?
BRAKENBURY I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
CLARENCE We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
GLOUCESTER We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
And whatsoever you will employ me in,
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
CLARENCE I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
GLOUCESTER Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
Meantime, have patience.
CLARENCE I must perforce. Farewell.
[Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard]
GLOUCESTER Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?
HASTINGS Good time of day unto my gracious lord!
GLOUCESTER As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
Well are you welcome to the open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?
HASTINGS With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
That were the cause of my imprisonment.
GLOUCESTER No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;
For they that were your enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him as you.
HASTINGS More pity that the eagle should be mew'd,
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
GLOUCESTER What news abroad?
HASTINGS No news so bad abroad as this at home;
The King is sickly, weak and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.
GLOUCESTER Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And overmuch consumed his royal person:
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed?
HASTINGS He is.
GLOUCESTER Go you before, and I will follow you.
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fall not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends
Is to become her husband and her father:
The which will I; not all so much for love
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns:
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
KING RICHARD III
SCENE II The same. Another street.
[Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen
with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner]
LADY ANNE Set down, set down your honourable load,
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancast
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
VINCENTIO the Duke. (DUKE VINCENTIO:)
ESCALUS an ancient Lord.
CLAUDIO a young gentleman.
LUCIO a fantastic.
Two other gentlemen.
PETER (FRIAR PETER:) |
| two friars.
THOMAS (FRIAR THOMAS:) |
ELBOW a simple constable.
FROTH a foolish gentleman.
POMPEY servant to Mistress Overdone.
ABHORSON an executioner.
BARNARDINE a dissolute prisoner.
ISABELLA sister to Claudio.
MARIANA betrothed to Angelo.
JULIET beloved of Claudio.
FRANCISCA a nun.
MISTRESS OVERDONE a bawd.
Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendant.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
SCENE I An apartment in the DUKE'S palace.
[Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, ESCALUS, Lords and
DUKE VINCENTIO Escalus.
ESCALUS My lord.
DUKE VINCENTIO Of government the properties to unfold,
Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse;
Since I am put to know that your own science
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
My strength can give you: then no more remains,
But that to your sufficiency [ ]
[ ] as your Worth is able,
And let them work. The nature of our people,
Our city's institutions, and the terms
For common justice, you're as pregnant in
As art and practise hath enriched any
That we remember. There is our commission,
From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
I say, bid come before us Angelo.
[Exit an Attendant]
What figure of us think you he will bear?
For you must know, we have with special soul
Elected him our absence to supply,
Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,
And given his deputation all the organs
Of our own power: what think you of it?
ESCALUS If any in Vienna be of worth
To undergo such ample grace and honour,
It is Lord Angelo.
DUKE VINCENTIO Look where he comes.
ANGELO Always obedient to your grace's will,
I come to know your pleasure.
DUKE VINCENTIO Angelo,
There is a kind of character in thy life,
That to the observer doth thy history
Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings
Are not thine own so proper as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,
Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor,
Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech
To one that can my part in him advertise;
Hold therefore, Angelo:--
In our remove be thou at full ourself;
Mortality and mercy in Vienna
Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus,
Though first in question, is thy secondary.
Take thy commission.
ANGELO Now, good my lord,
Let there be some more test made of my metal,
Before so noble and so great a figure
Be stamp'd upon it.
DUKE VINCENTIO No more evasion:
We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
As time and our concernings shall importune,
How it goes with us, and do look to know
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well;
To the hopeful execution do I leave you
Of your commissions.
ANGELO Yet give leave, my lord,
That we may bring you something on the way.
DUKE VINCENTIO My haste may not admit it;
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
With any scruple; your scope is as mine own
So to enforce or qualify the laws
As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand:
I'll privily away. I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes:
Through it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause and Aves vehement;
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.
ANGELO The heavens give safety to your purposes!
ESCALUS Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!
DUKE I thank you. Fare you well.
ESCALUS I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
To have free speech with you; and it concerns me
To look into the bottom of my place:
A power I have, but of what strength and nature
I am not yet instructed.
ANGELO 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,
And we may soon our satisfaction have
Touching that point.
ESCALUS I'll wait upon your honour.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
SCENE II A Street.
[Enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]
LUCIO If the duke with the other dukes come not to
composition with the King of Hungary, why then all
the dukes fall upon the king.
First Gentleman Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of
Second Gentleman Amen.
LUCIO Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that
went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped
one out of the table.
Second Gentleman 'Thou shalt not steal'?
LUCIO Ay, that he razed.
First Gentleman Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain and
all the rest from their functions: they put forth
to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in
the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition
well that prays for peace.
Second Gentleman I never heard any soldier dislike it.
LUCIO I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where
grace was said.
Second Gentleman No? a dozen times at least.
First Gentleman What, in metre?
LUCIO In any proportion or in any language.
First Gentleman I think, or in any religion.
LUCIO Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all
controversy: as, for example, thou thyself art a
wicked villain, despite of all grace.
First Gentleman Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.
LUCIO I grant; as there may between the lists and the
velvet. Thou art the list.
First Gentleman And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou'rt
a three-piled piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief
be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou
art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak
LUCIO I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful
feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own
confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I
live, forget to drink after thee.
First Gentleman I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?
Second Gentleman Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free.
LUCIO Behold, behold. where Madam Mitigation comes! I
have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to--
Second Gentleman To what, I pray?
Second Gentleman To three thousand dolours a year.
First Gentleman Ay, and more.
LUCIO A French crown more.
First Gentleman Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou
art full of error; I am sound.
LUCIO Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound as
things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow;
impiety has made a feast of thee.
[Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE]
First Gentleman How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica?
MISTRESS OVERDONE Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried
to prison was worth five thousand of you all.
Second Gentleman Who's that, I pray thee?
MISTRESS OVERDONE Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.
First Gentleman Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.
MISTRESS OVERDONE Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw
him carried away; and, which is more, within these
three days his head to be chopped off.
LUCIO But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so.
Art thou sure of this?
MISTRESS OVERDONE I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam
Julietta with child.
LUCIO Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two
hours since, and he was ever precise in
Second Gentleman Besides, you know, it draws something near to the
speech we had to such a purpose.
First Gentleman But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation.
LUCIO Away! let's go learn the truth of it.
[Exeunt LUCIO and Gentlemen]
MISTRESS OVERDONE Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what
with the gallows and what with poverty, I am
How now! what's the news with you?
POMPEY Yonder man is carried to prison.
MISTRESS OVERDONE Well; what has he done?
POMPEY A woman.
MISTRESS OVERDONE But what's his offence?
POMPEY Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.
MISTRESS OVERDONE What, is there a maid with child by him?
POMPEY No, but there's a woman with maid by him. You have
not heard of the proclamation, have you?
MISTRESS OVERDONE What proclamation, man?
POMPEY All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down.
MISTRESS OVERDONE And what shall become of those in the city?
POMPEY They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too,
but that a wise burgher put in for them.
MISTRESS OVERDONE But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be
POMPEY To the ground, mistress.
MISTRESS OVERDONE Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth!
What shall become of me?
POMPEY Come; fear you not: good counsellors lack no
clients: though you change your place, you need not
change your trade; I'll be your tapster still.
Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that
have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you
will be considered.
MISTRESS OVERDONE What's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw.
POMPEY Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to
prison; and there's Madam Juliet.
[Enter Provost, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and Officers]
CLAUDIO Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world?
Bear me to prison, where I am committed.
Provost I do it not in evil disposition,
But from Lord Angelo by special charge.
CLAUDIO Thus can the demigod Authority
Make us pay down for our offence by weight
The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will;
On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.
[Re-enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]
LUCIO Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint?
CLAUDIO From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
As surfeit is the father of much fast,
So every scope by the immoderate
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.
Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age.
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.
'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged and newly deified.
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.
'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.
'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.
'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:
'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.
'Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:
'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.'
'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.
''All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.
''Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.
''Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.
''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.
''Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.
''Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by s
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST
FERDINAND king of Navarre.
LONGAVILLE | lords attending on the King.
| lords attending on the Princess of France.
ADRIANO DE ARMADO a fantastical Spaniard.
SIR NATHANIEL a curate.
HOLOFERNES a schoolmaster.
DULL a constable.
COSTARD a clown.
MOTH page to Armado.
The PRINCESS of France: (PRINCESS:)
MARIA | ladies attending on the Princess.
JAQUENETTA a country wench.
Lords, Attendants, &c.
LOVE'S LABOURS LOST
SCENE I The king of Navarre's park.
[Enter FERDINAND king of Navarre, BIRON, LONGAVILLE
FERDINAND Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs
And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
The endeavor of this present breath may buy
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave conquerors,--for so you are,
That war against your own affections
And the huge army of the world's desires,--
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes
That are recorded in this schedule here:
Your oaths are pass'd; and now subscribe your names,
That his own hand may strike his honour down
That violates the smallest branch herein:
If you are arm'd to do as sworn to do,
Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.
LONGAVILLE I am resolved; 'tis but a three years' fast:
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:
Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.
DUMAIN My loving lord, Dumain is mortified:
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves:
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;
With all these living in philosophy.
BIRON I can but say their protestation over;
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
That is, to live and study here three years.
But there are other strict observances;
As, not to see a woman in that term,
Which I hope well is not enrolled there;
And one day in a week to touch no food
And but one meal on every day beside,
The which I hope is not enrolled there;
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,
And not be seen to wink of all the day--
When I was wont to think no harm all night
And make a dark night too of half the day--
Which I hope well is not enrolled there:
O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!
FERDINAND Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these.
BIRON Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:
I only swore to study with your grace
And stay here in your court for three years' space.
LONGAVILLE You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.
BIRON By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.
What is the end of study? let me know.
FERDINAND Why, that to know, which else we should not know.
BIRON Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from common sense?
FERDINAND Ay, that is study's godlike recompense.
BIRON Come on, then; I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know:
As thus,--to study where I well may dine,
When I to feast expressly am forbid;
Or study where to meet some mistress fine,
When mistresses from common sense are hid;
Or, having sworn too hard a keeping oath,
Study to break it and not break my troth.
If study's gain be thus and this be so,
Study knows that which yet it doth not know:
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say no.
FERDINAND These be the stops that hinder study quite
And train our intellects to vain delight.
BIRON Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain,
Which with pain purchased doth inherit pain:
As, painfully to pore upon a book
To seek the light of truth; while truth the while
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look:
Light seeking light doth light of light beguile:
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed
By fixing it upon a fairer eye,
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed
And give him light that it was blinded by.
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun
That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks:
Small have continual plodders ever won
Save base authority from others' books
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights
That give a name to every fixed star
Have no more profit of their shining nights
Than those that walk and wot not what they are.
Too much to know is to know nought but fame;
And every godfather can give a name.
FERDINAND How well he's read, to reason against reading!
DUMAIN Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding!
LONGAVILLE He weeds the corn and still lets grow the weeding.
BIRON The spring is near when green geese are a-breeding.
DUMAIN How follows that?
BIRON Fit in his place and time.
DUMAIN In reason nothing.
BIRON Something then in rhyme.
FERDINAND Biron is like an envious sneaping frost,
That bites the first-born infants of the spring.
BIRON Well, say I am; why should proud summer boast
Before the birds have any cause to sing?
Why should I joy in any abortive birth?
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate.
FERDINAND Well, sit you out: go home, Biron: adieu.
BIRON No, my good lord; I have sworn to stay with you:
And though I have for barbarism spoke more
Than for that angel knowledge you can say,
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore
And bide the penance of each three years' day.
Give me the paper; let me read the same;
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.
FERDINAND How well this yielding rescues thee from shame!
BIRON [Reads] 'Item, That no woman shall come within a
mile of my court:' Hath this been proclaimed?
LONGAVILLE Four days ago.
BIRON Let's see the penalty.
'On pain of losing her tongue.' Who devised this penalty?
LONGAVILLE Marry, that did I.
BIRON Sweet lord, and why?
LONGAVILLE To fright them hence with that dread penalty.
BIRON A dangerous law against gentility!
'Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman
within the term of three years, he shall endure such
public shame as the rest of the court can possibly devise.'
This article, my liege, yourself must break;
For well you know here comes in embassy
The French king's daughter with yourself to speak--
A maid of grace and complete majesty--
About surrender up of Aquitaine
To her decrepit, sick and bedrid father:
Therefore this article is made in vain,
Or vainly comes the admired princess hither.
FERDINAND What say you, lords? Why, this was quite forgot.
BIRON So study evermore is overshot:
While it doth study to have what it would
It doth forget to do the thing it should,
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won as towns with fire, so won, so lost.
FERDINAND We must of force dispense with this decree;
She must lie here on mere necessity.
