The Plays of William Shakespeare as published in the first folio of 1623 Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services 13 Banbury Road Oxford OX2 6NN
https://hdl.handle.net/20.500.14106/3014 1106000137 9781106000132 Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License Revised version of The texts were originally prepared by Trevor Howard-Hill for use in his single volume concordances to Shakespeare (OUP, 1969f). They have since been reformatted to modern standards and carefully proofread by staff of Oxford University Press' Shakespeare Department for use in the new "Old Spelling" Oxford Shakespeare, under the general editorship of Dr Stanley Wells: The complete works / William Shakespeare; general editors, Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor ; editors Stanley Wells ... [et al.] ; with introductions by Stanley Wells. -- Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1986. -- (Oxford Shakespeare). -- ISBN 0-19-812926-2 Shakespeares comedies, histories & tragedies : being a reproduction in facsimile of the first folio edition, 1623, from the Chatsworth copy in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire, K.G. / with introduction and census of copies by Sidney Lee Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Lee, Sidney, Sir, 1859-1926 xxxv, 908 p. : facsims. ; 39 cm. Clarendon Press Oxford 1902 "One thousand copies of this facsimile have been printed"--verso of half t.p. Facsim. reprint of ed. published, London : printed by Issac Iaggard and Ed.[ward] Blount, 1623 with original t.p.: Mr. William Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Original colophon reads: Printed at the charges of W.[illiam] Iaggard, Ed.[ward] Blount, I.[ohn] Smithweeke [i.e. Smethwick], and W.[illiam] Aspley, 1623 Contents: The tempest. The two gentlemen of Verona. The merry wives of Windsor. Measvre, for measure. The comedie of errors. Much adoe about nothing. Loues labour's lost. A midsommer nights dreame. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. The taming of the shrew. All's well, that ends well. Twelfe night, or what you will. The winters tale. The life and death of King Iohn. The life and death of King Richard the second. The first part of Henry the fourth. The second part of Henry the fourth. The life of Henry the fift. The first part of Henry the sixt. The second part of Henry the sixt. The third part of Henry the sixt. The tragedy of Richard the third. The famous history of the life of King Henry the eight. The tragedie of Troylus and Cressida. The tragedy of Coriolanvs. The lamentable tragedy of Titus Andronicus. The tragedie of Romeo and Ivliet. The life of Tymon of Athens. The tragedie of Ivlivs Caesar. The tragedie of Macbeth. The tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke. The tragedie of King Lear. The tragedie of Othello, the moore of Venice. The tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra. The tragedie of Cymbeline Lower case y with smaller lower case u above Abbreviation for thou in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythou Lower case y with smaller lower case e above Abbreviation for the in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythe Lower case y with smaller lower case t above Abbreviation for that in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythat Lower case w with smaller lower case c above Abbreviation for which in Elizabethan typesetting entity wwhich University of Oxford Text Archive Subject Headings Library of Congress Subject Headings English Plays -- England -- 16th century Plays -- England -- 17th century Comedies -- England -- 16th century Comedies -- England -- 17th century Tragedies -- England -- 16th century Tragedies -- England -- 17th century Header normalised MR. WILLIAMSHAKESPEARESCOMEDIES,HISTORIES &TRAGEDIES. Published according to the True Originall Copies. LONDONPrinted by Isaac Iaggard, and Ed. Blount. 1623
To the Reader. This Figure, that thou here seest put,It was for gentle Shakespeare cut;Wherein the Grauer had a strifewith Nature, to out-doo the life:O, could he but haue drawne his witAs well in brasse, as he hath hitHis face; the Print would then surpasseAll, that was euer writ in brasse.But, since he cannot, Reader, lookeNot on his Picture, but his Booke. B.I.
MR. WILLIAMSHAKESPEARESCOMEDIES,HISTORIES, &TRAGEDIES.Published according to the True Originall Copies. LONDON Printed by Isaac Iaggard, and Ed. Blount. 1623.
[The Epistle Dedicatorie.] TO THE MOST NOBLEANDINCOMPARABLE PAIREOF BRETHREN.WILLIAMEarle of Pembroke, &c. Lord Chamberlaine to the Kings most Excellent Maiesty. ANDPHILIPEarle of Montgomery, &c. Gentleman of his MaiestiesBed-Chamber. Both Knights of the most Noble Orderof the Garter, and our singular goodLORDS. Right Honourable, Whilst we studie to be thankful in our particular, for the many fauors we haue receiued from your L.L we are falne vpon the ill fortune, to mingle two the most diuerse things that that can bee, feare, and rashnesse; rashnesse in the enterprize, and feare of the successe. For, when we valew the places your H.H. sustaine, we cannot but know their dignity greater, then to descend to the reading of these trifles: and, while we name them trifles, we haue depriu'd our selues of the defence of our Dedication. But since your L.L. haue beene pleas'd to thinke these trifles some-thing, heereto- fore; and haue prosequuted both them, and their Authour liuing, with so much fauour: we hope, that (they out-liuing him, and he not hauing the fate, common with some, to be exequutor to his owne wri- tings) you will vse the like indulgence toward them, you haue done vnto their parent. There is a great difference, whether any Booke choose his Patrones, or finde them: This hath done both. For, so much were your L.L. likings of the seuerall parts, when they were acted, as before they were published, the Volume ask'd to be yours. We haue but collected them, and done an office to the dead, to procure his Orphanes, Guardians; without ambition ei -ther of selfe-profit, or fame: onely to keepe the memory of so worthy a Friend, & Fellow aliue, as was our SHAKESPEARE, by hum- ble offer of his playes, to your most noble patronage. Wherein, as we haue iustly obserued, no man to come neere your L.L. but with a kind of religious addresse; it hath bin the height of our care, who are the Presenters, to make the present worthy of your H.H. by the perfection. But, there we must also craue our abilities to be considerd, my Lords. We cannot go beyond our owne powers. Country hands reach foorth milke, creame, fruites, or what they haue: and many Nations (we haue heard) that had not gummes & incense, obtai -ned their requests with a leauened Cake. It was no fault to approch their Gods, by what meanes they could: And the most, though meanest, of things are made more precious, when they are dedicated to Temples. In that name therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your H.H. these remaines of your seruant Shakespeare; that what delight is in them, may be euer your L.L. the reputation his, & the faults ours, if any be committed, by a payre so carefull toshew their gratitude both to the liuing, and the dead, as is Your Lordshippes most bounden, IOHN HEMINGE.HENRY CONDELL.
To the great Variety of Readers. From the most able, to him that can but spell: Thereyou are number'd. We had rather you were weighd.Especially, when the fate of all Bookes depends vp-on your capacities: and not of your heads alone,but of your purses. Well! It is now publique, & youwil stand for your priuiledges wee know: to read,and censure. Do so, but buy it first. That doth bestcommend a Booke, the Stationer saies. Then, how odde soeuer yourbraines be, or your wisedomes, make your licence the same, and sparenot. Iudge your sixe-pen'orth, your shillings worth, your fiue shil-lings worth at a time, or higher, so you rise to the iust rates, and wel-come. But, what euer you do, Buy. Censure will not driue a Trade,or make the Iacke go. And though you be a Magistrate of wit, and siton the Stage at Black-Friers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes dailie,know, these Playes haue had their triall alreadie, and stood out all Ap-peales; and do now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of Court,then any purchas'd Letters of commendation.It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to haue bene wished, thatthe Author himselfe had liu'd to haue set forth, and ouerseen his ownewritings; But since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by death de-parted from that right, we pray you do not envie his Friends, the officeof their care, and paine, to haue collected & publish'd them; and so tohaue publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with diuersestolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed, and deformed by the fraudsand stealthes of iniurious impostors, that expos'd them: euen those,are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect of their limbes; and allthe rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceiued the[m]. Who, as he wasa happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mindand hand went together: And what he thought, he vttered with thateasinesse, that wee haue scarse receiued from him a blot in his papers.But it is not our prouince, who onely gather his works, and giue themyou, to praise him. It is yours that reade him. And there we hope, toyour diuers capacities, you will finde enough, both to draw, and holdyou: for his wit can no more lie hid, then it could be lost. Reade him,therefore; and againe, and againe: And if then you doe not like him,surely you are in some manifest danger, not to vnderstand him. And sowe leaue you to other of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee yourguides: if you neede them not, you can leade your selues, and others.And such Readers we wish him. Iohn Heminge.Henrie Condell.
To the memory of my beloued,The AVTHORMR. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE:ANDwhat he hath left vs. To draw no enuy (Shakespeare) on thy name,Am I thus ample to thy Booke, and Fame:While I confesse thy writings to be such,As neither Man, nor Muse, can praise too much.'Tis true, and all mens suffrage. But these wayesWere not the paths I meant vnto thy praise:For seeliest Ignorance on these may light,Which, when it sounds at best, but eccho's right;Or blinde Affection, which doth ne're aduanceThe truth, but gropes, and vrgeth all by chance;Or crafty Malice, might pretend this praise,And thinke to ruine, where it seem'd to raise.These are, as some infamous Baud, or Whore,Should praise a Matron. What could hurt her more? But thou art proofe against them, and indeedAboue the ill fortune of them, or the need.I, therefore will begin. Soule of the Age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our Stage! My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lyeA little further, to make thee a roome:Thou art a Moniment, without a tombe,And art aliue still, while thy Booke doth liue,And we haue wits to read, and praise to giue.That I not mixe thee so, my braine excuses;I meane with great, but disproportion'd Muses: For, if I thought my iudgement were of yeeres,I should commit thee surely with thy peeres,And tell, how farre thou didst our Lily out-shine,Or sporting Kid, or Marlowes mighty line.And though thou hadst small Latine, and lesse Greeke, From thence to honour thee, I would not seekeFor names; but call forth thund'ring Aeschilus,Euripides, and Sophocles to vs, Paccuuius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead,To life againe, to heare thy Buskin tread,And shake a Stage: Or, when thy Sockes were on,Leaue thee alone, for the comparison Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughtie Rome sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.Triumph, my Britaine, thou hast one to showe,To whom all Scenes of Europe homage owe.He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime,When like Apollo he came forth to warmeOur eares, or like a Mercury to charme! Nature herselfe was proud of his designes,And ioy'd to weare the dressing of his lines! Which were so richly spun, and wouen so fit,As, since, she will vouchsafe no other Wit.The merry Greeke, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;But antiquated, and deserted lyeAs they were not of Natures family.Yet must I not giue Nature all: Thy Art,My gentle Shakespeare, must enioy a part.For though the Poets matter, Nature be,His Art doth giue the fashion. And, that he,Who casts to write a liuing line, must sweat, (such as thine are) and strike the second heatVpon the Muses anuile: turne the same, (And himselfe with it) that he thinkes to frame;Or for the lawrell, he may gaine a scorne,For a good Poet's made, as well as borne.And such wert thou. Looke how the fathers faceLiues in his issue, euen so, the raceOf Shakespeares minde, and manners brightly shinesIn his well torned, and true-filed lines:In each of which, he seemes to shake a Lance,As brandish't at the eyes of Ignorance.Sweet Swan of Auon! what a sight it wereTo see thee in our waters yet appeare,And make those flights vpon the bankes of Thames, That so did take Eliza, and our Iames! But stay, I see thee in the Hemisphere Aduanc'd, and made a Constellation there! Shine forth, thou Starre of Poets, and with rage,Or influence, chide, or cheere the drooping Stage;Which, since thy flight fro[m] hence, hath mourn'd like night,And despaires day, but for thy Volumes light. BEN: IONSON.
Vpon the Lines and Life of the FamousScenicke Poet, Master WILLIAMSHAKESPEARE. Those hands, which you so clapt, go now, and wringYou Britaines braue; for done are Shakespeares dayes;His dayes are done, that made the dainty Playes,Which made the Globe of heau'n and earth to ring.Dry'de is that veine, dry'd is the Thespian Spring,Turn'd all to teares, and Phoebus clouds his rayes:That corp's, that coffin now besticke those bayes,Which crown'd him Poet first, then Poets King.If Tragedies might any Prologue haue,All those he made, would scarse make one to this:Where Fame, now that he gone is to the graue(Deaths publique tyring-house) the Nuncius is.For though his line of life went soone about,The life yet of his lines shall neuer out. HVGH HOLLAND.
A CATALOGVEof the seuerall Comedies, Histories, and Tra-gedies contained in this Volume. COMEDIES. The Tempest. Folio 1. The two Gentlemen of Verona. 20 The Merry Wiues of Windsor. 38 Measure for Measure. 61 The Comedy of Errours. 85 Much adoo about Nothing. 101 Loues Labour lost. 122 Midsommer Nights Dreame. 145 The Merchant of Venice. 163 As you Like it. 185 The Taming of the Shrew. 208 All is well, that Ends well. 230 Twelfe-Night, or what you will. 255 The Winters Tale. 304
HISTORIES. The Life and Death of King Iohn. Fol. 1. The Life & death of Richard the second. 23 The First part of King Henry the fourth. 46 The Second part of K[ing]. Henry the fourth. 74 The Life of King Henry the Fift. 69 The First part of King Henry the Sixt. 96 The Second part of King Hen[ry]. the Sixt. 120 The Third part of King Henry the Sixt. 147 The Life & Death of Richard the Third. 173 The Life of King Henry the Eight. 205
TRAGEDIES. The Tragedy of Coriolanus. Fol. 1. Titus Andronicus. 31 Romeo and Iuliet. 53 Timon of Athens. 80 The Life and death of Iulius Caesar. 109 The Tragedy of Macbeth. 131 The Tragedy of Hamlet. 152 King Lear. 283 Othello, the Moore of Venice. 310 Anthony and Cleopater. 346 Cymbeline King of Britaine. 369
TO THE MEMORIEof the deceased Authour MaisterW. SHAKESPEARE. Shake-speare, at length thy pious fellowes giueThe world thy Workes: thy Workes, by which, out-liueThy Tombe, thy name must; when that stone is rent,And Time dissolues thy Stratford Moniment,Here we aliue shall view thee still. This Booke,When Brasse and Marble fade, shall make thee lookeFresh to all Ages: when PosteritieShall loath what's new, thinke all is prodegieThat is not Shake-speares; eu'ry Line, each VerseHere shall reuiue, redeeme thee from thy Herse.Nor Fire, nor cankring Age, as Naso said,Of his, thy wit-fraught Booke shall once inuade.Nor shall I e're beleeue, or thinke thee dead (Though mist) vntill our bankrout Stage be sped (Impossible) with some new straine t' out-doPassions of Iuliet, and her Romeo; Or till I heare a Scene more nobly take,Then when thy half-Sword parlying Romans spake.Till these, till any of thy Volumes restShall with more fire, more feeling be exprest,Be sure, our Shake-speare, thou canst neuer dye,But crown'd with Lawrell, liue eternally. L. Digges.