BIRON Necessity will make us all forsworn
Three thousand times within this three years' space;
For every man with his affects is born,
Not by might master'd but by special grace:
If I break faith, this word shall speak for me;
I am forsworn on 'mere necessity.'
So to the laws at large I write my name:
And he that breaks them in the least degree
Stands in attainder of eternal shame:
Suggestions are to other as to me;
But I believe, although I seem so loath,
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation granted?
FERDINAND Ay, that there is. Our court, you know, is haunted
With a refined traveller of Spain;
A man in all the world's new fashion planted,
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain;
One whom the music of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish like enchanting harmony;
A man of complements, whom right and wrong
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny:
This child of fancy, that Armado hight,
For interim to our studies shall relate
In high-born words the worth of many a knight
From tawny Spain lost in the world's debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.
BIRON Armado is a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight.
LONGAVILLE Costard the swain and he shall be our sport;
And so to study, three years is but short.
[Enter DULL with a letter, and COSTARD]
DULL Which is the duke's own person?
BIRON This, fellow: what wouldst?
DULL I myself reprehend his own person, for I am his
grace's tharborough: but I would see his own person
in flesh and blood.
BIRON This is he.
DULL Signior Arme--Arme--commends you. There's villany
abroad: this letter will tell you more.
COSTARD Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me.
FERDINAND A letter from the magnificent Armado.
BIRON How low soever the matter, I hope in God for high words.
LONGAVILLE A high hope for a low heaven: God grant us patience!
BIRON To hear? or forbear laughing?
LONGAVILLE To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh moderately; or to
BIRON Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us cause to
climb in the merriness.
COSTARD The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Jaquenetta.
The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner.
BIRON In what manner?
COSTARD In manner and form following, sir; all those three:
I was seen with her in the manor-house, sitting with
her upon the form, and taken following her into the
park; which, put together, is in manner and form
following. Now, sir, for the manner,--it is the
manner of a man to speak to a woman: for the form,--
in some form.
BIRON For the following, sir?
COSTARD As it shall follow in my correction: and God
DUNCAN king of Scotland.
| his sons.
| generals of the king's army.
| noblemen of Scotland.
FLEANCE son to Banquo.
SIWARD Earl of Northumberland, general of the English forces.
YOUNG SIWARD his son.
SEYTON an officer attending on Macbeth.
Boy, son to Macduff. (Son:)
An English Doctor. (Doctor:)
A Scotch Doctor. (Doctor:)
An Old Man
Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. (Gentlewoman:)
Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers,
Attendants, and Messengers. (Lord:)
SCENE Scotland: England.
SCENE I A desert place.
[Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches]
First Witch When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Second Witch When the hurlyburly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.
Third Witch That will be ere the set of sun.
First Witch Where the place?
Second Witch Upon the heath.
Third Witch There to meet with Macbeth.
First Witch I come, Graymalkin!
Second Witch Paddock calls.
Third Witch Anon.
ALL Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
SCENE II A camp near Forres.
[Alarum within. Enter DUNCAN, MALCOLM, DONALBAIN,
LENNOX, with Attendants, meeting a bleeding Sergeant]
DUNCAN What bloody man is that? He can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.
MALCOLM This is the sergeant
Who like a good and hardy soldier fought
'Gainst my captivity. Hail, brave friend!
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil
As thou didst leave it.
Sergeant Doubtful it stood;
As two spent swimmers, that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald--
Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
The multiplying villanies of nature
Do swarm upon him--from the western isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;
And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's too weak:
For brave Macbeth--well he deserves that name--
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel,
Which smoked with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion carved out his passage
Till he faced the slave;
Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.
DUNCAN O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!
Sergeant As whence the sun 'gins his reflection
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break,
So from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark:
No sooner justice had with valour arm'd
Compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of men
Began a fresh assault.
DUNCAN Dismay'd not this
Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?
As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As cannons overcharged with double cracks, so they
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorise another Golgotha,
I cannot tell.
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
DUNCAN So well thy words become thee as thy wounds;
They smack of honour both. Go get him surgeons.
[Exit Sergeant, attended]
Who comes here?
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.
SCENE III A heath near Forres.
[Thunder. Enter the three Witches]
First Witch Where hast thou been, sister?
Second Witch Killing swine.
Third Witch Sister, where thou?
First Witch A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap,
And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd:--
'Give me,' quoth I:
'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o' the Tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.
Second Witch I'll give thee a wind.
First Witch Thou'rt kind.
Third Witch And I another.
First Witch I myself have all the other,
And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that they know
I' the shipman's card.
I will drain him dry as hay:
Sleep shall neither night nor day
Hang upon his pent-house lid;
He shall live a man forbid:
Weary se'nnights nine times nine
Shall he dwindle, peak and pine:
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-tost.
Look what I have.
Second Witch Show me, show me.
First Witch Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd as homeward he did come.
Third Witch A drum, a drum!
Macbeth doth come.
ALL The weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land,
Thus do go about, about:
Thrice to thine and thrice to mine
And thrice again, to make up nine.
Peace! the charm's wound up.
[Enter MACBETH and BANQUO]
MACBETH So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
BANQUO How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these
So wither'd and so wild in their attire,
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question? You seem to understand me,
By each at once her chappy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
MACBETH Speak, if you can: what are you?
First Witch All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!
Second Witch All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!
Third Witch All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter!
BANQUO Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair? I' the name of truth,
Are ye fantastical, or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show? My noble partner
You greet with present grace and great prediction
Of noble having and of royal hope,
That he seems rapt withal: to me you speak not.
If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow and which will not,
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear
Your favours nor your hate.
First Witch Hail!
Second Witch Hail!
Third Witch Hail!
First Witch Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
Second Witch Not so happy, yet much happier.
Third Witch Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none:
So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo!
First Witch Banquo and Macbeth, all hail!
MACBETH Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more:
By Sinel's death I know I am thane of Glamis;
But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman; and to be king
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor. Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting? Speak, I charge you.
BANQUO The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?
MACBETH Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted
As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!
BANQUO Were such things here as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten on the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?
MACBETH Your children shall be kings.
BANQUO You shall be king.
MACBETH And thane of Cawdor too: went it not so?
BANQUO To the selfsame tune and words. Who's here?
[Enter ROSS and ANGUS]
ROSS The king hath happily received, Macbeth,
The news of thy success; and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend
Which should be thine or his: silenced with that,
In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day,
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make,
Strange images of death. As thick as hail
Came post with post; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,
And pour'd them down before him.
ANGUS We are sent
To give thee from our royal master thanks;
Only to herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.
ROSS And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor:
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane!
For it is thine.
BANQUO What, can the devil speak true?
MACBETH The thane of Cawdor lives: why do you dress me
In borrow'd robes?
ANGUS Who was the thane lives yet;
But under heavy judgment bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was combined
With those of Norway, or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage, or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not;
But treasons capital, confess'd and proved,
Have overthrown him.
MACBETH [Aside] Glamis, and thane of Cawdor!
The greatest is behind.
[To ROSS and ANGUS]
Thanks for your pains.
Do you not hope your children shall be kings,
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me
Promised no less to them?
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE
The DUKE OF VENICE. (DUKE:)
The PRINCE OF |
MOROCCO (MOROCCO:) |
| suitors to Portia.
The PRINCE OF |
ARRAGON (ARRAGON:) |
ANTONIO a merchant of Venice.
BASSANIO his friend, suitor likewise to Portia.
| friends to Antonio and Bassanio.
LORENZO in love with Jessica.
SHYLOCK a rich Jew.
TUBAL a Jew, his friend.
LAUNCELOT GOBBO the clown, servant to SHYLOCK. (LAUNCELOT:)
OLD GOBBO father to Launcelot. (GOBBO:)
LEONARDO servant to BASSANIO.
| servants to PORTIA.
PORTIA a rich heiress.
NERISSA her waiting-maid.
JESSICA daughter to SHYLOCK.
Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice,
Gaoler, Servants to Portia, and other Attendants.
SCENE Partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont,
the seat of PORTIA, on the Continent.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE
SCENE I Venice. A street.
[Enter ANTONIO, SALARINO, and SALANIO]
ANTONIO In sooth, I know not why I am so sad:
It wearies me; you say it wearies you;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn;
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me,
That I have much ado to know myself.
SALARINO Your mind is tossing on the ocean;
There, where your argosies with portly sail,
Like signiors and rich burghers on the flood,
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea,
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
That curtsy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
SALANIO Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind,
Peering in maps for ports and piers and roads;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me sad.
SALARINO My wind cooling my broth
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?
But tell not me; I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandise.
ANTONIO Believe me, no: I thank my fortune for it,
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted,
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year:
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad.
SALARINO Why, then you are in love.
ANTONIO Fie, fie!
SALARINO Not in love neither? Then let us say you are sad,
Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy
For you to laugh and leap and say you are merry,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus,
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time:
Some that will evermore peep through their eyes
And laugh like parrots at a bag-piper,
And other of such vinegar aspect
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
[Enter BASSANIO, LORENZO, and GRATIANO]
SALANIO Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kinsman,
Gratiano and Lorenzo. Fare ye well:
We leave you now with better company.
SALARINO I would have stay'd till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
ANTONIO Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
SALARINO Good morrow, my good lords.
BASSANIO Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when?
You grow exceeding strange: must it be so?
SALARINO We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio]
LORENZO My Lord Bassanio, since you have found Antonio,
We two will leave you: but at dinner-time,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
BASSANIO I will not fail you.
GRATIANO You look not well, Signior Antonio;
You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care:
Believe me, you are marvellously changed.
ANTONIO I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
GRATIANO Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?
Sleep when he wakes and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio--
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks--
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
O my Antonio, I do know of these
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo. Fare ye well awhile:
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.
LORENZO Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time:
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
GRATIANO Well, keep me company but two years moe,
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
ANTONIO Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear.
GRATIANO Thanks, i' faith, for silence is only commendable
In a neat's tongue dried and a maid not vendible.
[Exeunt GRATIANO and LORENZO]
ANTONIO Is that any thing now?
BASSANIO Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more
than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two
grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you
shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you
have them, they are not worth the search.
ANTONIO Well, tell me now what lady is the same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promised to tell me of?
BASSANIO 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance:
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is to come fairly off from the great debts
Wherein my time something too prodigal
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
I owe the most, in money and in love,
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburden all my plots and purposes
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
ANTONIO I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assured,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
BASSANIO In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way with more advised watch,
To find the other forth, and by adventuring both
I oft found both: I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much, and, like a wilful youth,
That which I owe is lost; but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both
Or bring your latter hazard back again
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
ANTONIO You know me well, and herein spend but time
To wind about my love with circumstance;
And out of doubt you do me now more wrong
In making question of my uttermost
Than if you had made waste of all I have:
Then do but say to me what I should do
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prest unto it: therefore, speak.
BASSANIO In Belmont is a lady richly left;
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word,
Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages:
Her name is Portia, nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia:
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors, and her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece;
Which makes her seat of Belmont Colchos' strand,
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
O my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
I have a mind presages me such thrift,
That I should questionless be fortunate!
ANTONIO Thou know'st that all my fortunes are at sea;
Neither have I money nor commodity
To raise a present sum: therefore go forth;
Try what my credit can in Venice do:
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go, presently inquire, and so will I,
Where money is, and I no question make
To have it of my trust or for my sake.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE
SCENE II: Belmont. A room in PORTIA'S house.
[Enter PORTIA and NERISSA]
PORTIA By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of
this great world.
NERISSA You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in
the same abundance as your good fortunes are: and
yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit
with too much as they that starve with nothing. It
is no mean happiness therefore, to be seated in the
mean: superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but
competency lives longer.
PORTIA Good sentences and well pronounced.
NERISSA They would be better, if well followed.
PORTIA If to do were as easy as to know what were good to
do, chapels had been churches and poor men's
cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that
follows his own instructions: I can easier teach
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the
twenty to follow mine o
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM
THESEUS Duke of Athens.
EGEUS father to Hermia.
| 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, betrothed to Theseus.
HERMIA daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander.
HELENA in love with Demetrius.
OBERON king of the fairies.
TITANIA queen of the fairies.
PUCK or Robin Goodfellow.
Other fairies attending their King and Queen.
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.
SCENE Athens, and a wood near it.
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM
SCENE I Athens. The palace of THESEUS.
[Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and
THESEUS Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame or a dowager
Long withering out a young man revenue.
HIPPOLYTA Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.
THESEUS Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
The pale companion is not for our pomp.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,
And won thy love, doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.
[Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS]
EGEUS Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!
THESEUS Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee?
EGEUS Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her.
Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,
This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
And interchanged love-tokens with my child:
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
With feigning voice verses of feigning love,
And stolen the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth:
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart,
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,
To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,
Be it so she; will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,
As she is mine, I may dispose of her:
Which shall be either to this gentleman
Or to her death, according to our law
Immediately provided in that case.
THESEUS What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:
To you your father should be as a god;
One that composed your beauties, yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted and within his power
To leave the figure or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.
HERMIA So is Lysander.
THESEUS In himself he is;
But in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
The other must be held the worthier.
HERMIA I would my father look'd but with my eyes.
THESEUS Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.
HERMIA I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my modesty,
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.
THESEUS Either to die the death or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun,
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,
Than that which withering on the virgin thorn
Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.
HERMIA So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
Ere I will my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.
THESEUS Take time to pause; and, by the nest new moon--
The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
For everlasting bond of fellowship--
Upon that day either prepare to die
For disobedience to your father's will,
Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;
Or on Diana's altar to protest
For aye austerity and single life.
DEMETRIUS Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield
Thy crazed title to my certain right.
LYSANDER You have her father's love, Demetrius;
Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.
EGEUS Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,
And what is mine my love shall render him.
And she is mine, and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.
LYSANDER I am, my lord, as well derived as he,
As well possess'd; my love is more than his;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,
If not with vantage, as Demetrius';
And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:
Why should not I then prosecute my right?
Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,
Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,
Upon this spotted and inconstant man.
THESEUS I must confess that I have heard so much,
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;
But, being over-full of self-affairs,
My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;
And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,
I have some private schooling for you both.
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father's will;
Or else the law of Athens yields you up--
Which by no means we may extenuate--
To death, or to a vow of single life.
Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?
Demetrius and Egeus, go along:
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.
EGEUS With duty and desire we follow you.
[Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA]
LYSANDER How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
HERMIA Belike for want of rain, which I could well
Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.
LYSANDER Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth;
But, either it was different in blood,--
HERMIA O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low.
LYSANDER Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--
HERMIA O spite! too old to be engaged to young.
LYSANDER Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--
HERMIA O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.
LYSANDER Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentany as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,
And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'
The jaws of darkness do devour it up:
So quick bright things come to confusion.
HERMIA If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers.
LYSANDER A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child:
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;
And she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.
HERMIA My good Lysander!
I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow,
By his best arrow with the golden head,
By the simplicity of Venus' doves,
By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,
And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen,
When the false Troyan under sail was seen,
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke,
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
LYSANDER Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.
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 w
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE
ANTIOCHUS king of Antioch.
PERICLES prince of Tyre.
| two lords of Tyre.
SIMONIDES king of Pentapolis.
CLEON governor of Tarsus.
LYSIMACHUS governor of Mytilene.
CERIMON a lord of Ephesus.
THALIARD a lord of Antioch.
PHILEMON servant to Cerimon.
LEONINE servant to Dionyza.
A Pandar. (Pandar:)
BOULT his servant.
The Daughter of Antiochus. (Daughter:)
DIONYZA wife to Cleon.
THAISA daughter to Simonides.
MARINA daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.
LYCHORIDA nurse to Marina.
A Bawd. (Bawd:)
Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates,
Fishermen, and Messengers. (Lord:)
GOWER as Chorus.
SCENE Dispersedly in various countries.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE
[Before the palace of Antioch]
To sing a song that old was sung,
From ashes ancient Gower is come;
Assuming man's infirmities,
To glad your ear, and please your eyes.
It hath been sung at festivals,
On ember-eves and holy-ales;
And lords and ladies in their lives
Have read it for restoratives:
The purchase is to make men glorious;
Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius.
If you, born in these latter times,
When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes.
And that to hear an old man sing
May to your wishes pleasure bring
I life would wish, and that I might
Waste it for you, like taper-light.
This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great
Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat:
The fairest in all Syria,
I tell you what mine authors say:
This king unto him took a fere,
Who died and left a female heir,
So buxom, blithe, and full of face,
As heaven had lent her all his grace;
With whom the father liking took,
And her to incest did provoke:
Bad child; worse father! to entice his own
To evil should be done by none:
But custom what they did begin
Was with long use account no sin.
The beauty of this sinful dame
Made many princes thither frame,
To seek her as a bed-fellow,
In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:
Which to prevent he made a law,
To keep her still, and men in awe,
That whoso ask'd her for his wife,
His riddle told not, lost his life:
So for her many a wight did die,
As yon grim looks do testify.
What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye
I give, my cause who best can justify.
PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE
SCENE I Antioch. A room in the palace.
[Enter ANTIOCHUS, Prince PERICLES, and followers]
ANTIOCHUS Young prince of Tyre, you have at large received
The danger of the task you undertake.
PERICLES I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,
Think death no hazard in this enterprise.
ANTIOCHUS Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,
For the embracements even of Jove himself;
At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd,
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,
The senate-house of planets all did sit,
To knit in her their best perfections.
[Music. Enter the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]
PERICLES See where she comes, apparell'd like the spring,
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
Of every virtue gives renown to men!
Her face the book of praises, where is read
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence
Sorrow were ever razed and testy wrath
Could never be her mild companion.
You gods that made me man, and sway in love,
That have inflamed desire in my breast
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,
Or die in the adventure, be my helps,
As I am son and servant to your will,
To compass such a boundless happiness!
ANTIOCHUS Prince Pericles,--
PERICLES That would be son to great Antiochus.
ANTIOCHUS Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,
With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:
Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view
Her countless glory, which desert must gain;
And which, without desert, because thine eye
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.
Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire,
Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,
That without covering, save yon field of stars,
Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist
For going on death's net, whom none resist.
PERICLES Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught
My frail mortality to know itself,
And by those fearful objects to prepare
This body, like to them, to what I must;
For death remember'd should be like a mirror,
Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.
I'll make my will then, and, as sick men do
Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,
Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;
So I bequeath a happy peace to you
And all good men, as every prince should do;
My riches to the earth from whence they came;
But my unspotted fire of love to you.
[To the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]
Thus ready for the way of life or death,
I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.
ANTIOCHUS Scorning advice, read the conclusion then:
Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed,
As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.
Daughter Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!
Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness!
PERICLES Like a bold champion, I assume the lists,
Nor ask advice of any other thought
But faithfulness and courage.
[He reads the riddle]
I am no viper, yet I feed
On mother's flesh which did me breed.
I sought a husband, in which labour
I found that kindness in a father:
He's father, son, and husband mild;
I mother, wife, and yet his child.
How they may be, and yet in two,
As you will live, resolve it you.
Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers
That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts,
Why cloud they not their sights perpetually,
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?
Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,
[Takes hold of the hand of the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]
Were not this glorious casket stored with ill:
But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt
For he's no man on whom perfections wait
That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate.
You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;
Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music,
Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to hearken:
But being play'd upon before your time,
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime.
Good sooth, I care not for you.
ANTIOCHUS Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life.
For that's an article within our law,
As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expired:
Either expound now, or receive your sentence.
PERICLES Great king,
Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.
Who has a book of all that monarchs do,
He's more secure to keep it shut than shown:
For vice repeated is like the wandering wind.
Blows dust in other's eyes, to spread itself;
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear:
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts
Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd
By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die for't.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's
And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?
It is enough you know; and it is fit,
What being more known grows worse, to smother it.
All love the womb that their first being bred,
Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.
ANTIOCHUS [Aside] Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found
But I will gloze with him.--Young prince of Tyre,
Though by the tenor of our strict edict,
Your exposition misinterpreting,
We might proceed to cancel of your days;
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:
Forty days longer we do respite you;
If by which time our secret be undone,
This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son:
And until then your entertain shall be
As doth befit our honour and your worth.
[Exeunt all but PERICLES]
PERICLES How courtesy would seem to cover sin,
When what is done is like an hypocrite,
The which is good in nothing but in sight!
If it be true that I interpret false,
Then were it certain you were not so bad
As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
Where now you're both a father and a son,
By your untimely claspings with your child,
Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father;
And she an eater of her mother's flesh,
By the defiling of her parent's bed;
And both like serpents are, who though they feed
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.
Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men
Blush not in actions blacker than the night,
Will shun no course to keep them from the light.
One sin, I know, another doth provoke;
Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke:
Poison and treason are the hands of sin,
Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:
Then, lest my lie be cropp'd to keep you clear,
By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear.
ANTIOCHUS He hath found the meaning, for which we mean
To have his head.
He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,
Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin
In such a loathed manner;
And therefore instantly this prince must die:
For by his fall my honour must keep high.
Who attends us there?
THALIARD Doth your highness call?
You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes
Her private actions to your secrecy;
And for your faithfulness we will advance you.
Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;
We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:
It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
Because we bid it. Say, is it done?
THALIARD My lord,
[Enter a Messenger]
Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.
Messenger My lord, prince Pericles is fled.
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
SIR JOHN FALSTAFF (FALSTAFF:)
FENTON a gentleman.
SHALLOW a country justice.
SLENDER cousin to Shallow.
| two gentlemen dwelling at Windsor.
WILLIAM PAGE a boy, son to Page.
SIR HUGH EVANS a Welsh parson.
DOCTOR CAIUS a French physician.
Host of the Garter Inn. (Host:)
PISTOL | sharpers attending on Falstaff.
ROBIN page to Falstaff.
SIMPLE servant to Slender.
RUGBY servant to Doctor Caius.
ANNE PAGE her daughter.
MISTRESS QUICKLY servant to Doctor Caius.
Servants to Page, Ford, &c.
SCENE Windsor, and the neighbourhood.
THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
SCENE I Windsor. Before PAGE's house.
[Enter SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]
SHALLOW Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star-
chamber matter of it: if he were twenty Sir John
Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire.
SLENDER In the county of Gloucester, justice of peace and
SHALLOW Ay, cousin Slender, and 'Custalourum.
SLENDER Ay, and 'Rato-lorum' too; and a gentleman born,
master parson; who writes himself 'Armigero,' in any
bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, 'Armigero.'
SHALLOW Ay, that I do; and have done any time these three
SLENDER All his successors gone before him hath done't; and
all his ancestors that come after him may: they may
give the dozen white luces in their coat.
SHALLOW It is an old coat.
SIR HUGH EVANS The dozen white louses do become an old coat well;
it agrees well, passant; it is a familiar beast to
man, and signifies love.
SHALLOW The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is an old coat.
SLENDER I may quarter, coz.
SHALLOW You may, by marrying.
SIR HUGH EVANS It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.
SHALLOW Not a whit.
SIR HUGH EVANS Yes, py'r lady; if he has a quarter of your coat,
there is but three skirts for yourself, in my
simple conjectures: but that is all one. If Sir
John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto
you, I am of the church, and will be glad to do my
benevolence to make atonements and compremises
SHALLOW The council shall bear it; it is a riot.
SIR HUGH EVANS It is not meet the council hear a riot; there is no
fear of Got in a riot: the council, look you, shall
desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear a
riot; take your vizaments in that.
SHALLOW Ha! o' my life, if I were young again, the sword
should end it.
SIR HUGH EVANS It is petter that friends is the sword, and end it:
and there is also another device in my prain, which
peradventure prings goot discretions with it: there
is Anne Page, which is daughter to Master Thomas
Page, which is pretty virginity.
SLENDER Mistress Anne Page? She has brown hair, and speaks
small like a woman.
SIR HUGH EVANS It is that fery person for all the orld, as just as
you will desire; and seven hundred pounds of moneys,
and gold and silver, is her grandsire upon his
death's-bed--Got deliver to a joyful resurrections!
--give, when she is able to overtake seventeen years
old: it were a goot motion if we leave our pribbles
and prabbles, and desire a marriage between Master
Abraham and Mistress Anne Page.
SLENDER Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred pound?
SIR HUGH EVANS Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.
SLENDER I know the young gentlewoman; she has good gifts.
SIR HUGH EVANS Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is goot gifts.
SHALLOW Well, let us see honest Master Page. Is Falstaff there?
SIR HUGH EVANS Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do
despise one that is false, or as I despise one that
is not true. The knight, Sir John, is there; and, I
beseech you, be ruled by your well-willers. I will
peat the door for Master Page.
What, hoa! Got pless your house here!
PAGE [Within] Who's there?
SIR HUGH EVANS Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and Justice
Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that
peradventures shall tell you another tale, if
matters grow to your likings.
PAGE I am glad to see your worships well.
I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow.
SHALLOW Master Page, I am glad to see you: much good do it
your good heart! I wished your venison better; it
was ill killed. How doth good Mistress Page?--and I
thank you always with my heart, la! with my heart.
PAGE Sir, I thank you.
SHALLOW Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do.
PAGE I am glad to see you, good Master Slender.
SLENDER How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I heard say he
was outrun on Cotsall.
PAGE It could not be judged, sir.
SLENDER You'll not confess, you'll not confess.
SHALLOW That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 'tis your fault;
'tis a good dog.
PAGE A cur, sir.
SHALLOW Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog: can there be
more said? he is good and fair. Is Sir John
PAGE Sir, he is within; and I would I could do a good
office between you.
SIR HUGH EVANS It is spoke as a Christians ought to speak.
SHALLOW He hath wronged me, Master Page.
PAGE Sir, he doth in some sort confess it.
SHALLOW If it be confessed, it is not redress'd: is not that
so, Master Page? He hath wronged me; indeed he
hath, at a word, he hath, believe me: Robert
Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wronged.
PAGE Here comes Sir John.
[Enter FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, NYM, and PISTOL]
FALSTAFF Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to the king?
SHALLOW Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer, and
broke open my lodge.
FALSTAFF But not kissed your keeper's daughter?
SHALLOW Tut, a pin! this shall be answered.
FALSTAFF I will answer it straight; I have done all this.
That is now answered.
SHALLOW The council shall know this.
FALSTAFF 'Twere better for you if it were known in counsel:
you'll be laughed at.
SIR HUGH EVANS Pauca verba, Sir John; goot worts.
FALSTAFF Good worts! good cabbage. Slender, I broke your
head: what matter have you against me?
SLENDER Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against you;
and against your cony-catching rascals, Bardolph,
Nym, and Pistol.
BARDOLPH You Banbury cheese!
SLENDER Ay, it is no matter.
PISTOL How now, Mephostophilus!
SLENDER Ay, it is no matter.
NYM Slice, I say! pauca, pauca: slice! that's my humour.
SLENDER Where's Simple, my man? Can you tell, cousin?
SIR HUGH EVANS Peace, I pray you. Now let us understand. There is
three umpires in this matter, as I understand; that
is, Master Page, fidelicet Master Page; and there is
myself, fidelicet myself; and the three party is,
lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter.
PAGE We three, to hear it and end it between them.
SIR HUGH EVANS Fery goot: I will make a prief of it in my note-
book; and we will afterwards ork upon the cause with
as great discreetly as we can.
PISTOL He hears with ears.
SIR HUGH EVANS The tevil and his tam! what phrase is this, 'He
hears with ear'? why, it is affectations.
FALSTAFF Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's purse?
SLENDER Ay, by these gloves, did he, or I would I might
never come in mine own great chamber again else, of
seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Edward
shovel-boards, that cost me two shilling and two
pence apiece of Yead Miller, by these gloves.
FALSTAFF Is this true, Pistol?
SIR HUGH EVANS No; it is false, if it is a pick-purse.
PISTOL Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sir John and Master mine,
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo.
Word of denial in thy labras here!
Word of denial: froth and scum, thou liest!
SLENDER By these gloves, then, 'twas he.
NYM Be avised, sir, and pass good humours: I will say
'marry trap' with you, if you run the nuthook's
humour on me; that is the very note of it.
SLENDER By this hat, then, he in the red face had it; for
though I cannot remember what I did when you made me
drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.
FALSTAFF What say you, Scarlet and John?
BARDOLPH Why, sir, for my part I say the gentleman had drunk
himself out of his five sentences.
SIR HUGH EVANS It is his five senses: fie, what the ignorance is!
BARDOLPH And being fap, sir, was, as they say, cashiered; and
so conclusions passed the careires.
SLENDER Ay, you spake in Latin then too; but 'tis no
matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again,
but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick:
if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have
the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves.
SIR HUGH EVANS So Got udge me, that is a virtuous mind.
FALSTAFF You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen; you hear it.
[Enter ANNE PAGE, with wine; MISTRESS FORD
and MISTRESS PAGE, following]
PAGE Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll drink within.
[Exit ANNE PAGE]
SLENDER O heaven! this is Mistress Anne Page.
PAGE How now, Mistress Ford!
FALSTAFF Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well met:
by your leave, good mistress.
PAGE Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome. Come, we have a
hot venison pasty to dinner: come, gentlemen, I hope
we shall drink down all unkindness.
[Exeunt all except SHALLOW, SLENDER, and SIR HUGH EVANS]
SLENDER I had rather than forty shillings I had my Book of
Songs and Sonnets here.
How now, Simple! where have you been? I must wait
on myself, must I? You have not the Book of Riddles
about you, have you?
SIMPLE Book of Riddles! why, did you not lend it to Alice
Shortcake upon All-hallowmas last, a fortnight
SHALLOW Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. A word with
you, coz; marry, this, coz: there is, as 'twere, a
tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by Sir Hugh
here. Do you understand me?
SLENDER Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; if it be so,
I shall do that that is reason.
SHALLOW Nay, but understand me.
SLENDER So I do, sir.
SIR HUGH EVANS Give ear to his motions, Master Slender: I will
description the matter to you, if you be capacity of it.
SLENDER Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says: I pray
you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in his
country, simple though I stand here.
SIR HUGH EVANS But that is not the question: the
DUKE OF VENICE:
BRABANTIO a senator.
GRATIANO brother to Brabantio.
LODOVICO kinsman to Brabantio.
OTHELLO a noble Moor in the service of the Venetian state.
CASSIO his lieutenant.
IAGO his ancient.
RODERIGO a Venetian gentleman.
MONTANO Othello's predecessor in the government of Cyprus.
Clown, servant to Othello. (Clown:)
DESDEMONA daughter to Brabantio and wife to Othello.
EMILIA wife to Iago.
BIANCA mistress to Cassio.
Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Gentlemen,
Musicians, and Attendants.
SCENE Venice: a Sea-port in Cyprus.
SCENE I Venice. A street.
[Enter RODERIGO and IAGO]
RODERIGO Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.
IAGO 'Sblood, but you will not hear me:
If ever I did dream of such a matter, Abhor me.
RODERIGO Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.
IAGO Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he; as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion,
Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,
'I have already chose my officer.'
And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows
More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose
As masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds
Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'd
By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I--God bless the mark!--his Moorship's ancient.
RODERIGO By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
IAGO Why, there's no remedy; 'tis the curse of service,
Preferment goes by letter and affection,
And not by old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just term am affined
To love the Moor.
RODERIGO I would not follow him then.
IAGO O, sir, content you;
I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd:
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them and when they have lined
Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
RODERIGO What a full fortune does the thicklips owe
If he can carry't thus!
IAGO Call up her father,
Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,
And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.
RODERIGO Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.
IAGO Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.
RODERIGO What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!
IAGO Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter and your bags!
[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 heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
Is topping your white ewe. Arise, arise;
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
Arise, I say.
BRABANTIO What, have you lost your wits?
RODERIGO Most reverend signior, do you know my voice?
BRABANTIO Not I what are you?
RODERIGO My name is Roderigo.
BRABANTIO The worser welcome:
I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness,
Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
To start my quiet.
RODERIGO Sir, sir, sir,--
BRABANTIO But thou must needs be sure
My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.
RODERIGO Patience, good sir.
BRABANTIO What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;
My house is not a grange.
RODERIGO Most grave Brabantio,
In simple and pure soul I come to you.
IAGO 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not
serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to
do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll
have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse;
you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have
coursers for cousins and gennets for germans.
BRABANTIO What profane wretch art thou?
IAGO I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter
and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.
BRABANTIO Thou art a villain.
IAGO You are--a senator.
BRABANTIO This thou shalt answer; I know thee, Roderigo.
RODERIGO Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you,
If't be your pleasure and most wise consent,
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
Transported, with no worse nor better guard
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor--
If this be known to you and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
But if you know not this, my manners tell me
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
That, from the sense of all civility,
I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,
I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger
Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:
If she be in her chamber or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you.
BRABANTIO Strike on the tinder, ho!
Give me a taper! call up all my people!
This accident is not unlike my dream:
Belief of it oppresses me already.
Light, I say! light!
IAGO Farewell; for I must leave you:
It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
To be produced--as, if I stay, I shall--
Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,
However this may gall him with some cheque,
Cannot with safety cast him, for he's embark'd
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars,
Which even now stand in act, that, for their souls,
Another of his fathom they have none,
To lead their business: in which regard,
Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains.
Yet, for necessity of present life,
I must show out a flag and sign of love,
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;
And there will I be with him. So, farewell.
[Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches]
BRABANTIO It is too true an evil: gone she is;
And what's to come of my despised time
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl!
With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!
How didst thou know 'twas she? O she deceives me
Past thought! What said she to you? Get more tapers:
Raise all my kindred. Are they married, think you?
RODERIGO Truly, I think they are.
BRABANTIO O heaven! How got she out? O treason of the blood!
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds
By what you see them act. Is there not charms
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing?
RODERIGO Yes, sir, I have indeed.
BRABANTIO Call up my brother. O, would you had had her!
Some one way, some another. Do you know
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
RODERIGO I think I can discover him, if you please,
To get good guard and go along with me.
BRABANTIO Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call;
I may command at most. Get weapons, ho!
And raise some special officers of night.
On, good Roderigo: I'll deserve your pains.
SCENE II Another street.
[Enter OTHELLO, IAGO, and Attendants with torches]
IAGO Though in the trade of war I have slain men,
Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience
To do no contrived murder: I lack iniquity
Sometimes to do me service: nine or ten times
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs.
OTHELLO 'Tis better as it is.
IAGO Nay, but he prated,
And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms
Against your honour
That, with the little godliness I have,
I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray you, sir,
Are you fast married? Be assured of this,
That the magnifico is much beloved,
And hath in his effect a voice potential
As double as the duke's: he will divorce you;
Or put upon you what restraint and
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
DON PEDRO prince of Arragon.
DON JOHN his bastard brother.
CLAUDIO a young lord of Florence.
BENEDICK a young lord of Padua.
LEONATO governor of Messina.
ANTONIO his brother.
BALTHASAR attendant on Don Pedro.
| followers of Don John.
DOGBERRY a constable.
VERGES a headborough.
HERO daughter to Leonato.
BEATRICE niece to Leonato.
| gentlewomen attending on Hero.
Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. (Lord:)
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
SCENE I Before LEONATO'S house.
[Enter LEONATO, HERO, and BEATRICE, with a
LEONATO I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon
comes this night to Messina.
Messenger He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off
when I left him.
LEONATO How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?
Messenger But few of any sort, and none of name.
LEONATO A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings
home full numbers. I find here that Don Peter hath
bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio.
Messenger Much deserved on his part and equally remembered by
Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the
promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb,
the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better
bettered expectation than you must expect of me to
tell you how.
LEONATO He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much
glad of it.
Messenger I have already delivered him letters, and there
appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could
not show itself modest enough without a badge of
LEONATO Did he break out into tears?
Messenger In great measure.
LEONATO A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces
truer than those that are so washed. How much
better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!
BEATRICE I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the
wars or no?
Messenger I know none of that name, lady: there was none such
in the army of any sort.
LEONATO What is he that you ask for, niece?
HERO My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.
Messenger O, he's returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.
BEATRICE He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged
Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's fool, reading
the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged
him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he
killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath
he killed? for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.
LEONATO Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much;
but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.
Messenger He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.
BEATRICE You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it:
he is a very valiant trencherman; he hath an
Messenger And a good soldier too, lady.
BEATRICE And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord?
Messenger A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all
BEATRICE It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man:
but for the stuffing,--well, we are all mortal.
LEONATO You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a
kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her:
they never meet but there's a skirmish of wit
BEATRICE Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last
conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and
now is the whole man governed with one: so that if
he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him
bear it for a difference between himself and his
horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left,
to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his
companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.
Messenger Is't possible?
BEATRICE Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as
the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the
Messenger I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.
BEATRICE No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray
you, who is his companion? Is there no young
squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?
Messenger He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.
BEATRICE O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he
is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker
runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! if
he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a
thousand pound ere a' be cured.
Messenger I will hold friends with you, lady.
BEATRICE Do, good friend.
LEONATO You will never run mad, niece.
BEATRICE No, not till a hot January.
Messenger Don Pedro is approached.
[Enter DON PEDRO, DON JOHN, CLAUDIO, BENEDICK,
DON PEDRO Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your
trouble: the fashion of the world is to avoid
cost, and you encounter it.
LEONATO Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of
your grace: for trouble being gone, comfort should
remain; but when you depart from me, sorrow abides
and happiness takes his leave.
DON PEDRO You embrace your charge too willingly. I think this
is your daughter.
LEONATO Her mother hath many times told me so.
BENEDICK Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her?
LEONATO Signior Benedick, no; for then were you a child.