To the memorie of M[aister]. W. Shake-speare. Wee wondred (Shake-speare) that thou went'st so sooneFrom the Worlds-Stage, to the Graues-Tyring-roome.Wee thought thee dead, but this thy printed worth,Tels thy Spectators, that thou went'st but forthTo enter with applause. An Actors Art,Can dye, and liue, to acte a second part.That's but an Exit of Mortalitie;This, a Re-entrance to a Plaudite. I.M.
The Workes of William Shakespeare,containing all his Comedies, Histories, andTragedies: Truely set forth, according to their first ORIGINALL. The Names of the Principall Actorsin all these Playes. William Shakespeare.Richard Burbadge.Iohn Hemmings.Augustine Phillips.William Kempe.Thomas Poope.George Bryan.Henry Condell.William Slye.Richard Cowly.Iohn Lowine.Samuell Crosse.Alexander Cooke.Samuel Gilburne.Robert Armin.William Ostler.Nathan Field.Iohn Vnderwood.Nicholas Tooley.William Ecclestone.Ioseph Taylor.Robert Benfield.Robert Goughe.Richard Robinson.Iohn Shancke.Iohn Rice.
THE TEMPEST.
Actus primus, Scena prima. A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning heard: En-ter a Ship-master, and a Boteswaine. Master. Bote-swaine. Botes. Heere Master: What cheere? Mast. Good: Speake to th' Mariners: falltoo't, yarely, or we run our selues a ground,bestirre, bestirre. Exit. Enter Mariners. Botes. Heigh my hearts, cheerely, cheerely my harts: yare, yare: Take in the toppe-sale: Tend to th' Masterswhistle: Blow till thou burst thy winde, if roome e-nough. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Anthonio, Ferdinando,Gonzalo, and others. Alon. Good Boteswaine haue care: where's the Ma-ster? Play the men. Botes. I pray now keepe below. Anth. Where is the Master, Boson? Botes. Do you not heare him? you marre our labour,Keepe your Cabines: you do assist the storme. Gonz. Nay, good be patient. Botes. When the Sea is: hence, what cares these roa-rers for the name of King? to Cabine; silence: troublevs not. Gon. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboord. Botes. None that I more loue then my selfe. You area Counsellor, if you can command these Elements to si-lence, and worke the peace of the present, wee will nothand a rope more, vse your authoritie: If you cannot,giue thankes you haue liu'd so long, and make yourselfe readie in your Cabine for the mischance of thehoure, if it so hap. Cheerely good hearts: out of ourway I say. Exit. Gon. I haue great comfort from this fellow: methinkshe hath no drowning marke vpon him, his complexionis perfect Gallowes: stand fast good Fate to his han-ging, make the rope of his destiny our cable, for ourowne doth little aduantage: If he be not borne to beehang'd, our case is miserable. Exit. Enter Boteswaine. Botes. Downe with the top-Mast: yare, lower, lower,bring her to Try with Maine-course. A plague —— A cry within. Enter Sebastian, Anthonio & Gonzalo. vpon this howling: they are lowder then the weather,or our office: yet againe? What do you heere? Shal wegiue ore and drowne, haue you a minde to sinke? Sebas. A poxe o'your throat, you bawling, blasphe-mous incharitable Dog. Botes. Worke you then. Anth. Hang cur, hang, you whoreson insolent Noyse-maker,we are lesse afraid to be drownde, then thou art. Gonz. I'le warrant him for drowning, though theShip were no stronger then a Nutt-shell, and as leaky asan vnstanched wench. Botes. Lay her a hold, a hold, set her two courses offto Sea againe, lay her off. Enter Mariners wet. Mari. All lost, to prayers, to prayers, all lost. Botes. What must our mouths be cold? Gonz. The King, and Prince, at prayers, let's assist them,for our case is as theirs. Sebas. I'am out of patience. An. We are meerly cheated of our liues by drunkards,This wide-chopt-rascall, would thou mightst lye drow-ning the washing of ten Tides. Gonz. Hee'l be hang'd yet,Though euery drop of water sweare against it,And gape at widst to glut him. A confused noyse within. Mercy on vs.We split, we split, Farewell my wife, and children,Farewell brother: we split, we split, we split. Anth. Let's all sinke with' King Seb. Let's take leaue of him. Exit. Gonz. Now would I giue a thousand furlongs of Sea,for an Acre of barren ground: Long heath, Brownefirrs, any thing; the wills aboue be done, but I wouldfaine dye a dry death. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Prospero and Miranda. Mira. If by your Art (my deerest father) you hauePut the wild waters in this Rore; alay them:The skye it seemes would powre down stinking pitch,But that the Sea, mounting to th' welkins cheeke,Dashes the fire out. Oh! I haue sufferedWith those that I saw suffer: A braue vessell (Who had no doubt some noble creature in her)Dash'd all to peeces: O the cry did knockeAgainst my very heart: poore soules, they perish'd.Had I byn any God of power, I wouldHaue suncke the Sea within the Earth, or ereIt should the good Ship so haue swallow'd, andThe fraughting Soules within her. Pros. Be collected,No more amazement: Tell your pitteous heartthere's no harme done. Mira. O woe, the day. Pros. No harme:I haue done nothing, but in care of thee(Of thee my deere one; thee my daughter) whoArt ignorant of what thou art. naught knowingOf whence I am: nor that I am more betterThen Prospero, Master of a full poore cell,And thy no greater Father. Mira. More to knowDid neuer medle with my thoughts. Pros. 'Tis timeI should informe thee farther: Lend thy handAnd plucke my Magick garment from me: So,Lye there my Art: wipe thou thine eyes, haue comfort,The direfull spectacle of the wracke which touch'dThe very vertue of compassion in thee:I haue with such prouision in mine Art So safely ordered, that there is no souleNo not so much perdition as an hayreBetid to any creature in the vessellWhich thou heardst cry, which thou saw'st sinke: Sit downe,For thou must now know farther. Mira. You haue oftenBegun to tell me what I am, but stoptAnd left me to a bootelesse Inquisition,Concluding, stay: not yet. Pros. The howr's now comeThe very minute byds thee ope thine eare,Obey, and be attentiue. Canst thou rememberA time before we came vnto this Cell?I doe not thinke thou canst, for then thou was't notOut three yeeres old. Mira. Certainely Sir, I can. Pros. By what? by any other house, or person?Of any thing the Image, tell me, thatHath kept with thy remembrance. Mira. 'Tis farre off:And rather like a dreame, then an assuranceThat my remembrance warrants: Had I notFowre, or fiue women once, that tended me? Pros. Thou hadst; and more Miranda: But how is itThat this liues in thy minde? What seest thou elsIn the dark-backward and Abisme of Time?Yf thou remembrest ought ere thou cam'st here,How thou cam'st here thou maist. Mira. But that I doe not. Pros. Twelue yere since (Miranda) twelue yere since,Thy father was the Duke of Millaine andA Prince of power: Mira. Sir, are not you my Father? Pros. Thy Mother was a peece of vertue, andShe said thou wast my daughter; and thy fatherWas Duke of Millaine, and his onely heire,And Princesse; no worse Issued. Mira. O the heauens,What fowle play had we, that we came from thence?Or blessed was't we did? Pros. Both, both my Girle.By fowle-play (as thou saist) were we heau'd thence,But blessedly holpe hither. Mira. O my heart bleedesTo thinke oth' teene that I haue turn'd you to,Which is from my remembrance, please you, farther; Pros. My brother and thy vncle, call'd Anthonio: I pray thee marke me, that a brother shouldBe so perfidious: he, whom next thy selfeOf all the world I lou'd, and to him putThe mannage of my state, as at that timeThrough all the signories it was the first,And Prospero, the prime Duke, being so reputedIn dignity; and for the liberall Artes,Without a paralell; those being all my studie,The Gouernment I cast vpon my brother,And to my State grew stranger, being transportedAnd rapt in secret studies, thy false vncle(Do'st thou attend me?) Mira. Sir, most heedefully. Pros. Being once perfected how to graunt suites,how to deny them: who t' aduance, and whoTo trash for ouer-topping; new createdThe creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,Or els new form'd 'em; hauing both the key,Of Officer, and office, set all hearts i'th stateTo what tune pleas'd his eare, that now he wasThe Iuy which had hid my princely Trunck,And suckt my verdure out on't: Thou attend'st not? Mira. O good Sir, I doe. Pros. I pray thee marke me:I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicatedTo closenes, and the bettering of my mindwith that, which but by being so retir'dOre-priz'd all popular rate: in my false brotherAwak'd an euill nature, and my trustLike a good parent, did beget of himA falsehood in it's contrarie, as greatAs my trust was, which had indeede no limit,A confidence sans bound. He being thus Lorded,Not onely with what my reuenew yeelded,But what my power might els exact. Like oneWho hauing into truth, by telling of it,Made such a synner of his memorieTo credite his owne lie, he did beleeueHe was indeed the Duke, out o'th' SubstitutionAnd executing th' outward face of RoialtieWith all prerogatiue: hence his Ambition growing:Do'st thou heare ? Mira. Your tale, Sir, would cure deafenesse. Pros. To haue no Schreene between this part he plaid,And him he plaid it for, he needes will beAbsolute Millaine, Me (poore man) my LibrarieWas Dukedome large enough: of temporall roaltiesHe thinks me now incapable. Confederates(so drie he was for Sway) with King of Naples To giue him Annuall tribute, doe him homageSubiect his Coronet, to his Crowne and bendThe Dukedom yet vnbow'd (alas poore Millaine)To most ignoble stooping. Mira. Oh the heauens: Pros. Marke his condition, and th' euent, then tell meIf this might be a brother. Mira. I should sinneTo thinke but Noblie of my Grand-mother, Good wombes haue borne bad sonnes. Pro. Now the Condition.This King of Naples being an EnemyTo me inueterate, hearkens my Brothers suit,Which was, That he in lieu o'th' premises,Of homage, and I know not how much Tribute,Should presently extirpate me and mineOut of the Dukedome, and confer faire Millaine With all the Honors, on my brother: WhereonA treacherous Armie leuied, one mid-nightFated to th' purpose, did Anthonio openThe gates of Millaine, and ith' dead of darkenesseThe ministers for th' purpose hurried thenceMe, and thy crying selfe. Mir. Alack, for pitty:I not remembring how I cride out thenWill cry it ore againe: it is a hintThat wrings mine eyes too't. Pro. Heare a little further,And then I'le bring thee to the present businesseWhich now's vpon's: without the which, this StoryWere most impertinent. Mir. Wherefore did they notThat howre destroy vs? Pro. Well demanded, wench:My Tale prouokes that question: Deare, they durst not,So deare the loue my people bore me: nor setA marke so bloudy on the businesse; butWith colours fairer, painted their foule ends.In few, they hurried vs a-boord a Barke,Bore vs some Leagues to Sea, where they preparedA rotten carkasse of a Butt, not rigg'd,Nor tackle, sayle, nor mast, the very ratsInstinctiuely haue quit it: There they hoyst vsTo cry to th' Sea, that roard to vs; to sighTo th' windes, whose pitty sighing backe againeDid vs but louing wrong. Mir. Alack, what troubleWas I then to you? Pro. O, a CherubinThou was't that did preserue me; Thou didst smile,Infused with a fortitude from heauen,When I haue deck'd the sea with drops full salt,Vnder my burthen groan'd, which rais'd in meAn vndergoing stomacke, to beare vpAgainst what should ensue. Mir. How came we a shore? Pro. By prouidence diuine,Some food, we had, and some fresh water, thatA noble Neopolitan Gonzalo Out of his Charity, (who being then appointedMaster of this designe) did giue vs, withRich garments, linnens, stuffs, and necessariesWhich since haue steeded much, so of his gentlenesseKnowing I lou'd my bookes, he furnishd meFrom mine owne Library, with volumes, thatI prize aboue my Dukedome. Mir. Would I mightBut euer see that man. Pro. Now I arise,Sit still, and heare the last of our sea-sorrow:Heere in this Iland we arriu'd, and heereHaue I, thy Schoolemaster, made thee more profitThen other Princesse can, that haue more timeFor vainer howres; and Tutors, not so carefull. Mir. Heuens thank you for't. And now I pray you Sir,For still 'tis beating in my minde; your reasonFor raysing this Sea-storme? Pro. Know thus far forth,By accident most strange, bountifull Fortune (Now my deere Lady) hath mine enemiesBrought to this shore: And by my prescienceI finde my Zenith doth depend vponA most auspitious starre, whose influenceIf now I court not, but omit; my fortunesWill euer after droope: Heare cease more questions,Thou art inclinde to sleepe: 'tis a good dulnesse,And giue it way: I know thou canst not chuse:Come away, Seruant, come; I am ready now,Approach my Ariel. Come. Enter Ariel. Ari. All haile, great Master, graue Sir, haile: I comeTo answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,To swim, to diue into the fire: to rideOn the curld clowds: to thy strong bidding, taske Ariel, and all his Qualitie. Pro. Hast thou, Spirit,Performd to point, the Tempest that I bad thee. Ar. To euery Article.I boorded the Kings ship: now on the Beake,Now in the Waste, the Decke, in euery Cabyn,I flam'd amazement, sometime I'ld diuideAnd burne in many places; on the Top-mast,The Yards and Bore-spritt, would I flame distinctly,Then meete, and ioyne. Ioues Lightning, the precursersO'th dreadfull Thunder-claps more momentarieAnd sight out-running were not; the fire, and cracksOf sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune Seeme to besiege, and make his bold waues tremble,Yea, his dread Trident shake. Pro. My braue Spirit,Who was so firme, so constant, that this coyleWould not infect his reason? Ar. Not a souleBut felt a Feauer of the madde, and plaidSome tricks of desperation; all but MarinersPlung'd in the foaming bryne, and quit the vessell;Then all a fire with me the Kings sonne Ferdinand With haire vp-staring (then like reeds, not haire)Was the first man that leapt; cride hell is empty,And all the Diuels are heere. Pro. Why that's my spirit:But was