DON PEDRO You have it full, Benedick: we may guess by this
what you are, being a man. Truly, the lady fathers
herself. Be happy, lady; for you are like an
BENEDICK If Signior Leonato be her father, she would not
have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as
like him as she is.
BEATRICE I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior
Benedick: nobody marks you.
BENEDICK What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
BEATRICE Is it possible disdain should die while she hath
such meet food to feed it as Signior Benedick?
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come
in her presence.
BENEDICK Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I
am loved of all ladies, only you excepted: and I
would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard
heart; for, truly, I love none.
BEATRICE A dear happiness to women: they would else have
been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God
and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that: I
had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man
swear he loves me.
BENEDICK God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some
gentleman or other shall 'scape a predestinate
BEATRICE Scratching could not make it worse, an 'twere such
a face as yours were.
BENEDICK Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
BEATRICE A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
BENEDICK I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and
so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's
name; I have done.
BEATRICE You always end with a jade's trick: I know you of old.
DON PEDRO That is the sum of all, Leonato. Signior Claudio
and Signior Benedick, my dear friend Leonato hath
invited you all. I tell him we shall stay here at
the least a month; and he heartily prays some
occasion may detain us longer. I dare swear he is no
hypocrite, but prays from his heart.
LEONATO If you swear, my lord, you shall not be forsworn.
[To DON JOHN]
Let me bid you welcome, my lord: being reconciled to
the prince your brother, I owe you all duty.
DON JOHN I thank you: I am not of many words, but I thank
LEONATO Please it your grace lead on?
DON PEDRO Your hand, Leonato; we will go together.
[Exeunt all except BENEDICK and CLAUDIO]
CLAUDIO Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signior Leonato?
BENEDICK I noted her not; but I looked on her.
CLAUDIO Is she not a modest young lady?
BENEDICK Do you question me, as an honest man should do, for
my simple true judgment; or would you have me speak
after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to their sex?
CLAUDIO No; I pray thee speak in sober judgment.
BENEDICK Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low for a high
praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little
for a great praise: only this commendation I can
afford her, that were she other than she is, she
were unhandsome; and being no other but as she is, I
do not like her.
CLAUDIO Thou thinkest I am in sport: I pray thee tell me
truly how thou likest her.
BENEDICK Would you buy her, that you inquire after her?
CLAUDIO Can the world buy such a jewel?
BENEDICK Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak you this
with a sad brow? or do you play the flouting Jack,
to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder and Vulcan a
rare carpenter? Come, in what key shall a man take
you, to go in the song?
CLAUDIO In mine eye she is the sweetest lady that ever I
BENEDICK I can see yet without spectacles and I see no such
matter: there's her cousin, an she were not
possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty
as the first of May doth the last of December. But I
hope you have no intent to turn husband, have you?
CLAUDIO I would scarce trust myself, though I had sworn the
contrary, if Hero would be my wife.
BENEDICK Is't come to this? In faith, hath not the world
one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion?
Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again?
Go to, i' faith; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck
into a yoke, wear the print of it and sigh away
Sundays. Look Don Pedro is returned to seek you.
[Re-enter DON PEDRO]
DON PEDRO What secret hath held you here, that you followed
not to Leonato's?
BENEDICK I would your grace would constrain me to tell.
DON PEDRO I charge thee on thy allegiance.
BENEDICK You hear, Count Claudio: I can be secret as a dumb
man; I would have you think so; but, on my
allegiance, mark you this, on my allegiance. He is
in love. With who? now that is your grace's part.
Mark how short his answer is;--With Hero, Leonato's
CLAUDIO If this were so, so were it uttered.
BENEDICK Like the old tale, my lord: 'it is not so, nor
'twas not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be
CLAUDIO If my passion change not shortly, God forbid it
should be otherwise.
DON PEDRO Amen, if you love her; for the lady is very well worthy.
CLAUDIO You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.
DON PEDRO By m
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof
this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety.
The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth
of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I
have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in
all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would
show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship,
to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.
Your lordship's in all duty,
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE
Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus,
after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be
cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs,
not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had
possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons
and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege
the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of
Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after
supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among
whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife
Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they posted to Rome; and
intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of
that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds
his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her
maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or
in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus
the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus
Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering
his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the
camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and
was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by
Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth
into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the
morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight,
hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father,
another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one
accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius;
and finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause
of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her
revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and
withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent
they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the
Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted
the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a
bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the
people were so moved, that with one consent and a general
acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state
government changed from kings to consuls.
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE
FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.
Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties,
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.
For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate,
That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.
O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew
Against the golden splendor of the sun!
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun:
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.
Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator;
What needeth then apologies be made,
To set forth that which is so singular?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is his own?
Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt
That golden hap which their superiors want.
But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those:
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old!
When at Collatium this false lord arrived,
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.
But beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field:
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.
This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen,
Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white
Of either's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.
Their silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.
Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,--
The niggard prodigal that praised her so,--
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes.
This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never limed no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:
For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate,
Save something too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.
But she, that never coped with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books:
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks;
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.
He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory:
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.
Far from the purpose of his coming hither,
He makes excuses for his being there:
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the Day.
For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight;
And every one to rest themselves betake,
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.
As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed proposed,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.
Those that much covet are with gain so fond,
For what they have not, that which they possess
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain,
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.
The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage;
As life for honour in fell battle's rage;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.
So that in venturing ill we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect;
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it.
Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;
And for himself himself be must forsake:
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just,
When he himself himself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?
Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light,
No noise but owls' and wolves'
TO THE ONLY BEGETTER OF
THESE INSUING SONNETS
MR. W. H. ALL HAPPINESS
AND THAT ETERNITY
OUR EVER-LIVING POET WISHETH
FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there;
Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was:
But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.'
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.
For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire.
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase:
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know
You had a father: let your son say so.
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
ROMEO AND JULIET
ESCALUS prince of Verona. (PRINCE:)
PARIS a young nobleman, kinsman to the prince.
| heads of two houses at variance with each other.
An old man, cousin to Capulet. (Second Capulet:)
ROMEO son to Montague.
MERCUTIO kinsman to the prince, and friend to Romeo.
BENVOLIO nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.
TYBALT nephew to Lady Capulet.
FRIAR LAURENCE |
FRIAR JOHN |
BALTHASAR servant to Romeo.
| servants to Capulet.
PETER servant to Juliet's nurse.
ABRAHAM servant to Montague.
An Apothecary. (Apothecary:)
Page to Paris; (PAGE:) another Page; an officer.
LADY MONTAGUE wife to Montague.
LADY CAPULET wife to Capulet.
JULIET daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet. (Nurse:)
Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women,
relations to both houses; Maskers,
Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.
SCENE Verona: Mantua.
ROMEO AND JULIET
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whole misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
ROMEO AND JULIET
SCENE I Verona. A public place.
[Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet,
armed with swords and bucklers]
SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.
GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers.
SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.
SAMPSON I strike quickly, being moved.
GREGORY But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
SAMPSON A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
GREGORY To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will
take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.
GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes
to the wall.
SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push
Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids
to the wall.
GREGORY The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
SAMPSON 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I
have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the
maids, and cut off their heads.
GREGORY The heads of the maids?
SAMPSON Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
take it in what sense thou wilt.
GREGORY They must take it in sense that feel it.
SAMPSON Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and
'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
GREGORY 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes
two of the house of the Montagues.
SAMPSON My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
GREGORY How! turn thy back and run?
SAMPSON Fear me not.
GREGORY No, marry; I fear thee!
SAMPSON Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
GREGORY I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as
SAMPSON Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;
which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.
[Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR]
ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
SAMPSON I do bite my thumb, sir.
ABRAHAM Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
SAMPSON [Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say
SAMPSON No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
bite my thumb, sir.
GREGORY Do you quarrel, sir?
ABRAHAM Quarrel sir! no, sir.
SAMPSON If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.
ABRAHAM No better.
SAMPSON Well, sir.
GREGORY Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.
SAMPSON Yes, better, sir.
ABRAHAM You lie.
SAMPSON Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.
BENVOLIO Part, fools!
Put up your swords; you know not what you do.
[Beats down their swords]
TYBALT What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
BENVOLIO I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
TYBALT What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward!
[Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray;
then enter Citizens, with clubs]
First Citizen Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!
[Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET]
CAPULET What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
LADY CAPULET A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?
CAPULET My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
[Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]
MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go.
LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
[Enter PRINCE, with Attendants]
PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You Capulet; shall go along with me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO]
MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
LADY MONTAGUE O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from the light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
BENVOLIO My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
MONTAGUE I neither know it nor can learn of him.
BENVOLIO Have you importuned him by any means?
MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself--I will not say how true--
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
We would as willingly give cure as know.
BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE]
BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin.
ROMEO Is the day so young?
BENVOLIO But new struck nine.
ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
BENVOLIO In love?
BENVOLIO Of love?
ROMEO Out of her favour, where I am in love.
BENVOLIO Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
ROMEO Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in th
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.
CALIBAN a savage and deformed Slave.
TRINCULO a Jester.
STEPHANO a drunken Butler.
Master of a Ship. (Master:)
MIRANDA daughter to Prospero.
ARIEL an airy Spirit.
JUNO | presented by Spirits.
Other Spirits attending on Prospero.
SCENE A ship at Sea: an island.
SCENE I On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise
of thunder and lightning heard.
[Enter a Master and a Boatswain]
Boatswain Here, master: what cheer?
Master Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely,
or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.
Boatswain Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!
yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the
master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind,
if room enough!
[Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND,
GONZALO, and others]
ALONSO Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?
Play the men.
Boatswain I pray now, keep below.
ANTONIO Where is the master, boatswain?
Boatswain Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your
cabins: you do assist the storm.
GONZALO Nay, good, be patient.
Boatswain When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers
for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.
GONZALO Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.
Boatswain None that I more love than myself. You are a
counsellor; if you can command these elements to
silence, and work the peace of the present, we will
not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you
cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make
yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of
the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out
of our way, I say.
GONZALO I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he
hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is
perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his
hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable,
for our own doth little advantage. If he be not
born to be hanged, our case is miserable.
Boatswain Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring
her to try with main-course.
[A cry within]
A plague upon this howling! they are louder than
the weather or our office.
[Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO]
Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er
and drown? Have you a mind to sink?
SEBASTIAN A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
Boatswain Work you then.
ANTONIO Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!
We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.
GONZALO I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were
no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an
Boatswain Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to
sea again; lay her off.
[Enter Mariners wet]
Mariners All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!
Boatswain What, must our mouths be cold?
GONZALO The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,
For our case is as theirs.
SEBASTIAN I'm out of patience.
ANTONIO We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:
This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning
The washing of ten tides!
GONZALO He'll be hang'd yet,
Though every drop of water swear against it
And gape at widest to glut him.
[A confused noise within: 'Mercy on us!'--
'We split, we split!'--'Farewell, my wife and
'Farewell, brother!'--'We split, we split, we split!']
ANTONIO Let's all sink with the king.
SEBASTIAN Let's take leave of him.
[Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN]
GONZALO Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any
thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain
die a dry death.
SCENE II The island. Before PROSPERO'S cell.
[Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA]
MIRANDA If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
The fraughting souls within her.
PROSPERO Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.
MIRANDA O, woe the day!
PROSPERO No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.
MIRANDA More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
PROSPERO 'Tis time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. So:
[Lays down his mantle]
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul--
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.
MIRANDA You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'
PROSPERO The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out three years old.
MIRANDA Certainly, sir, I can.
PROSPERO By what? by any other house or person?
Of any thing the image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.
MIRANDA 'Tis far off
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four or five women once that tended me?
PROSPERO Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.
MIRANDA But that I do not.
PROSPERO Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
A prince of power.
MIRANDA Sir, are not you my father?
PROSPERO Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir
And princess no worse issued.
MIRANDA O the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?
PROSPERO Both, both, my girl:
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
But blessedly holp hither.
MIRANDA O, my heart bleeds
To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.
PROSPERO My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio--
I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should
Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself
Of all the world I loved and to him put
The manage of my state; as at that time
Through all the signories it was the first
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
In dignity, and for the liberal arts
Without a parallel; those being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother
And to my state grew stranger, being transported
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle--
Dost thou attend me?
MIRANDA Sir, most heedfully.
PROSPERO Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, who to advance and who
To trash for over-topping, new created
The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,
Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.
MIRANDA O, good sir, I do.
PROSPERO I pray thee, mark me.
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
With that which, but by being so retired,
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him
A falsehood in its contrary as great
As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie, he did believe
He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing--
Dost thou hear?
MIRANDA Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
PROSPERO To have no screen between this part he play'd
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable; confederates--
So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples
To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!--
To most ignoble stooping.
MIRANDA O the heavens!
PROSPERO Mark his condition and the event; then tell me
If this might be a brother.
MIRANDA I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.
PROSPERO Now the condition.
The King of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan
With all the honours on my broth
TIMON OF ATHENS
TIMON of Athens.
LUCULLUS | flattering lords.
VENTIDIUS one of Timon's false friends.
ALCIBIADES an Athenian captain.
APEMANTUS a churlish philosopher.
FLAVIUS steward to Timon.
Poet, Painter, Jeweller, and Merchant. (Poet:)
An old Athenian. (Old Athenian:)
LUCILIUS | servants to Timon.
| servants to Timon's creditors.
And others |
A Page. (Page:)
A Fool. (Fool:)
| mistresses to Alcibiades.
Cupid and Amazons in the mask. (Cupid:)
Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers,
Banditti, and Attendants.
(Varro's First Servant:)
(Varro's Second Servant:)
SCENE Athens, and the neighbouring woods.
TIMON OF ATHENS
SCENE I Athens. A hall in Timon's house.
[Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and
others, at several doors]
Poet Good day, sir.
Painter I am glad you're well.
Poet I have not seen you long: how goes the world?
Painter It wears, sir, as it grows.
Poet Ay, that's well known:
But what particular rarity? what strange,
Which manifold record not matches? See,
Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjured to attend. I know the merchant.
Painter I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.
Merchant O, 'tis a worthy lord.
Jeweller Nay, that's most fix'd.
Merchant A most incomparable man, breathed, as it were,
To an untirable and continuate goodness:
Jeweller: I have a jewel here--
Merchant O, pray, let's see't: for the Lord Timon, sir?
Jeweller: If he will touch the estimate: but, for that--
Poet [Reciting to himself] 'When we for recompense have
praised the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
Which aptly sings the good.'
Merchant 'Tis a good form.
[Looking at the jewel]
Jeweller And rich: here is a water, look ye.
Painter You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication
To the great lord.
Poet A thing slipp'd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
From whence 'tis nourish'd: the fire i' the flint
Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame
Provokes itself and like the current flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
Painter A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
Poet Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
Let's see your piece.
Painter 'Tis a good piece.
Poet So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.
Poet Admirable: how this grace
Speaks his own standing! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth! how big imagination
Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.
Painter It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; is't good?
Poet I will say of it,
It tutors nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
[Enter certain Senators, and pass over]
Painter How this lord is follow'd!
Poet The senators of Athens: happy man!
Painter Look, more!
Poet You see this confluence, this great flood
I have, in this rough work, shaped out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment: my free drift
Halts not particularly, but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax: no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold;
But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
Painter How shall I understand you?
Poet I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
As well of glib and slippery creatures as
Of grave and austere quality, tender down
Their services to Lord Timon: his large fortune
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-faced flatterer
To Apemantus, that few things loves better
Than to abhor himself: even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon's nod.
Painter I saw them speak together.
Poet Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill
Feign'd Fortune to be throned: the base o' the mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states: amongst them all,
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd,
One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame,
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her;
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.
Painter 'Tis conceived to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks,
With one man beckon'd from the rest below,
Bowing his head against the sleepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
In our condition.
Poet Nay, sir, but hear me on.
All those which were his fellows but of late,
Some better than his value, on the moment
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance,
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear,
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him
Drink the free air.
Painter Ay, marry, what of these?
Poet When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.
Painter 'Tis common:
A thousand moral paintings I can show
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.
[Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself
courteously to every suitor; a Messenger from
VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other
TIMON Imprison'd is he, say you?
Messenger Ay, my good lord: five talents is his debt,
His means most short, his creditors most strait:
Your honourable letter he desires
To those have shut him up; which failing,
Periods his comfort.
TIMON Noble Ventidius! Well;
I am not of that feather to shake off
My friend when he must need me. I do know him
A gentleman that well deserves a help:
Which he shall have: I'll pay the debt,
and free him.
Messenger Your lordship ever binds him.
TIMON Commend me to him: I will send his ransom;
And being enfranchised, bid him come to me.
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,
But to support him after. Fare you well.
Messenger All happiness to your honour!
[Enter an old Athenian]
Old Athenian Lord Timon, hear me speak.
TIMON Freely, good father.
Old Athenian Thou hast a servant named Lucilius.
TIMON I have so: what of him?
Old Athenian Most noble Timon, call the man before thee.
TIMON Attends he here, or no? Lucilius!
LUCILIUS Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Athenian This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature,
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first have been inclined to thrift;
And my estate deserves an heir more raised
Than one which holds a trencher.
TIMON Well; what further?
Old Athenian One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got:
The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost
In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love: I prithee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort;
Myself have spoke in vain.
TIMON The man is honest.
Old Athenian Therefore he will be, Timon:
His honesty rewards him in itself;
It must not bear my daughter.
TIMON Does she love him?
Old Athenian She is young and apt:
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity's in youth.
TIMON [To LUCILIUS] Love you the maid?
LUCILIUS Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
Old Athenian If in her marriage my consent be missing,
I call the gods to witness, I will choose
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
And dispossess her all.
TIMON How shall she be endow'd,
if she be mated with an equal husband?
Old Athenian Three talents on the present; in future, all.
TIMON This gentleman of mine hath served me long:
To build his fortune I will strain a little,
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.
Old Athenian Most noble lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
TIMON My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
LUCILIUS Humbly I thank your lordship: never may
The state or fortune fall into my keeping,
Which is not owed to you!
[Exeunt LUCILIUS and Old Athenian]
Poet Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lordship!
TIMON I thank you; you shall hear from me anon:
Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
Painter A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your lordship to accept.
TIMON Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man;
or since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
He is but outside: these pencill'd figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work;
And you shall find I like it: wait attendance
Till you hear further from me.
Painter The gods preserve ye!
TIMON Well fare you, gentleman: give me your hand;
We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
Hath suffer'd under praise.
Jeweller What, my lord! dispraise?
TIMON A more satiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
It would unclew me quite.
Jeweller My lord, 'tis rated
As those which sell would give: but you well know,
Things of like value differing in the owners
Are prized by their masters: believe't, dear lord,
You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
TIMON Well mock'd.
Merchant No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue,
Which all men speak with him.
TIMON Look, who comes here: will you be chid?
Jeweller: We'll bear, with your lordship.
Merchant He'll spare none.
TIMON Good morrow
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
A Lord. |
CHRISTOPHER SLY a tinker. (SLY:) | Persons in
| the Induction.
Hostess, Page, Players, |
Huntsmen, and Servants. |
BAPTISTA a rich gentleman of Padua.
VINCENTIO an old gentleman of Pisa.
LUCENTIO son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca.
PETRUCHIO a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to
| suitors to Bianca.
| servants to Lucentio.
NICHOLAS | servants to Petruchio.
KATHARINA the shrew, |
| daughters to Baptista.
Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending
on Baptista and Petruchio.
SCENE Padua, and Petruchio's country house.
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
SCENE I Before an alehouse on a heath.
[Enter Hostess and SLY]
SLY I'll pheeze you, in faith.
Hostess A pair of stocks, you rogue!
SLY Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in
the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror.
Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa!
Hostess You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
SLY No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold
bed, and warm thee.
Hostess I know my remedy; I must go fetch the
SLY Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him
by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come,
[Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train]
Lord Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:
Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd;
And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.
First Huntsman Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
He cried upon it at the merest loss
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.
Lord Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well and look unto them all:
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.
First Huntsman I will, my lord.
Lord What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?
Second Huntsman He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself?
First Huntsman Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
Second Huntsman It would seem strange unto him when he waked.
Lord Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.
Then take him up and manage well the jest:
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
Procure me music ready when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight
And with a low submissive reverence
Say 'What is it your honour will command?'
Let one attend him with a silver basin
Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers,
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?'
Some one be ready with a costly suit
And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease:
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;
And when he says he is, say that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs:
It will be pastime passing excellent,
If it be husbanded with modesty.
First Huntsman My lord, I warrant you we will play our part,
As he shall think by our true diligence
He is no less than what we say he is.
Lord Take him up gently and to bed with him;
And each one to his office when he wakes.
[Some bear out SLY. A trumpet sounds]
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:
Belike, some noble gentleman that means,
Travelling some journey, to repose him here.
How now! who is it?
Servant An't please your honour, players
That offer service to your lordship.
Lord Bid them come near.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.
Players We thank your honour.
Lord Do you intend to stay with me tonight?
A Player So please your lordship to accept our duty.
Lord With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son:
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:
I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part
Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.
A Player I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.
Lord 'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent.
Well, you are come to me in a happy time;
The rather for I have some sport in hand
Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night:
But I am doubtful of your modesties;
Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,--
For yet his honour never heard a play--
You break into some merry passion
And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,
If you should smile he grows impatient.
A Player Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves,
Were he the veriest antic in the world.
Lord Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
And give them friendly welcome every one:
Let them want nothing that my house affords.
[Exit one with the Players]
Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber;
And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, as he will win my love,
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath observed in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished:
Such duty to the drunkard let him do
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,
And say 'What is't your honour will command,
Wherein your lady and your humble wife
May show her duty and make known her love?'
And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
And with declining head into his bosom,
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd
To see her noble lord restored to health,
Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for such a shift,
Which in a napkin being close convey'd
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst:
Anon I'll give thee more instructions.
[Exit a Servingman]
I know the boy will well usurp the grace,
Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman:
I long to hear him call the drunkard husband,
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter
When they do homage to this simple peasant.
I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen
Which otherwise would grow into extremes.
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
SCENE II A bedchamber in the Lord's house.
[Enter aloft SLY, with Attendants; some with apparel,
others with basin and ewer and appurtenances; and Lord]
SLY For God's sake, a pot of small ale.
First Servant Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?
Second Servant Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?
Third Servant What raiment will your honour wear to-day?
SLY I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor
'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if
you give me any conserves, give me conserves of
beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I
have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings
than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay,
sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my
toes look through the over-leather.
Lord Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
O, that a mighty man of such descent,
Of such possessions and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!
SLY What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher
Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a
pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a
bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker?
Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if
she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence
on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the
lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not
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,
And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground:
Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
First Servant Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.
Second Servant Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight
Adonis painted by a running brook,
And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.
Lord We'll show thee Io as she was a maid,
And how she was beguiled and surprised,
As lively painte
SATURNINUS son to the late Emperor of Rome, and afterwards
BASSIANUS brother to Saturninus; in love with Lavinia.
TITUS ANDRONICUS a noble Roman, general against the Goths.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS tribune of the people, and brother to Titus.
| sons to Titus Andronicus.
Young LUCIUS a boy, son to Lucius.
PUBLIUS son to Marcus the Tribune.
CAIUS | kinsmen to Titus.
AEMILIUS a noble Roman.
DEMETRIUS | sons to Tamora.
AARON a Moor, beloved by Tamora.
A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Romans.
Goths and Romans.
TAMORA Queen of the Goths.
LAVINIA daughter of Titus Andronicus.
A Nurse. (Nurse:)
Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and
SCENE Rome, and the country near it.
SCENE I Rome. Before the Capitol.
[The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes
and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side,
SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other
side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours]
SATURNINUS Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms,
And, countrymen, my loving followers,
Plead my successive title with your swords:
I am his first-born son, that was the last
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome;
Then let my father's honours live in me,
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
BASSIANUS Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right,
If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
Keep then this passage to the Capitol
And suffer not dishonour to approach
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
To justice, continence and nobility;
But let desert in pure election shine,
And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.
[Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown]
MARCUS ANDRONICUS Princes, that strive by factions and by friends
Ambitiously for rule and empery,
Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
A special party, have, by common voice,
In election for the Roman empery,
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius
For many good and great deserts to Rome:
A nobler man, a braver warrior,
Lives not this day within the city walls:
He by the senate is accit'd home
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
Ten years are spent since first he undertook
This cause of Rome and chastised with arms
Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
In coffins from the field;
And now at last, laden with horror's spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
Let us entreat, by honour of his name,
Whom worthily you would have now succeed.
And in the Capitol and senate's right,
Whom you pretend to honour and adore,
That you withdraw you and abate your strength;
Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should,
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.
SATURNINUS How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!
BASSIANUS Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally
In thy uprightness and integrity,
And so I love and honour thee and thine,
Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,
And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
That I will here dismiss my loving friends,
And to my fortunes and the people's favor
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.
[Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS]
SATURNINUS Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,
I thank you all and here dismiss you all,
And to the love and favor of my country
Commit myself, my person and the cause.
[Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS]
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me
As I am confident and kind to thee.
Open the gates, and let me in.
BASSIANUS Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.
[Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol]
[Enter a Captain]
Captain Romans, make way: the good Andronicus.