not this nye shore? Ar. Close by, my Master. Pro. But are they (Ariell) safe? Ar. Not a haire perishd:On their sustaining garments not a blemish,But fresher then before: and as thou badst me,In troops I haue dispersd them 'bout the Isle:The Kings sonne haue I landed by himselfe,Whom I left cooling of the Ayre with sighes,In an odde Angle of the Isle, and sittingHis armes in this sad knot. Pro. Of the Kings ship,The Marriners, say how thou hast disposd,And all the rest o'th' Fleete? Ar. Safely in harbourIs the Kings shippe, in the deepe Nooke, where onceThou calldst me vp at midnight to fetch deweFrom the still-vext Bermoothes, there she's hid;The Marriners all vnder hatches stowed,Who, with a Charme ioynd to their suffred labourI haue left asleep: and for the rest o'th' Fleet (Which I dispers'd) they all haue met againe,And are vpon the Mediterranian FloteBound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the Kings ship wrackt,And his great person perish. Pro. Ariel, thy chargeExactly is perform'd; but there's more worke:What is the time o'th' day? Ar. Past the mid season. Pro. At least two Glasses: the time 'twixt six & nowMust by vs both be spent most preciously. Ar. Is there more toyle? Since thou dost giue me pains,Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd,Which is not yet perform'd me. Pro. How now? moodie?What is't thou canst demand? Ar. My Libertie. Pro. Before the time be out? no more: Ar. I prethee,Remember I haue done thee worthy seruice,Told thee no lyes, made thee no mistakings, serv'dWithout or grudge, or grumblings; thou did promiseTo bate me a full yeere. Pro. Do'st thou forgetFrom what a torment I did free thee? Ar. No. Pro. Thou do'st: & thinkst it much to tread the OozeOf the salt deepe;To run vpon the sharpe winde of the North,To doe me businesse in the veines o'th' earthWhen it is bak'd with frost. Ar. I doe not Sir. Pro. Thou liest, malignant Thing: hast thou forgotThe fowle Witch Sycorax, who with Age and EnuyWas growne into a hoope? hast thou forgot her? Ar. No Sir. Pro. Thou hast: where was she born? speak: tell me: Ar. Sir, in Argier. Pro. Oh, was she so: I mustOnce in a moneth recount what thou hast bin,Which thou forgetst. This damn'd Witch Sycorax For mischiefes manifold, and sorceries terribleTo enter humane hearing, from Argier Thou know'st was banish'd: for one thing she didThey wold not take her life: Is not this true? Ar. I, Sir. Pro. This blew ey'd hag, was hither brought with child,And here was left by th' Saylors; thou my slaue,As thou reportst thy selfe, was then her seruant,And for thou wast a Spirit too delicateTo act her earthy, and abhord commands,Refusing her grand hests, she did confine theeBy helpe of her more potent Ministers,And in her most vnmittigable rage,Into a clouen Pyne, within which riftImprison'd, thou didst painefully remaineA dozen yeeres: within which space she di'd,And left thee there: where thou didst vent thy groanesAs fast as Mill-wheeles strike: Then was this Island(Saue for the Son, that he did littour heere,A frekelld whelpe, hag-borne) not honour'd withA humane shape. Ar. Yes: Caliban her sonne. Pro. Dull thing, I say so: he, that Caliban Whom now I keepe in seruice, thou best know'stWhat torment I did finde thee in; thy gronesDid make wolues howle, and penetrate the breastsOf euer-angry Beares; it was a tormentTo lay vpon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not againe vndoe: it was mine Art,When I arriu'd, and heard thee, that made gapeThe Pyne, and let thee out. Ar. I thanke thee Master. Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an OakeAnd peg-thee in his knotty entrailes, tillThou hast howl'd away twelue winters. Ar. Pardon, Master,I will be correspondent to commandAnd doe my spryting, gently. Pro. Doe so: and after two daiesI will discharge thee. Ar. That's my noble Master:What shall I doe? say what? what shall I doe? Pro. Goe make thy selfe like a Nymph o'th' Sea,Be subiect to no sight but thine, and mine: inuisibleTo euery eye-ball else: goe take this shapeAnd hither come in't: goe: henceWith diligence. Exit. Pro. Awake, deere hart awake, thou hast slept well,Awake. Mir. The strangenes of your story, putHeauinesse in me. Pro. Shake it off: Come on,Wee'll visit Caliban, my slaue, who neuerYeelds vs kinde answere. Mir. 'Tis a villaine Sir, I doe not loue to looke on. Pro. But as 'tisWe cannot misse him: he do's make our fire,Fetch in our wood, and serues in OfficesThat profit vs: What hoa: slaue: Caliban: Thou Earth, thou: speake. Cal. within. There's wood enough within. Pro. Come forth I say, there's other busines for thee:Come thou Tortoys, when? Enter Ariel like a water-Nymph. Fine apparision: my queint Ariel, Hearke in thine eare. Ar. My Lord, it shall be done. Exit. Pro. Thou poysonous slaue, got by the diuell himselfeVpon thy wicked Dam; come forth. Enter Caliban. Cal. As wicked dewe, as ere my mother brush'dWith Rauens feather from vnwholesome FenDrop on you both: A Southwest blow on yee,And blister you all ore. Pro. For this be sure, to night thou shalt haue cramps,Side-stitches, that shall pen thy breath vp, VrchinsShall for that vast of night, that they may workeAll exercise on thee: thou shalt be pinch'dAs thicke as hony-combe, each pinch more stingingThen Bees that made 'em. Cal. I must eat my dinner:This Island's mine by Sycorax my mother,Which thou tak'st from me: when thou cam'st firstThou stroakst me, & made much of me: wouldst giue meWater with berries in't: and teach me howTo name the bigger Light, and how the lesseThat burne by day, and night: and then I lou'd theeAnd shew'd thee all the qualities o'th' Isle,The fresh Springs, Brine-pits; barren place and fertill,Curs'd be I that did so: All the CharmesOf Sycorax: Toades, Beetles, Batts light on you:For I am all the Subiects that you haue,Which first was min owne King: and here you sty-meIn this hard Rocke, whiles you doe keepe from meThe rest o'th' Island. Pro. Thou most lying slaue,Whom stripes may moue, not kindnes: I haue vs'd thee(Filth as thou art) with humane care, and lodg'd theeIn mine owne Cell, till thou didst seeke to violateThe honor of my childe. Cal. Oh ho, oh ho, would't had bene done:Thou didst preuent me, I had peopel'd elseThis Isle with Calibans. Mira. Abhorred Slaue,Which any print of goodnesse wilt not take,Being capable of all ill: I pittied thee,Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each houreOne thing or other: when thou didst not (Sauage)Know thine owne meaning; but wouldst gabble, likeA thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposesWith words that made them knowne: But thy vild race(Tho thou didst learn) had that in't, which good naturesCould not abide to be with; therefore wast thouDeseruedly confin'd into this Rocke, who hadstDeseru'd more then a prison. Cal. You taught me Language, and my profit on'tIs, I know how to curse: the red-plague rid youFor learning me your language. Pros. Hag-seed, hence:Fetch vs in Fewell, and be quicke thou'rt bestTo answer other businesse: shrug'st thou (Malice)If thou neglectst, or dost vnwillinglyWhat I command, Ile racke thee with old Crampes,Fill all thy bones with Aches, make thee rore,That beasts shall tremble at thy dyn. Cal. No, 'pray thee.I must obey, his Art is of such pow'r,It would controll my Dams god Setebos, And make a vassaile of him. Pro. So slaue, hence. Exit Cal. Enter Ferdinand & Ariel, inuisible playing & singing. Ariel Song. Come vnto these yellow sands,and then take hands:Curtsied when you haue, and kistthe wilde waues whist:Foote it featly heere, and there, and sweete Sprights bearethe burthen. Burthen dispersedly. Harke, harke, bowgh wawgh: the watch-Dogges barke,bowgh-wawgh. Ar. Hark, hark, I heare, the straine of strutting Chanticlerecry cockadidle-dowe. Fer. Where shold this Musick be? I'th aire, or th' earth?It sounds no more: and sure it waytes vponSome God o'th' Iland, sitting on a banke,Weeping againe the King my Fathers wracke.This Musicke crept by me vpon the waters,Allaying both their fury, and my passionWith it's sweet ayre: thence I haue follow'd it(Or it hath drawne me rather) but 'tis gone.No, it begins againe. Ariell Song. Full fadom fiue thy Father lies,Of his bones are Corrall made:Those are pearles that were his eies,Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a Sea-changeInto something rich, & strange:Sea-Nimphs hourly ring his knell. Burthen: ding dong. Harke now I heare them, ding-dong bell. Fer. The Ditty do's remember my drown'd father,This is no mortall busines, nor no soundThat the earth owes: I heare it now aboue me. Pro. The fringed Curtaines of thine eye aduance,And say what thou see'st yond. Mira. What is't a Spirit?Lord, how it lookes about: Beleeue me sir,It carries a braue forme. But 'tis a spirit. Pro. No wench, it eats, and sleeps, & hath such sensesAs we haue: such. This Gallant which thou seestWas in the wracke: and but hee's something stain'dWith greefe (that's beauties canker) thou might'st call himA goodly person: he hath lost his fellowes,And strayes about to finde 'em. Mir. I might call himA thing diuine, for nothing naturallI euer saw so Noble. Pro. It goes on I seeAs my soule prompts it: Spirit, fine spirit, Ile free theeWithin two dayes for this. Fer. Most sure the GoddesseOn whom these ayres attend: Vouchsafe my pray'rMay know if you remaine vpon this Island,And that you will some good instruction giueHow I may beare me heere: my prime request(Which I do last pronounce) is (O you wonder)If you be Mayd, or no? Mir. No wonder Sir,But certainly a Mayd. Fer. My Language? Heauens:I am the best of them that speake this speech,Were I but where 'tis spoken. Pro. How? the best?What wer't thou if the King of Naples heard thee? Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wondersTo heare thee speake of Naples: he do's heare me,And that he do's, I weepe: my selfe am Naples, Who, with mine eyes (neuer since at ebbe) beheldThe King my Father wrack't. Mir. Alacke, for mercy. Fer. Yes faith, & all his Lords, the Duke of Millaine And his braue sonne, being twaine. Pro. The Duke of Millaine And his more brauer daughter, could controll theeIf now 'twere fit to do't: At the first sightThey haue chang'd eyes: Delicate Ariel, Ile set thee free for this. A word good Sir,I feare you haue done your selfe some wrong: A word. Mir. Why speakes my father so vngently? ThisIs the third man that ere I saw: the firstThat ere I sigh'd for: pitty moue my fatherTo be enclin'd my way. Fer. O, if a Virgin,And your affection not gone forth, Ile make youThe Queene of Naples. Pro. Soft sir, one word more.They are both in eythers pow'rs: But this swift businesI must vneasie make, least too light winningMake the prize light. One word more: I charge theeThat thou attend me: Thou do'st heere vsurpeThe name thou ow'st not, and hast put thy selfeVpon this Island, as a spy, to win itFrom me, the Lord on't. Fer. No, as I am a man. Mir. Ther's nothing ill, can dwell in such a Temple,If the ill-spirit haue so fayre a house,Good things will striue to dwell with't. Pro. Follow me. Pros. Speake not you for him: hee's a Traitor: come,Ile manacle thy necke and feete together:Sea water shalt thou drinke: thy food shall beThe fresh-brooke Mussels, wither'd roots, and huskesWherein the Acorne cradled. Follow. Fer. No,I will resist such entertainment, tillMine enemy ha's more pow'r. He drawes, and is charmed from mouing. Mira. O deere Father,Make not too rash a triall of him, forHee's gentle, and not fearfull. Pros. What I say,My foote my Tutor? Put thy sword vp Traitor,Who mak'st a shew, but dar'st not strike: thy conscienceIs so possest with guilt: Come, from thy ward,For I can heere disarme thee with this sticke,And make thy weapon drop. Mira. Beseech you Father. Pros. Hence: hang not on my garments. Mira. Sir haue pity,Ile be his surety. Pros. Silence: One word moreShall make me chide thee, if not hate thee: What,An aduocate for an Impostor? Hush:Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,(Hauing seene but him and Caliban:) Foolish wench,To th' most of men, this is a Caliban, And they to him are Angels. Mira. My affectionsAre then most humble: I haue no ambitionTo see a goodlier man. Pros. Come on, obey:Thy Nerues are in their infancy againe.And haue no vigour in them. Fer. So they are:My spirits, as in a dreame, are all bound vp:My Fathers losse, the weaknesse which I feele,The wracke of all my friends, nor this mans threats,To whom I am subdude, are but light to me,Might I but through my prison once a dayBehold this Mayd: all corners else o'th' EarthLet liberty make vse of: space enoughHaue I in such a prison. Pros. It workes: Come on.Thou hast done well, fine Ariell: follow me,Harke what thou else shalt do mee. Mira. Be of comfort,My Fathers of a better nature (Sir)Then he appeares by speech: this is vnwontedWhich now came from him. Pros. Thou shalt be as freeAs mountaine windes; but then exactly doAll points of my command. Ariell. To th' syllable. Pros. Come follow: speake not for him. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Anthonio, Gonzalo, Adrian,Francisco, and others. Gonz. Beseech you Sir, be merry; you haue cause,(So haue we all) of ioy; for our escapeIs much beyond our losse; our hint of woeIs common, euery day, some Saylors wife,The Masters of some Merchant, and the MerchantHaue iust our Theame of woe: But for the miracle,(I meane our preseruation) few in millionsCan speake like vs: then wisely (good Sir) weighOur sorrow, with our comfort. Alons. Prethee peace. Seb. He receiues comfort like cold porredge. Ant. The Visitor will not giue him ore so. Seb. Looke, hee's winding vp the watch of his wit, By and by it will strike. Gon. Sir. Seb. One: Tell. Gon. When euery greefe is entertaind,That's offer'd comes to th' entertainer. Seb. A dollor. Gon. Dolour comes to him indeed, you haue spokentruer then you purpos'd. Seb. You haue taken it wiselier then I meant youshould. Gon. Therefore my Lord. Ant. Fie, what a spend-thrift is he of his tongue. Alon. I pre-thee spare. Gon. Well, I haue done: But yet Seb. He will be talking. Ant. Which, of he, or Adrian, for a good wager,First begins to crow? Seb. The old Cocke. Ant. The Cockrell. Seb. Done: The wager? Ant. A Laughter. Seb. A match. Adr. Though this Island seeme to be desert. Seb. Ha, ha, ha. Ant. So: you'r paid. Adr. Vninhabitable, and almost inaccessible. Seb. Yet Adr. Yet Ant. He could not misse't. Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicatetemperance. Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. Seb. I, and a subtle, as he most learnedly deliuer'd. Adr. The ayre breathes vpon vs here most sweetly. Seb. As if it had Lungs, and rotten ones. Ant. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a Fen. Gon. Heere is euery thing aduantageous to life. Ant. True, saue meanes to liue. Seb. Of that there's none, or little. Gon. How lush and lusty the grasse lookes?How greene? Ant. The ground indeed is tawny. Seb. With an eye of greene in't. Ant. He misses not much. Seb. No: he doth but mistake the truth totally. Gon. But the rariety of it is, which is indeed almostbeyond credit. Seb. As many voucht rarieties are. Gon. That our Garments being (as they were) drenchtin the Sea, hold notwithstanding their freshnesse andglosses, being rather new dy'de then stain'd with saltewater. Ant. If but one of his pockets could speake, wouldit not say he lyes? Seb. I, or very falsely pocket vp his report. Gon. Me thinkes our garments are now as fresh aswhen we put them on first in Affricke, at the marriageof the kings faire daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well inour returne. Adri. Tunis was neuer grac'd before with such a Pa-ragon to their Queene. Gon. Not since widdow Dido's time. Ant. Widow? A pox o'that: how came that Wid-dow in? Widdow Dido! Seb. What if he had said Widdower Aeneas too?Good Lord, how you take it? Adri. Widdow Dido said you? You make me studyof that: She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Gon. This Tunis Sir was Carthage. Adri. Carthage? Gon. I assure you Carthage. Ant. His word is more then the miraculous Harpe. Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. Ant. What impossible matter wil he make easy next? Seb. I thinke hee will carry this Island home in hispocket, and giue it his sonne for an Apple. Ant. And sowing the kernels of it in the Sea, bringforth more Islands. Gon. I. Ant. Why in good time. Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seemenow as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriageof your daughter, who is now Queene. Ant. And the rarest that ere came there. Seb. Bate (I beseech you) widdow Dido. Ant. O Widdow Dido? I, Widdow Dido. Gon. Is not Sir my doublet as fresh as the first day Iwore it? I meane in a sort. Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. Gon. When I wore it at your daughters marriage. Alon. You cram these words into mine eares, againstthe stomacke of my sense: would I had neuerMarried my daughter there: For comming thenceMy sonne is lost, and (in my rate) she too,Who is so farre from Italy remoued,I ne're againe shall see her: O thou mine heireOf Naples and of Millaine, what strange fishHath made his meale on thee? Fran. Sir he may liue,I saw him beate the surges vnder him,And ride vpon their backes; he trod the waterWhose enmity he flung aside: and brestedThe surge most swolne that met him: his bold head'Boue the contentious waues he kept, and oaredHimselfe with his good armes in lusty strokeTo th' shore; that ore his waue-worne basis bowedAs stooping to releeue him: I not doubtHe came aliue to Land. Alon. No, no, hee's gone. Seb. Sir you may thank your selfe for this great losse,That would not blesse our Europe with your daughter,But rather loose her to an Affrican,Where she at least, is banish'd from your eye,Who hath cause to wet the greefe on't. Alon. Pre-thee peace. Seb. You were kneel'd too, & importun'd otherwiseBy all of vs: and the faire soule her selfeWaigh'd betweene loathnesse, and obedience, atWhich end o'th' beame should bow: we haue lost your son,I feare for euer: Millaine and Naples haueMo widdowes in them of this businesse making,Then we bring men to comfort them:The faults your owne. Alon. So is the deer'st oth' losse. Gon. My Lord Sebastian, The truth you speake doth lacke some gentlenesse,And time to speake it in: you rub the sore,When you should bring the plaister. Seb. Very well. Ant. And most Chirurgeonly. Gon. It is foule weather in vs all, good Sir,When you are cloudy. Seb. Fowle weather? Ant. Very foule. Gon. Had I plantation of this Isle my Lord. Ant. Hee'd sow't with Nettle-seed. Seb. Or dockes, or Mallowes. Gon. And were the King on't, what would I do? Seb. Scape being drunke, for want of Wine. Gon. I'th' Commonwealth I would (by contraries)Execute all things: For no kinde of TraffickeWould I admit: No name of Magistrate:Letters should not be knowne: Riches, pouerty,And vse of seruice, none: Contract, Succession,Borne, bound of Land, Tilth, Vineyard none:No vse of Mettall, Corne, or Wine, or Oyle:No occupation, all men idle, all:And Women too, but innocent and pure:No Soueraignty. Seb. Yet he would be King on't. Ant. The latter end of his Common-wealth forgetsthe beginning. Gon. All things in common Nature should produceWithout sweat or endeuour: Treason, fellony,Sword, Pike, Knife, Gun, or neede of any EngineWould I not haue: but Nature should bring forthOf it owne kinde, all foyzon, all abundanceTo feed my innocent people. Seb. No marrying 'mong his subiects? Ant. None (man) all idle; Whores and knaues, Gon. I would with such perfection gouerne Sir:T' Excell the Golden Age. Seb. 'Saue his Maiesty. Ant. Long liue Gonzalo. Gon. And do you marke me, Sir? Alon. Pre-thee no more: thou dost talke nothing to me. Gon. I do well beleeue your Highnesse, and did itto minister occasion to these Gentlemen, who are ofsuch sensible and nimble Lungs, that they alwayes vseto laugh at nothing. Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling am nothingto you: so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still. Ant. What a blow was there giuen? Seb. And it had not falne flat-long. Gon. You are Gentlemen of braue mettal: you wouldlift the Moone out of her spheare, if she would continuein it fiue weekes without changing. Enter Ariell playing solemne Musicke. Seb. We would so, and then go a Bat-fowling. Ant. Nay good my Lord, be not angry. Gon. No I warrant you, I will not aduenture mydiscretion so weakly: Will you laugh me asleepe, for Iam very heauy. Ant. Go sleepe, and heare vs. Alon. What, all so soone asleepe? I wish mine eyesWould (with themselues) shut vp my thoughts,I finde they are inclin'd to do so. Seb. Please you Sir,Do not omit the heauy offer of it:It sildome visits sorrow, when it doth, it is a Comforter. Ant. We two my Lord, will guard your person,While you take your rest, and watch your safety. Alon. Thanke you: Wondrous heauy. Seb. What a strange drowsines possesses them? Ant. It is the quality o'th' Clymate. Seb. WhyDoth it not then our eye-lids sinke? I findeNot my selfe dispos'd to sleep. Ant. Nor I, my spirits are nimble:They fell together all, as by consentThey dropt, as by a Thunder-stroke: what mightWorthy Sebastian? O, what might? no more:And yet, me thinkes I see it in thy face,What thou should'st be: th' occasion speaks thee, andMy strong imagination see's a CrowneDropping vpon thy head. Seb. What? art thou waking? Ant. Do you not heare me speake? Seb. I do, and surelyIt is a sleepy Language; and thou speak'stOut of thy sleepe: What is it thou didst say?This is a strange repose, to be asleepeWith eyes wide open: standing, speaking, mouing:And yet so fast asleepe. Ant. Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleepe: die rather: wink'stWhiles thou art waking. Seb. Thou do'st snore distinctly,There's meaning in thy snores. Ant. I am more serious then my custome: youMust be so too, if heed me: which to do,Trebbles thee o're. Seb. Well: I am standing water. Ant. Ile teach you how to flow. Seb. Do so: to ebbeHereditary Sloth instructs me. Ant. O!If you but knew how you the purpose cherishWhiles thus you mocke it: how in stripping itYou more inuest it: ebbing men, indeed(Most often) do so neere the bottome runBy their owne feare, or sloth. Seb. 'Pre-thee say on,The setting of thine eye, and cheeke proclaimeA matter from thee; and a birth, indeed,Which throwes thee much to yeeld. Ant. Thus Sir:Although this Lord of weake remembrance; thisWho shall be of as little memoryWhen he is earth'd, hath here almost perswaded(For hee's a Spirit of perswasion, onelyProfesses to perswade) the King his sonne's aliue,'Tis as impossible that hee's vndrown'd,As he that sleepes heere, swims. Seb. I haue no hopeThat hee's vndrown'd. Ant. O, out of that no hope,What great hope haue you? No hope that way, IsAnother way so high a hope, that euenAmbition cannot pierce a winke beyondBut doubt discouery there. Will you grant with meThat Ferdinand is drown'd. Seb. He's gone. Ant. Then tell me, who's the next heire of Naples? Seb. Claribell. Ant. She that is Queene of Tunis: she that dwelsTen leagues beyond mans life: she that from Naples Can haue no note, vnlesse the Sun were post:The Man i'th Moone's too slow, till new-borne chinnesBe rough, and Razor-able: She that from whomWe all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast againe,(And by that destiny) to performe an actWhereof, what's past is Prologue; what to comeIn yours, and my discharge. Seb. What stuffe is this? How say you?'Tis true my brothers daughter's Queene of Tunis, So is she heyre of Naples, 'twixt which RegionsThere is some space. Ant. A space, whose eu'ry cubitSeemes to cry out, how shall that Claribell Measure vs backe to Naples? keepe in Tunis, And let Sebastian wake. Say, this were deathThat now hath seiz'd them, why they were no worseThen now they are: There be that can rule Naples As well as he that sleepes: Lords, that can prateAs amply, and vnnecessarilyAs this Gonzallo: I my selfe could makeA Chough of as deepe chat: O, that you boreThe minde that I do; what a sleepe were thisFor your aduancement? Do you vnderstand me? Seb. Me thinkes I do. Ant. And how do's your contentTender your owne good fortune? Seb. I rememberYou did supplant your Brother Prospero. Ant. True:And looke how well my Garments sit vpon me,Much feater then before: My Brothers seruantsWere then my fellowes, now they are my men. Seb. But for your conscience. Ant. I Sir: where lies that? If 'twere a kybe'Twould put me to my slipper: But I feele notThis Deity in my bosome: 'Twentie consciencesThat stand 'twixt me, and Millaine, candied be they,And melt ere they mollest: Heere lies your Brother,No better then the earth he lies vpon,If he were that which now hee's like (that's dead)Whom I with this obedient steele (three inches of it)Can lay to bed for euer: whiles you doing thus,To the perpetuall winke for aye might putThis ancient morsell: this Sir Prudence, whoShould not vpbraid our course: for all the restThey'l take suggestion, as a Cat laps milke,They'l tell the clocke, to any businesse thatWe say befits the houre. Seb. Thy case, deere FriendShall be my president: As thou got'st Millaine, I'le come by Naples: Draw thy sword, one strokeShall free thee from the tribute which thou paiest,And I the King shall loue thee. Ant. Draw together:And when I reare my hand, do you the likeTo fall it on Gonzalo. Seb. O, but one word. Enter Ariell with Musicke and Song. Ariel. My Master through his Art foresees the dangerThat you (his friend) are in, and sends me forth(For else his proiect dies) to keepe them liuing. Sings in Gonzaloes eare. While you here do snoaring lie,Open-ey'd ConspiracieHis time doth take: If of Life you keepe a care,Shake off slumber and beware.Awake, awake. Ant. Then let vs both be sodaine. Gon. Now, good Angels preserue the King. Alo. Why how now hoa; awake? why are you drawn?Wherefore this ghastly looking? Gon. What's the matter? Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose,(Euen now) we heard a hollow burst of bellowingLike Buls, or rather Lyons, did't not wake you?It strooke mine eare most terribly. Alo. I heard nothing. Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a Monsters eare;To make an earthquake: sure it was the roareOf a whole heard of Lyons. Alo. Heard you this Gonzalo? Gon. Vpon mine honour, Sir, I heard a humming,(And that a strange one too) which did awake me:I shak'd you Sir, and cride: as mine eyes opend,I saw their weapons drawne: there was a noyse,That's verily: 'tis best we stand vpon our guard;Or that we quit this place: let's draw our weapons. Alo. Lead off this ground & let's make further searchFor my poore sonne. Gon. Heauens keepe him from these Beasts:For he is sure i'th Island. Alo. Lead away. Ariell. Prospero my Lord, shall know what I haue done. So (King) goe safely on to seeke thy Son. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Caliban, with a burthen of Wood (a noyse ofthunder heard.) Cal. All the infections that the Sunne suckes vpFrom Bogs, Fens, Flats, on Prosper fall, and make himBy ynch-meale a disease: his Spirits heare me,And yet I needes must curse. But they'll nor pinch,Fright me with Vrchyn-shewes, pitch me i'th mire,Nor lead me like a fire-brand, in the darkeOut of my way, vnlesse he bid 'em; butFor euery trifle, are they set vpon me,Sometime like Apes, that moe and chatter at me,And after bite me: then like Hedg-hogs, whichLye tumbling in my bare-foote way, and mountTheir pricks at my foot-fall: sometime am IAll wound with Adders, who with clouen tonguesDoe hisse me into madnesse: Lo, now Lo, Enter Trinculo. Here comes a Spirit of his, and to torment meFor bringing wood in slowly: I'le fall flat,Perchance he will not minde me. Tri. Here's neither bush, nor shrub to beare off anyweather at all: and another Storme brewing, I heare itsing ith' winde: yond same blacke cloud, yond hugeone, lookes like a foule bumbard that would shed hislicquor: if it should thunder, as it did before, I knownot where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannotchoose but fall by paile-fuls. What haue we here, a man,or a fish? dead or aliue? a fish, hee smels like a fish: avery ancient and fish-like smell: a kinde of, not of thenewest poore-Iohn: a strange fish: were I in England now (as once I was) and had but this fish painted; nota holiday-foole there but would giue a peece of siluer:there, would this Monster, make a man: any strangebeast there, makes a man: when they will not giue adoit to relieue a lame Begger, they will lay out ten to seea dead Indian: Leg'd like a man; and his Finnes likeArmes: warme o'my troth: I doe now let loose my o-pinion; hold it no longer; this is no fish, but an Islan-der, that hath lately suffered by a Thunderbolt: Alas,the storme is come againe: my best way is to creepe vn-der his Gaberdine: there is no other shelter herea-bout: Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfel-lowes: I will here shrowd till the dregges of the stormebe past. Enter Stephano singing. Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, here shall I dye ashore. This is a very scuruy tune to sing at a mansFunerall: well, here's my comfort. Drinkes. Sings. The Master, the Swabber, the Boate-swaine & I;The Gunner, and his MateLou'd Mall, Meg, and Marrian, and Margerie,But none of vs car'd for Kate.For she had a tongue with a tang,Would cry to a Sailor goe hang:She lou'd not the sauour of Tar nor of Pitch,Yet a Tailor might scratch her where ere she did itch.Then to Sea Boyes, and let her goe hang. This is a scuruy tune too:But here's my comfort. drinks. Cal. Doe not torment me: oh. Ste. What's the matter?Haue we diuels here?Doe you put trickes vpon's with Saluages, and Men ofInde? ha? I haue not scap'd drowning, to be afeardnow of your foure legges: for it hath bin said; as pro-per a man as euer went on foure legs, cannot make himgiue ground: and it shall be said so againe, while Ste-phano breathes at' nostrils. Cal. The Spirit torments me: oh. Ste. This is some Monster of the Isle, with foure legs;who hath got (as I take it) an Ague: where the diuellshould he learne our language? I will giue him some re-liefe if it be but for that: if I can recouer him, and keepehim tame, and get to Naples with him, he's a Pre-sent for any Emperour that euer trod on Neates-lea-ther. Cal. Doe not torment me 'prethee: I'le bring mywood home faster. Ste. He's in his fit now; and doe's not talke after thewisest; hee shall taste of my Bottle: if hee haue neuerdrunke wine afore, it will goe neere to remoue his Fit:if I can recouer him, and keepe him tame, I will not taketoo much for him; hee shall pay for him that hath him,and that soundly. Cal. Thou do'st me yet but little hurt; thou wilt a-non, I know it by thy trembling: Now Prosper workesvpon thee. Ste. Come on your wayes: open your mouth: hereis that which will giue language to you Cat; open yourmouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, andthat soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend; openyour chaps againe. Tri. I should know that voyce:It should be, But hee is dround; and these are diuels; O de-fend me. Ste. Foure legges and two voyces; a most delicateMonster: his forward voyce now is to speake well ofhis friend; his backward voice, is to vtter foule speeches,and to detract: if all the wine in my bottle will recouerhim, I will helpe his Ague: Come: Amen, I willpoure some in thy other mouth. Tri. Stephano. Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy:This is a diuell, and no Monster: I will leaue him, Ihaue no long Spoone. Tri. Stephano: if thou beest Stephano, touch me, andspeake to me: for I am Trinculo; be not afeard, thygood friend Trinculo. Ste. If thou bee'st Trinculo: come forth: I'le pullthee by the lesser legges: if any be Trinculo's legges,these are they: Thou art very Trinculo indeede: howcam'st thou to be the siege of this Moone-calfe? Canhe vent Trinculo's? Tri. I tooke him to be kil'd with a thunder-strok; butart thou not dround Stephano: I hope now thou artnot dround: Is the Storme ouer-blowne? I hid meevnder the dead Moone-Calfes Gaberdine, for feare ofthe Storme: And art thou liuing Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitanes scap'd? Ste. 'Prethee doe not turne me about, my stomackeis not constant. Cal. These be fine things, and if they be not sprights:that's a braue God, and beares Celestiall liquor: I willkneele to him. Ste. How did'st thou scape?How cam'st thou hither?Sweare by this Bottle how thou cam'st hither: I escap'dvpon a But of Sacke, which the Saylors heaued o're-boord, by this Bottle which I made of the barke ofa Tree, with mine owne hands, since I was cast a'-shore. Cal. I'le sweare vpon that Bottle, to be thy true sub-iect, for the liquor is not earthly. St. Heere: sweare then how thou escap'dst. Tri. Swom ashore (man) like a Ducke: I can swimlike a Ducke i'le be sworne. Ste. Here, kisse the Booke.Though thou canst swim like a Ducke, thou art madelike a Goose. Tri. O Stephano, ha'st any more of this? Ste. The whole But (man) my Cellar is in a rockeby th' sea-side, where my Wine is hid:How now Moone-Calfe, how do's thine Ague? Cal. Ha'st thou not dropt from heauen? Ste. Out o'th Moone I doe assure thee. I was theMan ith' Moone, when time was. Cal. I haue seene thee in her: and I doe adore thee:My Mistris shew'd me thee, and thy Dog, and thy Bush. Ste. Come, sweare to that: kisse the Booke: I willfurnish it anon with new Contents: Sweare. Tri. By this good light, this is a very shallow Mon-ster: I afeard of him? a very weake Monster:The Man ith' Moone?A most poore creadulous Monster:Well drawne Monster, in good sooth. Cal. Ile shew thee euery fertill ynch o'th Island: andI will kisse thy foote: I prethee be my god. Tri. By this light, a most perfidious, and drunkenMonster, when's god's a sleepe he'll rob his Bottle. Cal. Ile kisse thy foot, Ile sweare my selfe thy Subiect. Ste. Come on then: downe and sweare. Tri. I shall laugh my selfe to death at this puppi-hea-ded Monster: a most scuruie Monster: I could finde inmy heart to beate him. Ste. Come, kisse. Tri. But that the poore Monster's in drinke:An abhominable Monster. Cal. I'le shew thee the best Springs: I'le plucke theeBerries: I'le fish for thee; and get thee wood enough.A plague vpon the Tyrant that I serue;I'le beare him no more Stickes, but follow thee, thouwondrous man. Tri. A most rediculous Monster, to make a wonder ofa poore drunkard. Cal. I 'prethee let me bring thee where Crabs grow;and I with my long nayles will digge thee pig-nuts;show thee a Iayes nest, and instruct thee how to snarethe nimble Marmazet: I'le bring thee to clustringPhilbirts, and sometimes I'le get thee young Scamelsfrom the Rocke: Wilt thou goe with me? Ste. I pre'thee now lead the way without any moretalking. Trinculo, the King, and all our company elsebeing dround, wee will inherit here: Here; beare myBottle: Fellow Trinculo; we'll fill him by and by a-gaine. Caliban Sings drunkenly. Farewell Master; farewell, farewell. Tri. A howling Monster: a drunken Monster. Cal. No more dams I'le make for fish,Nor fetch in firing, at requiring,Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish,Ban' ban' CacalybanHas a new Master, get a new Man. Freedome, high-day, high-day freedome, freedome high-day, freedome. Ste. O braue Monster; lead the way. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scoena Prima. Enter Ferdinand (bearing a Log.) Fer. There be some Sports are painfull; & their laborDelight in them set off: Some kindes of basenesseAre nobly vndergon; and most poore mattersPoint to rich ends: this my meane TaskeWould be as heauy to me, as odious, butThe Mistris which I serue, quickens what's dead,And makes my labours, pleasures: O She isTen times more gentle, then her Father's crabbed;And he's compos'd of harshnesse. I must remoueSome thousands of these Logs, and pile them vp,Vpon a sore iniunction; my sweet MistrisWeepes when she sees me worke, & saies, such basenesHad neuer like Executor: I forget:But these sweet thoughts, doe euen refresh my labours,Most busie lest, when I doe it. Enter Miranda and Prospero. Mir. Alas, now pray youWorke not so hard: I would the lightning hadBurnt vp those Logs that you are enioynd to pile:Pray set it downe, and rest you: when this burnes'Twill weepe for hauing wearied you: my FatherIs hard at study; pray now rest your selfe, Hee's safe for these three houres. Fer. O most deere MistrisThe Sun will set before I shall dischargeWhat I must striue to do. Mir. If you'l sit downeIle beare your Logges the while: pray giue me that,Ile carry it to the pile. Fer. No precious Creature,I had rather cracke my sinewes, breake my backe,Then you should such dishonor vndergoe,While I sit lazy by. Mir. It would become meAs well as it do's you; and I should do itWith much more ease: for my good will is to it,And yours it is against. Pro. Poore worme thou art infected,This visitation shewes it. Mir. You looke wearily. Fer. No, noble Mistris, 'tis fresh morning with meWhen you are by at night: I do beseech youCheefely, that I might set it in my prayers,What is your name? Mir. Miranda, O my Father,I haue broke your hest to say so. Fer. Admir'd Miranda, Indeede the top of Admiration, worthWhat's deerest to the world: full many a LadyI haue ey'd with best regard, and many a timeTh' harmony of their tongues, hath into bondageBrought my too diligent eare: for seuerall vertuesHaue I lik'd seuerall women, neuer anyWith so full soule, but some defect in herDid quarrell with the noblest grace she ow'd,And put it to the foile. But you, O you,So perfect, and so peerlesse, are createdOf euerie Creatures best. Mir. I do not knowOne of my sexe; no womans face remember,Saue from my glasse, mine owne: Nor haue I seeneMore that I may call men, then you good friend,And my deere Father: how features are abroadI am skillesse of; but by my modestie(The iewell in my dower) I would not wishAny Companion in the world but you:Nor can imagination forme a shapeBesides your selfe, to like of: but I prattleSomething too wildely, and my Fathers preceptsI therein do forget. Fer. I am, in my conditionA Prince (Miranda) I do thinke a King(I would not so) and would no more endureThis wodden slauerie, then to sufferThe flesh-flie blow my mouth: heare my soule speake.The verie instant that I saw you, didMy heart flie to your seruice, there residesTo make me slaue to it, and for your sakeAm I this patient Logge-man. Mir. Do you loue me? Fer. O heauen; O earth, beare witnes to this sound,And crowne what I professe with kinde euentIf I speake true: if hollowly, inuertWhat best is boaded me, to mischiefe: I,Beyond all limit of what else i'th worldDo loue, prize, honor you. Mir. I am a fooleTo weepe at what I am glad of. Pro. Faire encounterOf two most rare affections: heauens raine graceOn that which breeds betweene 'em. Fer. Wherefore weepe you? Mir. At mine vnworthinesse, that dare not offerWhat I desire to giue; and much lesse takeWhat I shall die to want: But this is trifling,And all the more it seekes to hide it selfe,The bigger bulke it shewes. Hence bashfull cunning,And prompt me plaine and holy innocence.I am your wife, if you will marrie me;If not, Ile die your maid: to be your fellowYou may denie me, but Ile be your seruantWhether you will or no. Fer. My Mistris (deerest)And I thus humble euer. Mir. My husband then? Fer. I, with a heart as willingAs bondage ere of freedome: heere's my hand. Mir. And mine, with my heart in't; and now farewelTill halfe an houre hence. Fer. A thousand, thousand. Exeunt. Pro. So glad of this as they I cannot be,Who are surpriz'd with all; but my reioycingAt nothing can be more: Ile to my booke,For yet ere supper time, must I performeMuch businesse appertaining. Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo. Ste. Tell not me, when the But is out we will drinkewater, not a drop before; therefore beare vp, & boordem' Seruant Monster, drinke to me. Trin. Seruant Monster? the folly of this Iland, theysay there's but fiue vpon this Isle; we are three of them,if th' other two be brain'd like vs, the State totters. Ste. Drinke seruant Monster when I bid thee, thyeies are almost set in thy head. Trin. Where should they bee set else? hee were abraue Monster indeede if they were set in his taile. Ste. My man-Monster hath drown'd his tongue insacke: for my part the Sea cannot drowne mee, I swamere I could recouer the shore, fiue and thirtie Leaguesoff and on, by this light thou shalt bee my LieutenantMonster, or my Standard. Trin. Your Lieutenant if you list, hee's no standard. Ste. Weel not run Monsieur Monster. Trin. Nor go neither: but you'l lie like dogs, and yetsay nothing neither. Ste. Moone-calfe, speak once in thy life, if thou beesta good Moone-calfe. Cal. How does thy honour? Let me licke thy shooe:Ile not serue him, he is not valiant. Trin. Thou liest most ignorant Monster, I am in caseto iustle a Constable: why, thou debosh'd Fish thou,was there euer man a Coward, that hath drunk so muchSacke as I to day? wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, beingbut halfe a Fish, and halfe a Monster? Cal. Loe, how he mockes me, wilt thou let him myLord? Trin. Lord, quoth he? that a Monster should be sucha Naturall? Cal. Loe, loe againe: bite him to death I prethee. Ste. Trinculo, keepe a good tongue in your head: Ifyou proue a mutineere, the next Tree: the poore Mon-ster'smy subiect, and he shall not suffer indignity. Cal. I thanke my noble Lord. Wilt thou be pleas'dto hearken once againe to the suite I made to thee? Ste. Marry will I: kneele, and repeate it,I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. Enter Ariell inuisible. Cal. As I told thee before, I am subiect to a Tirant,A Sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated meOf the Island. Ariell. Thou lyest. Cal. Thou lyest, thou iesting Monkey thou:I would my valiant Master would destroy thee.I do not lye. Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale,By this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. Trin. Why, I said nothing. Ste. Mum then, and no more: proceed. Cal. I say by Sorcery he got this IsleFrom me, he got it. If thy Greatnesse willReuenge it on him, (for I know thou dar'st)But this Thing dare not. Ste. That's most certaine. Cal. Thou shalt be Lord of it, and Ile serue thee. Ste. How now shall this be compast?Canst thou bring me to the party? Cal. Yea, yea my Lord, Ile yeeld him thee asleepe,Where thou maist knocke a naile into his head. Ariell. Thou liest, thou canst not. Cal. What a py'de Ninnie's this? Thou scuruy patch:I do beseech thy Greatnesse giue him blowes,And take his bottle from him: When that's gone,He shall drinke nought but brine, for Ile not shew himWhere the quicke Freshes are. Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger:Interrupt the Monster one word further, and by thishand, Ile turne my mercie out o' doores, and make aStockfish of thee. Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing:Ile go farther off. Ste. Didst thou not say he lyed? Ariell. Thou liest. Ste. Do I so? Take thou that,As you like this, giue me the lye another time. Trin. I did not giue the lie: Out o'your wittes, andhearing too?A pox o'your bottle, this can Sacke and drinking doo:A murren on your Monster, and the diuell take yourfingers. Cal. Ha, ha, ha. Ste. Now forward with your Tale: prethee standfurther off. Cal. Beate him enough: after a little timeIle beate him too. Ste. Stand farther: Come proceede. Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custome with himI'th afternoone to sleepe: there thou maist braine him,Hauing first seiz'd his bookes: Or with a loggeBatter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,Or cut his wezand with thy knife. RememberFirst to possesse his Bookes; for without themHee's but a Sot, as I am; nor hath notOne Spirit to command: they all do hate himAs rootedly as I. Burne but his Bookes,He ha's braue Vtensils (for so he calles them)Which when he ha's a house, hee'l decke withall.And that most deeply to consider, isThe beautie of his daughter: he himselfeCals her a non-pareill: I neuer saw a womanBut onely Sycorax my Dam, and she;But she as farre surpasseth Sycorax, As great'st do's least. Ste. Is it so braue a Lasse? Cal. I Lord, she will become thy bed, I warrant,And bring thee forth braue brood. Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter andI will be King and Queene, saue our Graces: and Trin-culo and thy selfe shall be Vice-royes: Dost thou like the plot Trinculo? Trin. Excellent. Ste. Giue me thy hand, I am sorry I beate thee:But while thou liu'st keepe a good tongue in thy head. Cal. Within this halfe houre will he be asleepe,Wilt thou destroy him then? Ste. I on mine honour. Ariell. This will I tell my Master. Cal. Thou mak'st me merry: I am full of pleasure,Let vs be iocond. Will you troule the CatchYou taught me but whileare? Ste. At thy request Monster, I will do reason,Any reason: Come on Trinculo, let vs sing. Sings. Flout 'em, and cout 'em: and skowt 'em, and flout 'em,Thought is free. Cal. That's not the tune. Ariell plaies the tune on a Tabor and Pipe. Ste. What is this same? Trin. This is the tune of our Catch, plaid by the pic-ture of No-body. Ste. If thou beest a man, shew thy selfe in thy likenes:If thou beest a diuell, take't as thou list. Trin. O forgiue me my sinnes. Ste. He that dies payes all debts: I defie thee;Mercy vpon vs. Cal. Art thou affeard? Ste. No Monster, not I. Cal. Be not affeard, the Isle is full of noyses,Sounds, and sweet aires, that giue delight and hurt not:Sometimes a thousand twangling InstrumentsWill hum about mine eares; and sometime voices,That if I then had wak'd after long sleepe,Will make me sleepe againe, and then in dreaming,The clouds methought would open, and shew richesReady to drop vpon me, that when I wak'dI cri'de to dreame againe. Ste. This will proue a braue kingdome to me,Where I shall haue my Musicke for nothing. Cal. When Prospero is destroy'd. Ste. That shall be by and by:I remember the storie. Trin. The sound is going away,Lets follow it, and after do our worke. Ste. Leade Monster,Wee'l follow: I would I could see this Taborer,He layes it on. Trin. Wilt come?Ile follow Stephano. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Anthonio, Gonzallo,Adrian, Francisco, &c. Gon. By'r lakin, I can goe no further, Sir,My old bones akes: here's a maze trod indeedeThrough fourth-rights, & Meanders: by your patience,I needes must rest me. Al. Old Lord, I cannot blame thee,Who, am my selfe attach'd with wearinesseTo th' dulling of my spirits: Sit downe, and rest:Euen here I will put off my hope, and keepe itNo longer for my Flatterer: he is droun'dWhom thus we stray to finde, and the Sea mocksOur frustrate search on land: well, let him goe. Ant. I am right glad, that he's so out of hope:Doe not for one repulse forgoe the purposeThat you resolu'd t' effect. Seb. The next aduantage will we take throughly. Ant. Let it be to night,For now they are oppress'd with trauaile, theyWill not, nor cannot vse such vigilanceAs when they are fresh. Solemne and strange Musicke: and Prosper on the top (inui -sible:)Enter seuerall strange shapes, bringing in a Banket; and dance about it with gentle actions of salutations, andinuiting the King, &c. to eate, they depart. Seb. I say to night: no more. Al. What harmony is this? my good friends, harke. Gon. Maruellous sweet Musicke. Alo. Giue vs kind keepers, heaue[n]s: what were these? Seb. A liuing Drolerie: now I will beleeueThat there are Vnicornes: that in Arabia There is one Tree, the Phoenix throne, one PhoenixAt this houre reigning there. Ant. Ile beleeue both:And what do's else want credit, come to meAnd Ile besworne 'tis true: Trauellers nere did lye,Though fooles at home condemne 'em. Gon. If in Naples I should report this now, would they beleeue me?If I should say I saw such Islands;(For certes, these are people of the Island)Who though they are of monstrous shape, yet noteTheir manners are more gentle, kinde, then ofOur humaine generation you shall findeMany, nay almost any. Pro. Honest Lord,Thou hast said well: for some of you there present;Are worse then diuels. Al. I cannot too much museSuch shapes, such gesture, and such sound expressing(Although they want the vse of tongue) a kindeOf excellent dumbe discourse. Pro. Praise in departing. Fr. They vanish'd strangely. Seb. No matter, sinceThey haue left their Viands behinde; for wee haue stomacks. Wilt please you taste of what is here? Alo. Not I. Gon. Faith Sir, you neede not feare: when wee were Boyes Who would beleeue that there were Mountayneeres,Dew-lapt, like Buls, whose throats had hanging at 'emWallets of flesh? or that there were such menWhose heads stood in their brests? which now we findeEach putter out of fiue for one, will bring vsGood warrant of. Al. I will stand to, and feede,Although my last, no matter, since I feeleThe best is past: brother: my Lord, the Duke,Stand too, and doe as we. Thunder and Lightning. Enter Ariell (like a Harpey) clapshis wings vpon the Table, and with a quient deuice theBanquet vanishes. Ar. You are three men of sinne, whom destinyThat hath to instrument this lower world,And what is in't: the neuer surfeited Sea,Hath caus'd to belch vp you: and on this Island,Where man doth not inhabit, you 'mongst men,Being most vnfit to liue: I haue made you mad;And euen with such like valour, men hang, and drowneTheir proper selues: you fooles, I and my fellowesAre ministers of Fate, the ElementsOf whom your swords are temper'd, may as wellWound the loud windes, or with bemockt-at-StabsKill the still closing waters, as diminishOne dowle that's in my plumbe: My fellow ministersAre like-invulnerable: if you could hurt,Your swords are now too massie for your strengths,And will not be vplifted: But remember(For that's my businesse to you) that you threeFrom Millaine did supplant good Prospero, Expos'd vnto the Sea (which hath requit it)Him, and his innocent childe: for which foule deed,The Powres, delaying (not forgetting) haueIncens'd the Seas, and Shores; yea, all the CreaturesAgainst your peace: Thee of thy Sonne, Alonso They haue bereft; and doe pronounce by meLingring perdition (worse then any deathCan be at once) shall step, by step attendYou, and your wayes, whose wraths to guard you from,Which here, in this most desolate Isle, else falsVpon your heads, is nothing but hearts-sorrow,And a cleere life ensuing. He vanishes in Thunder: then (to soft Musicke.) Enter the shapes againe, and daunce (with mockes and mowes) andcarrying out the Table. Pro. Brauely the figure of this Harpie, hast thouPerform'd (my Ariell) a grace it had deuouring:Of my Instruction, hast thou nothing batedIn what thou had'st to say: so with good life,And obseruation strange, my meaner ministersTheir seuerall kindes haue done: my high charmes work,And these (mine enemies) are all knit vpIn their distractions: they now are in my powre;And in these fits, I leaue them, while I visitYong Ferdinand (whom they suppose is droun'd)And his, and mine lou'd darling. Gon. I'th name of something holy, Sir, why stand youIn this strange stare? Al. O, it is monstrous: monstrous:Me thought the billowes spoke, and told me of it,The windes did sing it to me: and the Thunder(That deepe and dreadfull Organ-Pipe) pronounc'dThe name of Prosper: it did base my Trespasse,Therefore my Sonne i'th Ooze is bedded; andI'le seeke him deeper then ere plummet sounded,And with him there lye mudded. Exit. Seb. But one feend at a time,Ile fight their Legions ore. Ant. Ile be thy Second. Exeunt. Gon. All three of them are desperate: their great guilt(Like poyson giuen to worke a great time after)Now gins to bite the spirits: I doe beseech you(That are of suppler ioynts) follow them swiftly,And hinder them from what this extasieMay now prouoke them to. Ad. Follow, I pray you. Exeunt omnes.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. Pro. If I haue too austerely punish'd you,Your compensation makes amends, for IHaue giuen you here, a third of mine owne life,Or that for which I liue: who, once againeI tender to thy hand: All thy vexationsWere but my trials of thy loue, and thouHast strangely stood the test: here, afore heauenI ratifie this my rich guift: O Ferdinand, Doe not smile at me, that I boast her of,For thou shalt finde she will out-strip all praiseAnd make it halt, behinde her. Fer. I doe beleeue itAgainst an Oracle. Pro. Then, as my guest, and thine owne acquisitionWorthily purchas'd, take my daughter: ButIf thou do'st breake her Virgin-knot, beforeAll sanctimonious ceremonies mayWith full and holy right, be ministred,No sweet aspersion shall the heauens let fallTo make this contract grow; but barraine hate,Sower-ey'd disdaine, and discord shall bestrewThe vnion of your bed, with weedes so loathlyThat you shall hate it both: Therefore take heede,As Hymens Lamps shall light you. Fer. As I hopeFor quiet dayes, faire Issue, and long life,With such loue, as 'tis now the murkiest den,The most opportune place, the strongst suggestion,Our worser Genius can, shall neuer meltMine honor into lust, to take awayThe edge of that dayes celebration,When I shall thinke, or Phoebus Steeds are founderd,Or Night kept chain'd below. Pro. Fairely spoke;Sit then, and talke with her, she is thine owne;What Ariell; my industrious serua[n]t Ariell. Enter Ariell. Ar. What would my potent master? here I am. Pro. Thou, and thy meaner fellowes, your last seruiceDid worthily performe: and I must vse youIn such another tricke: goe bring the rabble(Ore whom I giue thee powre) here, to this place:Incite them to quicke motion, for I mustBestow vpon the eyes of this yong coupleSome vanity of mine Art: it is my promise,And they expect it from me. Ar. Presently? Pro. I: with a twincke. Ar. Before you can say come, and goe,And breathe twice; and cry, so, so:Each one tripping on his Toe,Will be here with mop, and mowe.Doe you loue me Master? no? Pro. Dearely, my delicate Ariell: doe not approachTill thou do'st heare me call. Ar. Well: I conceiue. Exit. Pro. Looke thou be true: doe not giue dallianceToo much the raigne: the strongest oathes, are strawTo th' fire ith' blood: be more abstenious,Or else good night your vow. Fer. I warrant you, Sir,The white cold virgin Snow, vpon my heartAbates the ardour of my Liuer. Pro. Well.Now come my Ariell, bring a Corolary,Rather then want a Spirit; appear, & pertly. Soft musick. No tongue: all eyes: be silent. Enter Iris. Ir. Ceres, most bounteous Lady, thy rich LeasOf Wheate, Rye, Barley, Fetches, Oates and Pease;Thy Turphie-Mountaines, where liue nibling Sheepe,And flat Medes thetchd with Stouer, them to keepe:Thy bankes with pioned, and twilled brimsWhich spungie Aprill, at thy hest betrims;To make cold Nymphes chast crownes; & thy broome-groues;Whose shadow the dismissed Batchelor loues,Being lasse-lorne: thy pole-clipt vineyard,And thy Sea-marge stirrile, and rockey-hard,Where thou thy selfe do'st ayre, the Queene o'th Skie,Whose watry Arch, and messenger, am I.Bids thee leaue these, & with her soueraigne grace, Iuno descends. Here on this grasse-plot, in this very placeTo come, and sport: here Peacocks flye amaine:Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertaine. Enter Ceres. Cer. Haile, many-coloured Messenger, that nereDo'st disobey the wife of Iupiter: Who, with thy saffron wings, vpon my flowresDiffusest hony drops, refreshing showres,And with each end of thy blew bowe do'st crowneMy boskie acres, and my vnshrubd downe,Rich scarph to my proud earth: why hath thy QueeneSummond me hither, to this short gras'd Greene? Ir. A contract of true Loue, to celebrate,And some donation freely to estateOn the bles'd Louers. Cer. Tell me heauenly Bowe,If Venus or her Sonne, as thou do'st know,Doe now attend the Queene? since they did plotThe meanes, that duskie Dis, my daughter got,Her, and her blind-Boyes scandald company,I haue forsworne. Ir. Of her societieBe not afraid: I met her deitieCutting the clouds towards Paphos: and her SonDoue-drawn with her: here thought they to haue doneSome