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
Successful in the battles that he fights,
With honour and with fortune is return'd
From where he circumscribed with his sword,
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.
[Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and
MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin
covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After
them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with
ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths,
prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The
Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks]
TITUS ANDRONICUS Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught,
Returns with precious jading to the bay
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
To re-salute his country with his tears,
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.
Thou great defender of this Capitol,
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
Half of the number that King Priam had,
Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!
These that survive let Rome reward with love;
These that I bring unto their latest home,
With burial amongst their ancestors:
Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.
Titus, unkind and careless of thine own,
Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
Make way to lay them by their brethren.
[The tomb is opened]
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars!
O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more!
LUCIUS Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
Before this earthy prison of their bones;
That so the shadows be not unappeased,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.
TITUS ANDRONICUS I give him you, the noblest that survives,
The eldest son of this distressed queen.
TAMORA Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror,
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
A mother's tears in passion for her son:
And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
O, think my son to be as dear to me!
Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome,
To beautify thy triumphs and return,
Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke,
But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets,
For valiant doings in their country's cause?
O, if to fight for king and commonweal
Were piety in thine, it is in these.
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood:
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful:
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge:
Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
TITUS ANDRONICUS Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld
Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain
Religiously they ask a sacrifice:
To this your son is mark'd, and die he must,
To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.
LUCIUS Away with him! and make a fire straight;
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.
[Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS]
TAMORA O cruel, irreligious piety!
CHIRON Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?
DEMETRIUS Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatening looks.
Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal
The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent,
May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths--
When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen--
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
[Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with
their swords bloody]
LUCIUS See, lord and father, how we have perform'd
Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky.
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren,
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.
TITUS ANDRONICUS Let it be so; and let Andronicus
Make this his latest farewell to their souls.
[Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb]
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms,
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!
LAVINIA In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;
My noble lord and father, live in fame!
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears
I render, for my brethren's obsequies;
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy,
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome:
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud!
TITUS ANDRONICUS Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!
Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!
[Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes;
re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended]
MARCUS ANDRONICUS Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!
TITUS ANDRONICUS Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus.
MARCUS ANDRONICUS And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame!
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all,
That in your country's service drew your swords:
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,
That hath aspired to Solon's happiness
And triumphs over chance in honour's bed.
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust,
This palliament of white and spotless hue;
And name thee in election for the empire,
With these our late-deceased empe
VENUS AND ADONIS
'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'
RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY,
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.
I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my
unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will
censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a
burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account
myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle
hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if
the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be
sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so
barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest.
I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your
heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish
and the world's hopeful expectation.
Your honour's in all duty,
EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.
Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.
Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.
Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.
Upon this promise did he raise his chin,
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.
Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy!
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?
'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.
'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!
'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,--
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red--
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.
'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.
'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?
'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning:
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.
'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?
'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.
'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear:
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.
'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'
By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him and by Venus' side.
And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks cries 'Fie, no more of love!
The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'
'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.
'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.
'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth?
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.
'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
PRIAM king of Troy.
PARIS | his sons.
MARGARELON a bastard son of Priam.
| Trojan commanders.
CALCHAS a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks.
PANDARUS uncle to Cressida.
AGAMEMNON the Grecian general.
MENELAUS his brother.
| Grecian princes.
THERSITES a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.
ALEXANDER servant to Cressida.
Servant to Troilus. (Boy:)
Servant to Paris.
Servant to Diomedes. (Servant:)
HELEN wife to Menelaus.
ANDROMACHE wife to Hector.
CASSANDRA daughter to Priam, a prophetess.
CRESSIDA daughter to Calchas.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
SCENE Troy, and the Grecian camp before it.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made
To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come;
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
And Antenorides, with massy staples
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Sperr up the sons of Troy.
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard: and hither am I come
A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited
In like conditions as our argument,
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
Beginning in the middle, starting thence away
To what may be digested in a play.
Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are:
Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
SCENE I Troy. Before Priam's palace.
[Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS]
TROILUS Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again:
Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
That find such cruel battle here within?
Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.
PANDARUS Will this gear ne'er be mended?
TROILUS The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness valiant;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
Less valiant than the virgin in the night
And skilless as unpractised infancy.
PANDARUS Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part,
I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will
have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.
TROILUS Have I not tarried?
PANDARUS Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry
TROILUS Have I not tarried?
PANDARUS Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening.
TROILUS Still have I tarried.
PANDARUS Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word
'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the
heating of the oven and the baking; nay, you must
stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.
TROILUS Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,--
So, traitor! 'When she comes!' When is she thence?
PANDARUS Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw
her look, or any woman else.
TROILUS I was about to tell thee:--when my heart,
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
PANDARUS An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's--
well, go to--there were no more comparison between
the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I
would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would
somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I
will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but--
TROILUS O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,--
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
In Cressid's love: thou answer'st 'she is fair;'
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,
Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense
Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell'st me,
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.
PANDARUS I speak no more than truth.
TROILUS Thou dost not speak so much.
PANDARUS Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is:
if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be
not, she has the mends in her own hands.
TROILUS Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus!
PANDARUS I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of
her and ill-thought on of you; gone between and
between, but small thanks for my labour.
TROILUS What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?
PANDARUS Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair
as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as
fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care
I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.
TROILUS Say I she is not fair?
PANDARUS I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to
stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so
I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part,
I'll meddle nor make no more i' the matter.
PANDARUS Not I.
TROILUS Sweet Pandarus,--
PANDARUS Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I
found it, and there an end.
[Exit PANDARUS. An alarum]
TROILUS Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!
Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument;
It is too starved a subject for my sword.
But Pandarus,--O gods, how do you plague me!
I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo.
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
Between our Ilium and where she resides,
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood,
Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.
[Alarum. Enter AENEAS]
AENEAS How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?
TROILUS Because not there: this woman's answer sorts,
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, AEneas, from the field to-day?
AENEAS That Paris is returned home and hurt.
TROILUS By whom, AEneas?
AENEAS Troilus, by Menelaus.
TROILUS Let Paris bleed; 'tis but a scar to scorn;
Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.
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.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
SCENE II The Same. A street.
[Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER]
CRESSIDA Who were those went by?
ALEXANDER Queen Hecuba and Helen.
CRESSIDA And whither go they?
ALEXANDER Up to the eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved:
He chid Andromache and struck his armourer,
And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
And to the field goes he; where every flower
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.
CRESSIDA What was his cause of anger?
ALEXANDER The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
They call him Ajax.
CRESSIDA Good; and what of him?
ALEXANDER They say he is a very man per se,
And stands alone.
CRESSIDA So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.
ALEXANDER This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their
particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion,
churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man
into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his
valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with
discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he
hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he
carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without
cause, and merry against the hair: he hath the
joints of every thing, but everything so out of joint
that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use,
or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.
CRESSIDA But how should this man, that makes
me smile, make Hector angry?
ALEXANDER They say he yesterday coped Hector in the battle and
struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath
ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.
CRESSIDA Who comes here?
ALEXANDER Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
CRESSIDA Hector's a gallant man.
ALEXANDER As may be in the world, lady.
PANDARUS What's that? what's that?
CRESSIDA Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
PANDARUS Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of?
Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin? When
were you at Ilium?
CRESSIDA This morning, uncle.
PANDARUS What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector
armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not
up, was she?
CRESSIDA Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.
PANDARUS Even so: Hector was stirring early.
CRESSIDA That were we talking of, and of his anger.
PANDARUS Was he
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
DUKE OF MILAN Father to Silvia. (DUKE:)
| the two Gentlemen.
ANTONIO Father to Proteus.
THURIO a foolish rival to Valentine.
EGLAMOUR Agent for Silvia in her escape.
HOST where Julia lodges. (Host:)
OUTLAWS with Valentine.
SPEED a clownish servant to Valentine.
LAUNCE the like to Proteus.
PANTHINO Servant to Antonio.
JULIA beloved of Proteus.
SILVIA beloved of Valentine.
LUCETTA waiting-woman to Julia.
SCENE Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua.
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
SCENE I Verona. An open place.
[Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS]
VALENTINE Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Were't not affection chains thy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
I rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the world abroad,
Than, living dully sluggardized at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But since thou lovest, love still and thrive therein,
Even as I would when I to love begin.
PROTEUS Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel:
Wish me partaker in thy happiness
When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
If ever danger do environ thee,
Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine.
VALENTINE And on a love-book pray for my success?
PROTEUS Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.
VALENTINE That's on some shallow story of deep love:
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
PROTEUS That's a deep story of a deeper love:
For he was more than over shoes in love.
VALENTINE 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swum the Hellespont.
PROTEUS Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots.
VALENTINE No, I will not, for it boots thee not.
VALENTINE To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans;
Coy looks with heart-sore sighs; one fading moment's mirth
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights:
If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
However, but a folly bought with wit,
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
PROTEUS So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
VALENTINE So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove.
PROTEUS 'Tis love you cavil at: I am not Love.
VALENTINE Love is your master, for he masters you:
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
PROTEUS Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
VALENTINE And writers say, as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee,
That art a votary to fond desire?
Once more adieu! my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
PROTEUS And thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
VALENTINE Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave.
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend;
And likewise will visit thee with mine.
PROTEUS All happiness bechance to thee in Milan!
VALENTINE As much to you at home! and so, farewell.
PROTEUS He after honour hunts, I after love:
He leaves his friends to dignify them more,
I leave myself, my friends and all, for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me,
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought;
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.
SPEED Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master?
PROTEUS But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan.
SPEED Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already,
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.
PROTEUS Indeed, a sheep doth very often stray,
An if the shepherd be a while away.
SPEED You conclude that my master is a shepherd, then,
and I a sheep?
PROTEUS I do.
SPEED Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep.
PROTEUS A silly answer and fitting well a sheep.
SPEED This proves me still a sheep.
PROTEUS True; and thy master a shepherd.
SPEED Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.
PROTEUS It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another.
SPEED The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the
shepherd; but I seek my master, and my master seeks
not me: therefore I am no sheep.
PROTEUS The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the
shepherd for food follows not the sheep: thou for
wages followest thy master; thy master for wages
follows not thee: therefore thou art a sheep.
SPEED Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.'
PROTEUS But, dost thou hear? gavest thou my letter to Julia?
SPEED Ay sir: I, a lost mutton, gave your letter to her,
a laced mutton, and she, a laced mutton, gave me, a
lost mutton, nothing for my labour.
PROTEUS Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons.
SPEED If the ground be overcharged, you were best stick her.
PROTEUS Nay: in that you are astray, 'twere best pound you.
SPEED Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for
carrying your letter.
PROTEUS You mistake; I mean the pound,--a pinfold.
SPEED From a pound to a pin? fold it over and over,
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to
PROTEUS But what said she?
SPEED [First nodding] Ay.
PROTEUS Nod--Ay--why, that's noddy.
SPEED You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: and you ask
me if she did nod; and I say, 'Ay.'
PROTEUS And that set together is noddy.
SPEED Now you have taken the pains to set it together,
take it for your pains.
PROTEUS No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter.
SPEED Well, I perceive I must be fain to bear with you.
PROTEUS Why sir, how do you bear with me?
SPEED Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing
but the word 'noddy' for my pains.
PROTEUS Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
SPEED And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.
PROTEUS Come come, open the matter in brief: what said she?
SPEED Open your purse, that the money and the matter may
be both at once delivered.
PROTEUS Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she?
SPEED Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.
PROTEUS Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?
SPEED Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from her; no,
not so much as a ducat for delivering your letter:
and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I
fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling your
mind. Give her no token but stones; for she's as
hard as steel.
PROTEUS What said she? nothing?
SPEED No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To
testify your bounty, I thank you, you have testerned
me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your
letters yourself: and so, sir, I'll commend you to my master.
PROTEUS Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,
Which cannot perish having thee aboard,
Being destined to a drier death on shore.
I must go send some better messenger:
I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
Receiving them from such a worthless post.
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
SCENE II The same. Garden of JULIA's house.
[Enter JULlA and LUCETTA]
JULIA But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?
LUCETTA Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheedfully.
JULIA Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
LUCETTA Please you repeat their names, I'll show my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.
JULIA What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
LUCETTA As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine;
But, were I you, he never should be mine.
JULIA What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?
LUCETTA Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.
JULIA What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?
LUCETTA Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!
JULIA How now! what means this passion at his name?
LUCETTA Pardon, dear madam: 'tis a passing shame
That I, unworthy body as I am,
Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.
JULIA Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?
LUCETTA Then thus: of many good I think him best.
JULIA Your reason?
LUCETTA I have no other, but a woman's reason;
I think him so because I think him so.
JULIA And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?
LUCETTA Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.
JULIA Why he, of all the rest, hath never moved me.
LUCETTA Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye.
JULIA His little speaking shows his love but small.
LUCETTA Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.
JULIA They do not love that do not show their love.
LUCETTA O, they love least that let men know their love.
JULIA I would I knew his mind.
LUCETTA Peruse this paper, madam.
JULIA 'To Julia.' Say, from whom?
LUCETTA That the contents will show.
JULIA Say, say, who gave it thee?
LUCETTA Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus.
He would have given it you; but I, being in the way,
Did in your name receive it: pardon the
fault I pray.
JULIA Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
To whisper and conspire against my youth?
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth
And you an officer fit for the place.
Or else return no more into my sight.
LUCETTA To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
JULIA Will ye be gone?
LUCETTA That you may ruminate.
JULIA And yet I would I had o'erlooked the letter:
It were a shame to call her back again
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
What a fool is she, that knows I am a maid,
And would not force the letter to my view!
Since maids, in modesty, say 'no' to that
Which they would have the profferer construe 'ay.'
Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse
And presently all humbled kiss the
ORSINO Duke of Illyria. (DUKE ORSINO:)
SEBASTIAN brother to Viola.
ANTONIO a sea captain, friend to Sebastian.
A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. (Captain:)
| gentlemen attending on the Duke.
SIR TOBY BELCH uncle to Olivia.
AGUECHEEK (SIR ANDREW:)
MALVOLIO steward to Olivia.
| servants to Olivia.
FESTE a Clown (Clown:) |
MARIA Olivia's woman.
Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians,
and other Attendants.
SCENE A city in Illyria, and the sea-coast near it.
SCENE I DUKE ORSINO's palace.
[Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and other Lords;
DUKE ORSINO If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.
CURIO Will you go hunt, my lord?
DUKE ORSINO What, Curio?
CURIO The hart.
DUKE ORSINO Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought she purged the air of pestilence!
That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me.
How now! what news from her?
VALENTINE So please my lord, I might not be admitted;
But from her handmaid do return this answer:
The element itself, till seven years' heat,
Shall not behold her face at ample view;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye-offending brine: all this to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
And lasting in her sad remembrance.
DUKE ORSINO O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her; when liver, brain and heart,
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
Her sweet perfections with one self king!
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.
SCENE II The sea-coast.
[Enter VIOLA, a Captain, and Sailors]
VIOLA What country, friends, is this?
Captain This is Illyria, lady.
VIOLA And what should I do in Illyria?
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailors?
Captain It is perchance that you yourself were saved.
VIOLA O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.
Captain True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you and those poor number saved with you
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself,
Courage and hope both teaching him the practise,
To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
So long as I could see.
VIOLA For saying so, there's gold:
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country?
Captain Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
Not three hours' travel from this very place.
VIOLA Who governs here?
Captain A noble duke, in nature as in name.
VIOLA What is the name?
VIOLA Orsino! I have heard my father name him:
He was a bachelor then.
Captain And so is now, or was so very late;
For but a month ago I went from hence,
And then 'twas fresh in murmur,--as, you know,
What great ones do the less will prattle of,--
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.
VIOLA What's she?
Captain A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
In the protection of his son, her brother,
Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
They say, she hath abjured the company
And sight of men.
VIOLA O that I served that lady
And might not be delivered to the world,
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is!
Captain That were hard to compass;
Because she will admit no kind of suit,
No, not the duke's.
VIOLA There is a fair behavior in thee, captain;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
For such disguise as haply shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
Thou shall present me as an eunuch to him:
It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing
And speak to him in many sorts of music
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap to time I will commit;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.
Captain Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
VIOLA I thank thee: lead me on.
SCENE III OLIVIA'S house.
[Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]
SIR TOBY BELCH What a plague means my niece, to take the death of
her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.
MARIA By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'
nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great
exceptions to your ill hours.
SIR TOBY BELCH Why, let her except, before excepted.
MARIA Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest
limits of order.
SIR TOBY BELCH Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am:
these clothes are good enough to drink in; and so be
these boots too: an they be not, let them hang
themselves in their own straps.
MARIA That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard
my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish
knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.
SIR TOBY BELCH Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
MARIA Ay, he.
SIR TOBY BELCH He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
MARIA What's that to the purpose?
SIR TOBY BELCH Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
MARIA Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats:
he's a very fool and a prodigal.
SIR TOBY BELCH Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the
viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages
word for word without book, and hath all the good
gifts of nature.
MARIA He hath indeed, almost natural: for besides that
he's a fool, he's a great quarreller: and but that
he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he
hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent
he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
SIR TOBY BELCH By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
that say so of him. Who are they?
MARIA They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.
SIR TOBY BELCH With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to
her as long as there is a passage in my throat and
drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystrill
that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn
o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
[Enter SIR ANDREW]
SIR ANDREW Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!
SIR TOBY BELCH Sweet Sir Andrew!
SIR ANDREW Bless you, fair shrew.
MARIA And you too, sir.
SIR TOBY BELCH Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
SIR ANDREW What's that?
SIR TOBY BELCH My niece's chambermaid.
SIR ANDREW Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.
MARIA My name is Mary, sir.
SIR ANDREW Good Mistress Mary Accost,--
SIR TOBY BELCH You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board
her, woo her, assail her.
SIR ANDREW By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
company. Is that the meaning of 'accost'?
MARIA Fare you well, gentlemen.
SIR TOBY BELCH An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst
never draw sword again.
SIR ANDREW An you part so, mistress, I would I might never
draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have
fools in hand?
MARIA Sir, I have not you by the hand.
SIR ANDREW Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.
MARIA Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, bring
your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.
SIR ANDREW Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?
MARIA It's dry, sir.
SIR ANDREW Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?
MARIA A dry jest, sir.
SIR ANDREW Are you full of them?
MARIA Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: marry,
now I let go your hand, I am barren.
SIR TOBY BELCH O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
see thee so put down?
SIR ANDREW Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary
put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
than a Christian or an ordinary man has: but I am a
great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.
SIR TOBY BELCH No question.
SIR ANDREW An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
to-morrow, Sir Toby.
SIR TOBY BELCH Pourquoi, my dear knight?
SIR ANDREW What is 'Pourquoi'? do or not do? I would I had
bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O, had I but
followed the arts!
SIR TOBY BELCH Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.
SIR ANDREW Why, would that have mended my hair?
SIR TOBY BELCH Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.
SIR ANDREW But it becomes me well enough, does't not?
SIR TOBY BELCH Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs
and spin it off.
SIR ANDREW Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece
will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one
she'll none of me: the count himself here hard by woos her.
SIR TOBY BELCH She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above
her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit;
THE WINTER'S TALE
LEONTES king of Sicilia.
MAMILLIUS young prince of Sicilia.
| Four Lords of Sicilia.
POLIXENES King of Bohemia.
FLORIZEL Prince of Bohemia.
ARCHIDAMUS a Lord of Bohemia.
Old Shepherd reputed father of Perdita. (Shepherd:)
Clown his son.
AUTOLYCUS a rogue.
A Mariner. (Mariner:)
A Gaoler. (Gaoler:)
HERMIONE queen to Leontes.
PERDITA daughter to Leontes and Hermione.
PAULINA wife to Antigonus.
EMILIA a lady attending on Hermione,
Other Lords and Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers,
and Servants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses.
Time as Chorus.
SCENE Sicilia, and Bohemia.
THE WINTER'S TALE
SCENE I Antechamber in LEONTES' palace.
[Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS]
ARCHIDAMUS If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on
the like occasion whereon my services are now on
foot, you shall see, as I have said, great
difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.
CAMILLO I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia
means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.
ARCHIDAMUS Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be
justified in our loves; for indeed--
CAMILLO Beseech you,--
ARCHIDAMUS Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:
we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know
not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks,
that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience,
may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse
CAMILLO You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.
ARCHIDAMUS Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me
and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.
CAMILLO Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.
They were trained together in their childhoods; and
there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,
which cannot choose but branch now. Since their
more mature dignities and royal necessities made
separation of their society, their encounters,
though not personal, have been royally attorneyed
with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and
embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
winds. The heavens continue their loves!
ARCHIDAMUS I think there is not in the world either malice or
matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable
comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a
gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came
into my note.
CAMILLO I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it
is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the
subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on
crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to
see him a man.
ARCHIDAMUS Would they else be content to die?
CAMILLO Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should
desire to live.
ARCHIDAMUS If the king had no son, they would desire to live
on crutches till he had one.
THE WINTER'S TALE
SCENE II A room of state in the same.
[Enter LEONTES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS,
POLIXENES, CAMILLO, and Attendants]
POLIXENES Nine changes of the watery star hath been
The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
Without a burthen: time as long again
Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should, for perpetuity,
Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
That go before it.
LEONTES Stay your thanks a while;
And pay them when you part.
POLIXENES Sir, that's to-morrow.
I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance
Or breed upon our absence; that may blow
No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd
To tire your royalty.
LEONTES We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to't.
POLIXENES No longer stay.
LEONTES One seven-night longer.
POLIXENES Very sooth, to-morrow.
LEONTES We'll part the time between's then; and in that
I'll no gainsaying.
POLIXENES Press me not, beseech you, so.
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,
So soon as yours could win me: so it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder
Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
To you a charge and trouble: to save both,
Farewell, our brother.
LEONTES Tongue-tied, our queen?
HERMIONE I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,
Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure
All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction
The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.
LEONTES Well said, Hermione.
HERMIONE To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
To let him there a month behind the gest
Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind
What lady-she her lord. You'll stay?
POLIXENES No, madam.
HERMIONE Nay, but you will?
POLIXENES I may not, verily.
You put me off with limber vows; but I,
Though you would seek to unsphere the
stars with oaths,
Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
You shall not go: a lady's 'Verily' 's
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,'
One of them you shall be.
POLIXENES Your guest, then, madam:
To be your prisoner should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit
Than you to punish.
HERMIONE Not your gaoler, then,
But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys:
You were pretty lordings then?
POLIXENES We were, fair queen,
Two lads that thought there was no more behind
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal.
HERMIONE Was not my lord
The verier wag o' the two?
POLIXENES We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun,
And bleat the one at the other: what we changed
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
That any did. Had we pursued that life,
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd
HERMIONE By this we gather
You have tripp'd since.
POLIXENES O my most sacred lady!
Temptations have since then been born to's; for
In those unfledged days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.
HERMIONE Grace to boot!
Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
Your queen and I are devils: yet go on;
The offences we have made you do we'll answer,
If you first sinn'd with us and that with us
You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not
With any but with us.
LEONTES Is he won yet?
HERMIONE He'll stay my lord.
LEONTES At my request he would not.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest
To better purpose.
LEONTES Never, but once.
HERMIONE What! have I twice said well? when was't before?
I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages: you may ride's
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal:
My last good deed was to entreat his stay:
What was my first? it has an elder sister,
Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!
But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?
Nay, let me have't; I long.
LEONTES Why, that was when
Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter
'I am yours for ever.'
HERMIONE 'Tis grace indeed.
Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
The other for some while a friend.
LEONTES [Aside] Too hot, too hot!
To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;
But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment
May a free face put on, derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
And well become the agent; 't may, I grant;
But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
As now they are, and making practised smiles,
As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere
The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?
MAMILLIUS Ay, my good lord.
LEONTES I' fecks!
Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast
smutch'd thy nose?
They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:
And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf
Are all call'd neat.--Still virginalling
Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf!
Art thou my calf?
MAMILLIUS Yes, if you will, my lord.
LEONTES Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,
To be full like me: yet they say we are
Almost as like as eggs; women say so,
That will say anything but were they false
As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false
As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true
To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?--may't be?--
Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:
Thou dost make possible things not so held,
Communicatest with dreams;--how
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM
WHEN my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair,
My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell;
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise?
Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear;
She showed him favors to allure his eye;
To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there,--
Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refused to take her figured proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer:
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward:
He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;
Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.
Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook,
A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen:
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim:
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him.
He, spying her, bounced in, whereas he stood:
'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'
Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;
She framed the love, and yet she foil'd the framing;
She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning.
Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.
If music and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother,
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Because thou lovest the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.
Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love,
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds:
'Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the sore.'
She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded!
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will:
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why I craved nothing of thee still:
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god embraced me,'
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced me,'
As if the boy should use like loving charms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'he seized on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah, that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away!
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short;
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee;
O, my love, my love is young!
Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long,
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemish'd once's for ever lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.
Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share:
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again tomorrow:'
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither:
'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;
For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow.
Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succor flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself tomorrow.
SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC
IT was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.
Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practise either, alas, it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel!
But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain
That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
Alas, she could not help it!
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learn