wanton charme, vpon this Man and Maide,Whose vowes are, that no bed-right shall be paidTill Hymens Torch be lighted: but in vaine, Marses hot Minion is returnd againe,Her waspish headed sonne, has broke his arrowes,Swears he will shoote no more, but play with Sparrows,And be a Boy right out. Cer. Highest Queene of State,Great Iuno comes, I know her by her gate Iu. How do's my bounteous sister? goe with meTo blesse this twaine, that they may prosperous be,And honourd in their Issue. They sing. Iu. Honor, riches, marriage, blessing,Long continuance, and encreasing,Hourely ioyes, be still vpon you, Iuno sings her blessings on you.Earths increase, foyzon plentie,Barnes, and Garners, neuer empty.Vines, with clustring bunches growing,Plants, with goodly burthen bowing:Spring come to you at the farthest,In the very end of Haruest.Scarcity and want shall shun you, Ceres blessing so is on you. Fer. This is a most maiesticke vision, andHarmonious charmingly: may I be boldTo thinke these spirits? Pro. Spirits, which by mine Art I haue from their confines call'd to enactMy present fancies. Fer. Let me liue here euer,So rare a wondred Father, and a wiseMakes this place Paradise. Pro. Sweet now, silence: Iuno and Ceres whisper seriously,There's something else to doe: hush, and be muteOr else our spell is mar'd. Iuno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment. Iris. You Nimphs cald Nayades of the windring brooks,With your sedg'd crownes, and euer-harmelesse lookes,Leaue your crispe channels, and on this green-LandAnswere your summons, Iuno do's command.Come temperate Nimphes, and helpe to celebrateA Contract of true Loue: be not too late. Enter Certaine Nimphes. You Sun-burn'd Sicklemen of August weary,Come hether from the furrow, and be merry,Make holly day: your Rye-straw hats put on,And these fresh Nimphes encounter euery oneIn Country footing. Enter certaine Reapers (properly habited:) they ioyne with the Nimphes, in a gracefull dance, towards the end where-of, Prospero starts sodainly and speakes, after which to astrange hollow and confused noyse, they heauily vanish. Pro. I had forgot that foule conspiracyOf the beast Calliban, and his confederatesAgainst my life: the minute of their plotIs almost come: Well done, auoid: no more. Fer. This is strange: your fathers in some passionThat workes him strongly. Mir. Neuer till this daySaw I him touch'd with anger, so distemper'd. Pro. You doe looke (my son) in a mou'd sort,As if you were dismaid: be cheerefull Sir,Our Reuels now are ended: These our actors,(As I foretold you) were all Spirits, andAre melted into Ayre, into thin Ayre,And like the baselesse fabricke of this visionThe Clowd-capt Towres, the gorgeous Pallaces,The solemne Temples, the great Globe it selfe,Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolue,And like this insubstantiall Pageant fadedLeaue not a racke behinde: we are such stuffeAs dreames are made on; and our little lifeIs rounded with a sleepe: Sir, I am vext,Beare with my weakenesse, my old braine is troubled:Be not disturb'd with my infirmitie,If you be pleas'd, retire into my Cell,And there repose, a turne or two, Ile walkeTo still my beating minde. Fer. Mir. We wish your peace. Exit. Pro. Come with a thought; I thank thee Ariell: come. Enter Ariell. Ar. Thy thoughts I cleaue to, what's thy pleasure? Pro. Spirit: We must prepare to meet with Caliban. Ar. I my Commander, when I presented Ceres I thought to haue told thee of it, but I fear'dLeast I might anger thee. Pro. Say again, where didst thou leaue these varlots? Ar. I told you Sir, they were red-hot with drinking,So full of valour, that they smote the ayreFor breathing in their faces: beate the groundFor kissing of their feete; yet alwaies bendingTowards their proiect: then I beate my Tabor,At which like vnback't colts they prickt their eares,Aduanc'd their eye-lids, lifted vp their nosesAs they smelt musicke, so I charm'd their earesThat Calfe-like, they my lowing follow'd, throughTooth'd briars, sharpe firzes, pricking gosse, & thorns,Which entred their fraile shins: at last I left themI'th' filthy mantled poole beyond your Cell,There dancing vp to th' chins, that the fowle LakeOre-stunck their feet. Pro. This was well done (my bird)Thy shape inuisible retaine thou still:The trumpery in my house, goe bring it hitherFor stale to catch these theeues. Ar. I go, I goe. Exit. Pro. A Deuill, a borne-Deuill, on whose natureNurture can neuer sticke: on whom my painesHumanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost,And, as with age, his body ouglier growes,So his minde cankers: I will plague them all,Euen to roaring: Come, hang on them this line. Enter Ariell, loaden with glistering apparell, &c. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. Cal. Pray you tread softly, that the blinde Mole maynot heare a foot fall: we now are neere his Cell. St. Monster, your Fairy, which you say is a harmles Fairy,Has done little better then plaid the Iacke with vs. Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-pisse, at whichMy nose is in great indignation. Ste. So is mine. Do you heare Monster: If I shouldTake a displeasure against you: Looke you. Trin. Thou wert but a lost Monster. Cal. Good my Lord, giue me thy fauour stil,Be patient, for the prize Ile bring thee too Shall hudwinke this mischance: therefore speake softly,All's husht as midnight yet. Trin. I, but to loose our bottles in the Poole. Ste. There is not onely disgrace and dishonor in thatMonster, but an infinite losse. Tr. That's more to me then my wetting:Yet this is your harmlesse Fairy, Monster. Ste. I will fetch off my bottle,Though I be o're eares for my labour. Cal. Pre-thee (my King) be quiet. Seest thou heereThis is the mouth o'th Cell: no noise, and enter:Do that good mischeefe, which may make this IslandThine owne for euer, and I thy Caliban For aye thy foot-licker. Ste. Giue me thy hand,I do begin to haue bloody thoughts. Trin. O King Stephano, O Peere: O worthy Stephano, Looke what a wardrobe heere is for thee. Cal. Let it alone thou foole, it is but trash. Tri. Oh, ho, Monster: wee know what belongs to afrippery, O King Stephano. Ste. Put off that gowne (Trinculo) by this hand Ilehaue that gowne. Tri. Thy grace shall haue it. Cal. The dropsie drowne this foole, what doe you meane To doate thus on such luggage? let's aloneAnd doe the murther first: if he awake,From toe to crowne hee'l fill our skins with pinches,Make vs strange stuffe. Ste. Be you quiet (Monster) Mistris line, is not thismy Ierkin? how is the Ierkin vnder the line: now Ier-kin you are like to lose your haire, & proue a bald Ierkin. Trin. Doe, doe; we steale by lyne and leuell, and'tlike your grace. Ste. I thank thee for that iest; heer's a garment for't:Wit shall not goe vn-rewarded while I am King of thisCountry: Steale by line and leuell, is an excellent passeof pate: there's another garment for't. Tri. Monster, come put some Lime vpon your fin-gers, and away with the rest. Cal. I will haue none on't: we shall loose our time,And all be turn'd to Barnacles, or to ApesWith foreheads villanous low. Ste. Monster, lay to your fingers: helpe to beare thisaway, where my hogshead of wine is, or Ile turne youout of my kingdome: goe to, carry this. Tri. And this. Ste. I, and this. A noyse of Hunters heard. Enter diuers Spirits in shape of Dogs and Hounds, hunting them about: Prosperoand Ariel setting them on. Pro. Hey Mountaine, hey. Ari. Siluer: there it goes, Siluer. Pro. Fury, Fury: there Tyrant, there: harke, harke.Goe, charge my Goblins that they grinde their ioyntsWith dry Convultions, shorten vp their sinewesWith aged Cramps, & more pinch-spotted make them,Then Pard, or Cat o' Mountaine. Ari. Harke, they rore. Pro. Let them be hunted soundly: At this houreLies at my mercy all mine enemies:Shortly shall all my labours end, and thouShalt haue the ayre at freedome: for a littleFollow, and doe me seruice. Exeunt.
Actus quintus: Scoena Prima. Enter Prospero (in his Magicke robes) and Ariel. Pro. Now do's my Proiect gather to a head:My charmes cracke not: my Spirits obey, and TimeGoes vpright with his carriage: how's the day? Ar. On the sixt hower, at which time, my LordYou said our worke should cease. Pro. I did say so,When first I rais'd the Tempest: say my Spirit,How fares the King, and's followers? Ar. Confin'd togetherIn the same fashion, as you gaue in charge,Iust as you left them; all prisoners SirIn the Line-groue which weather-fends your Cell,They cannot boudge till your release: The King,His Brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,And the remainder mourning ouer them,Brim full of sorrow, and dismay: but chieflyHim that you term'd Sir, the good old Lord Gonzallo, His teares runs downe his beard like winters dropsFrom eaues of reeds: your charm so strongly works 'emThat if you now beheld them, your affectionsWould become tender. Pro. Dost thou thinke so, Spirit? Ar. Mine would, Sir, were I humane. Pro. And mine shall.Hast thou (which art but aire) a touch, a feelingOf their afflictions, and shall not my selfe,One of their kinde, that rellish all as sharpely,Passion as they, be kindlier mou'd then thou art?Thogh with their high wrongs I am strook to th' quick,Yet, with my nobler reason, gainst my furieDoe I take part: the rarer Action isIn vertue, then in vengeance: they, being penitent,The sole drift of my purpose doth extendNot a frowne further: Goe, release them Ariell, My Charmes Ile breake, their sences Ile restore,And they shall be themselues. Ar. Ile fetch them, Sir. Exit. Pro. Ye Elues of hils, brooks, sta[n]ding lakes & groues,And ye, that on the sands with printlesse footeDoe chase the ebbing- Neptune, and doe flie himWhen he comes backe: you demy-Puppets, thatBy Moone-shine doe the greene sowre Ringlets make,Whereof the Ewe not bites: and you, whose pastimeIs to make midnight-Mushrumps, that reioyceTo heare the solemne Curfewe, by whose ayde(Weake Masters though ye be) I haue bedymn'dThe Noone-tide Sun, call'd forth the mutenous windes,And twixt the greene Sea, and the azur'd vaultSet roaring warre: To the dread ratling ThunderHaue I giuen fire, and rifted Ioues stowt OkeWith his owne Bolt: The strong bass'd promontorieHaue I made shake, and by the spurs pluckt vpThe Pyne, and Cedar. Graues at my commandHaue wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em forthBy my so potent Art. But this rough MagickeI heere abiure: and when I haue requir'dSome heauenly Musicke (which euen now I do)To worke mine end vpon their Sences, thatThis Ayrie-charme is for, I'le breake my staffe,Bury it certaine fadomes in the earth,And deeper then did euer Plummet soundIle drowne my booke. Solemne musicke. Heere enters Ariel before: Then Alonso with a franticke ge-sture, attended by Gonzalo. Sebastian and Anthonio in like manner attended by Adrian and Francisco: They all enter the circle which Prospero had made, and there standcharm'd: which Prospero obseruing, speakes. A solemne Ayre, and the best comforter,To an vnsetled fancie, Cure thy braines(Now vselesse) boile within thy skull: there standFor you are Spell-stopt.Holy Gonzallo, Honourable man,Mine eyes ev'n sociable to the shew of thineFall fellowly drops: The charme dissolues apace,And as the morning steales vpon the night(Melting the darkenesse) so their rising sencesBegin to chace the ignorant fumes that mantleTheir cleerer reason. O good Gonzallo My true preseruer, and a loyall Sir,To him thou follow'st; I will pay thy gracesHome both in word, and deede: Most cruelly Did thou Alonso, vse me, and my daughter:Thy brother was a furtherer in the Act,Thou art pinch'd for't now Sebastian. Flesh, and bloud,You, brother mine, that entertaine ambition,Expelld remorse, and nature, whom, with Sebastian (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong)Would heere haue kill'd your King: I do forgiue thee,Vnnaturall though thou art: Their vnderstandingBegins to swell, and the approching tideWill shortly fill the reasonable shoreThat now ly foule, and muddy: not one of themThat yet lookes on me, or would know me: Ariell, Fetch me the Hat, and Rapier in my Cell,I will discase me, and my selfe presentAs I was sometime Millaine: quickly Spirit,Thou shalt ere long be free. Ariell sings, and helps to attire him. Where the Bee sucks, there suck I,In a Cowslips bell, I lie,There I cowch when Owles doe crie,On the Batts backe I doe flieafter Sommer merrily.Merrily, merrily, shall I liue now,Vnder the blossom that hangs on the Bow. Pro. Why that's my dainty Ariell: I shall misseThee, but yet thou shalt haue freedome: so, so, so,To the Kings ship, inuisible as thou art,There shalt thou finde the Marriners asleepeVnder the Hatches: the Master and the Boat-swaineBeing awake, enforce them to this place;And presently, I pre'thee. Ar. I drinke the aire before me, and returneOr ere your pulse twice beate. Exit. Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazementInhabits heere: some heauenly power guide vsOut of this fearefull Country. Pro. Behold Sir KingThe wronged Duke of Millaine, Prospero: For more assurance that a liuing PrinceDo's now speake to thee, I embrace thy body,And to thee, and thy Company, I bidA hearty welcome. Alo. Where thou bee'st he or no,Or some inchanted triflle to abuse me,(As late I haue beene) I not know: thy PulseBeats as of flesh, and blood: and since I saw thee,Th' affliction of my minde amends, with whichI feare a madnesse held me: this must craue(And if this be at all) a most strange story.Thy Dukedome I resigne, and doe entreatThou pardon me my wrongs: But how shold Prospero Be liuing, and be heere? Pro. First, noble Frend,Let me embrace thine age, whose honor cannotBe measur'd, or confin'd. Gonz. Whether this be,Or be not, I'le not sweare. Pro. You doe yet tasteSome subtleties o'th' Isle, that will nor let youBeleeue things certaine: Wellcome, my friends all,But you, my brace of Lords, were I so mindedI heere could plucke his Highnesse frowne vpon youAnd iustifie you Traitors: at this timeI will tell no tales. Seb. The Diuell speakes in him: Pro. No:For you (most wicked Sir) whom to call brotherWould euen infect my mouth, I do forgiueThy rankest fault; all of them: and requireMy Dukedome of thee, which, perforce I knowThou must restore. Alo. If thou beest Prospero Giue vs particulars of thy preseruation,How thou hast met vs heere, whom three howres sinceWere wrackt vpon this shore? where I haue lost(How sharp the point of this remembrance is)My deere sonne Ferdinand. Pro. I am woe for't, Sir. Alo. Irreparable is the losse, and patienceSaies, it is past her cure. Pro. I rather thinkeYou haue not sought her helpe, of whose soft graceFor the like losse, I haue her soueraigne aid,And rest my selfe content. Alo. You the like losse? Pro. As great to me, as late, and supportableTo make the deere losse, haue I meanes much weakerThen you may call to comfort you; for IHaue lost my daughter. Alo. A daughter?Oh heauens, that they were liuing both in Naples The King and Queene there, that they were, I wishMy selfe were mudded in that oo-zie bedWhere my sonne lies: when did you lose your daughter? Pro. In this last Tempest. I perceiue these LordsAt this encounter doe so much admire,That they deuoure their reason, and scarce thinkeTheir eies doe offices of Truth: Their wordsAre naturall breath: but howsoeu'r you haueBeene iustled from your sences, know for certainThat I am Prospero, and that very DukeWhich was thrust forth of Millaine, who most strangelyVpon this shore (where you were wrackt) was landedTo be the Lord on't: No more yet of this,For 'tis a Chronicle of day by day,Not a relation for a break-fast, norBefitting this first meeting: Welcome, Sir;This Cell's my Court: heere haue I few attendants,And Subiects none abroad: pray you looke in:My Dukedome since you haue giuen me againe,I will requite you with as good a thing,At least bring forth a wonder, to content yeAs much, as me my Dukedome. Here Prospero discouers Ferdinand and Miranda, play-ing at Chesse. Mir. Sweet Lord, you play me false. Fer. No my dearest loue,I would not for the world. Mir. Yes, for a score of Kingdomes, you should wrangle,And I would call it faire play. Alo. If this proueA vision of the Island, one deere SonneShall I twice loose. Seb. A most high miracle. Fer. Though the Seas threaten they are mercifull,I haue curs'd them without cause. Alo. Now all the blessingsOf a glad father, compasse thee about:Arise, and say how thou cam'st heere. Mir. O wonder!How many goodly creatures are there heere?How beauteous mankinde is? O braue new world That has such people in't. Pro. 'Tis new to thee. Alo. What is this Maid, with whom thou was't at play?Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three houres:Is she the goddesse that hath seuer'd vs,And brought vs thus together? Fer. Sir, she is mortall;But by immortall prouidence, she's mine;I chose her when I could not aske my FatherFor his aduise: nor thought I had one: SheIs daughter to this famous Duke of Millaine, Of whom, so often I haue heard renowne,But neuer saw before: of whom I haueReceiu'd a second life; and second FatherThis Lady makes him to me. Alo. I am hers.But O, how odly will it sound, that IMust aske my childe forgiuenesse? Pro. There Sir stop,Let vs not burthen our remembrances, withA heauinesse that's gon. Gon. I haue inly wept,Or should haue spoke ere this: looke downe you godsAnd on this couple drop a blessed crowne;For it is you, that haue chalk'd forth the wayWhich brought vs hither. Alo. I say Amen, Gonzallo. Gon. Was Millaine thrust from Millaine, that his IssueShould become Kings of Naples? O reioyceBeyond a common ioy, and set it downeWith gold on lasting Pillers: In one voyageDid Claribell her husband finde at Tunis, And Ferdinand her brother, found a wife,Where he himselfe was lost: Prospero, his DukedomeIn a poore Isle: and all of vs, our selues,When no man was his owne. Alo. Giue me your hands:Let griefe and sorrow still embrace his heart,That doth not wish you ioy. Gon. Be it so, Amen. Enter Ariell, with the Master and Boatswaineamazedly following. O looke Sir, looke Sir, here is more of vs:I prophesi'd, if a Gallowes were on LandThis fellow could not drowne: Now blasphemy,That swear'st Grace ore-boord, not an oath on shore,Hast thou no mouth by land?What is the newes? Bot. The best newes is, that we haue safely foundOur King, and company: The next: our Ship,Which but three glasses since, we gaue out split,Is tyte, and yare, and brauely rig'd, as whenWe first put out to Sea. Ar. Sir, all this seruiceHaue I done since I went. Pro. My tricksey Spirit. Alo. These are not naturall euents, they strengthenFrom strange, to stranger: say, how came you hither? Bot. If I did thinke, Sir, I were well awake,I'ld striue to tell you: we were dead of sleepe,And (how we know not) all clapt vnder hatches,Where, but euen now, with strange, and seuerall noysesOf roring, shreeking, howling, gingling chaines,And mo diuersitie of sounds, all horrible.We were awak'd: straight way, at liberty;Where we, in all our trim, freshly beheldOur royall, good, and gallant Ship: our MasterCapring to eye her: on a trice, so please you,Euen in a dreame, were we diuided from them,And were brought moaping hither. Ar. Was't well done? Pro. Brauely (my diligence) thou shalt be free. Alo. This is as strange a Maze, as ere men trod,And there is in this businesse, more then natureWas euer conduct of: some OracleMust rectifie our knowledge. Pro. Sir, my Leige,Doe not infest your minde, with beating onThe strangenesse of this businesse, at pickt leisure(Which shall be shortly single) I'le resolue you,(Which to you shall seeme probable) of eueryThese happend accidents: till when, be cheerefullAnd thinke of each thing well: Come hither Spirit,Set Caliban, and his companions free:Vntye the Spell: How fares my gracious Sir?There are yet missing of your CompanieSome few odde Lads, that you remember not. Enter Ariell, driuing in Caliban, Stephano, andTrinculo in their stolne Apparell. Ste. Euery man shift for all the rest, and letNo man take care for himselfe; for all isBut fortune: Coragio Bully-Monster Coragio. Tri. If these be true spies which I weare in my head,here's a goodly sight. Cal. O Setebos, these be braue Spirits indeede:How fine my Master is? I am afraidHe will chastise me. Seb. Ha, ha:What things are these, my Lord Anthonio?Will money buy em? Ant. Very like: one of themIs a plaine Fish, and no doubt marketable. Pro. Marke but the badges of these men, my Lords,Then say if they be true: This mishapen knaue;His Mother was a Witch, and one so strongThat could controle the Moone; make flowes, and ebs,And deale in her command, without her power:These three haue robd me, and this demy-diuell;(For he's a bastard one) had plotted with themTo take my life: two of these Fellowes, youMust know, and owne, this Thing of darkenesse, IAcknowledge mine. Cal. I shall be pincht to death. Alo. Is not this Stephano, my drunken Butler? Seb. He is drunke now;Where had he wine? Alo. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should theyFinde this grand Liquor that hath gilded 'em?How cam'st thou in this pickle? Tri. I haue bin in such a pickle since I saw you last,That I feare me will neuer out of my bones:I shall not feare fly-blowing. Seb. Why how now Stephano? Ste. O touch me not, I am not Stephano, but a Cramp. Pro. You'ld be King o'the Isle, Sirha? Ste. I should haue bin a sore one then. Alo. This is a strange thing as ere I look'd on. Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his MannersAs in his shape: Goe Sirha, to my Cell,Take with you your Companions: as you lookeTo haue my pardon, trim it handsomely. Cal. I that I will: and Ile be wise hereafter, And seeke for grace: what a thrice double AsseWas I to take this drunkard for a god?And worship this dull foole? Pro. Goe to, away. Alo. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Seb. Or stole it rather. Pro. Sir, I inuite your Highnesse, and your traineTo my poore Cell: where you shall take your restFor this one night, which part of it, Ile wasteWith such discourse, as I not doubt, shall make itGoe quicke away: The story of my life,And the particular accidents, gon bySince I came to this Isle: And in the morneI'le bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I haue hope to see the nuptiallOf these our deere-belou'd, solemnized,And thence retire me to my Millaine, whereEuery third thought shall be my graue. Alo. I longTo heare the story of your life; which mustTake the eare strangely. Pro. I'le deliuer all,And promise you calme Seas, auspicious gales,And saile, so expeditious, that shall catchYour Royall fleete farre off: My Ariel; chickeThat is thy charge: Then to the ElementsBe free, and fare thou well: please you draw neere. Exeunt omnes.
EPILOGVE,spoken by Prospero. Now my Charmes are all ore-throwne,And what strength I haue's mine owne.Which is most faint: now 'tis trueI must be heere confinde by you,Or sent to Naples, Let me notSince I haue my Dukedome got,And pardon'd the deceiuer, dwellIn this bare Island, by your Spell,But release me from my bandsWith the helpe of your good hands:Gentle breath of yours, my SailesMust fill, or else my proiect failes,Which was to please: Now I wantSpirits to enforce: Art to inchant,And my ending is despaire,Vnlesse I be relieu'd by praierWhich pierces so, that it assaultsMercy it selfe, and frees all faults.As you from crimes would pardon'd be,Let your Indulgence set me free. Exit.
The Scene, an vn-inhabited Island Names of the Actors.Alonso, K[ing]. of Naples:Sebastian his Brother.Prospero, the right Duke of Millaine.Anthonio his brother, the vsurping Duke of Millaine.Ferdinand, Son to the King of Naples.Gonzalo, an honest old Councellor.Adrian, & Francisco, Lords.Caliban, a saluage and deformed slaue.Trinculo, a Iester.Stephano, a drunken Butler. Master of a Ship.Boate-Swaine.Marriners.Miranda, daughter to Prospero. Ariell, an ayrie spirit. Iris CeresIunoNymphesReapersSpirits. FINIS.
THE Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Actus primus, Scena prima. Valentine: Protheus, and Speed. Valentine. Cease to perswade, my louing Protheus; Home-keeping youth, haue euer homely wits, Wer't not affection chaines thy tender dayesTo the sweet glaunces of thy honour'd Loue,I rather would entreat thy company,To see the wonders of the world abroad,Then (liuing dully sluggardiz'd at home)Weare out thy youth with shapelesse idlenesse.But since thou lou'st; loue still, and thriue therein,Euen as I would, when I to loue begin. Pro. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine adew,Thinke on thy Protheus, when thou (hap'ly) seestSome rare note-worthy obiect in thy trauaile.Wish me partaker in thy happinesse,When thou do'st meet good hap; and in thy danger,(If euer danger doe enuiron thee)Commend thy grieuance to my holy prayers,For I will be thy beades-man, Valentine. Val. And on a loue-booke pray for my successe? Pro. Vpon some booke I loue, I'le pray for thee. Val. That's on some shallow Storie of deepe loue,How yong Leander crost the Hellespont. Pro. That's a deepe Storie, of a deeper loue,For he was more then ouer-shooes in loue. Val. 'Tis true; for you are ouer-bootes in loue,And yet you neuer swom the Hellespont. Pro. Ouer the Bootes? nay giue me not the Boots. Val. No, I will not; for it boots thee not. Pro. What? Val. To be in loue; where scorne is bought with grones:Coy looks, with hart-sore sighes: one fading moments mirth,With twenty watchfull, weary, tedious nights;If hap'ly won, perhaps a haplesse gaine;If lost, why then a grieuous labour won;How euer: but a folly bought with wit,Or else a wit, by folly vanquished. Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me foole. Val. So, by your circumstance, I feare you'll proue. Pro. 'Tis Loue you cauill at, I am not Loue. Val. Loue is your master, for he masters you;And he that is so yoked by a foole,Me thinkes should not be chronicled for wise. Pro. Yet Writers say; as in the sweetest Bud,The eating Canker dwels; so eating LoueInhabits in the finest wits of all. Val. And Writers say; as the most forward BudIs eaten by the Canker ere it blow,Euen so by Loue, the yong, and tender witIs turn'd to folly, blasting in the Bud,Loosing his verdure, euen in the prime,And all the faire effects of future hopes.But wherefore waste I time to counsaile theeThat art a votary to fond desire?Once more adieu: my Father at the RoadExpects my comming, there to see me ship'd. Pro. And thither will I bring thee Valentine. Val. Sweet Protheus, no: Now let vs take our leaue:To Millaine let me heare from thee by LettersOf thy successe in loue; and what newes elseBetideth here in absence of thy Friend:And I likewise will visite thee with mine. Pro. All happinesse bechance to thee in Millaine. Val. As much to you at home: and so farewell. Exit. Pro. He after Honour hunts, I after Loue;He leaues his friends, to dignifie them more;I loue my selfe, my friends, and all for loue:Thou Iulia, thou hast metamorphis'd me:Made me neglect my Studies, loose my time;Warre with good counsaile; set the world at nought;Made Wit with musing, weake; hart sick with thought. Sp. Sir Protheus: 'saue you: saw you my Master? Pro. But now he parted hence to embarque for Millain. Sp. Twenty to one then, he is ship'd already,And I haue plaid the Sheepe in loosing him. Pro. Indeede a Sheepe doth very often stray, And if the Shepheard be awhile away. Sp. You conclude that my Master is a Shepheard then,and I Sheepe? Pro. I doe. Sp. Why then my hornes are his hornes, whether Iwake or sleepe. Pro. A silly answere, and fitting well a Sheepe. Sp. This proues me still a Sheepe. Pro. True: and thy Master a Shepheard. Sp. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. Pro. It shall goe hard but ile proue it by another. Sp. The Shepheard seekes the Sheepe, and not theSheepe the Shepheard; but I seeke my Master, and myMaster seekes not me: therefore I am no Sheepe. Pro. The Sheepe for fodder follow the Shepheard,the Shepheard for foode followes not the Sheepe: thoufor wages followest thy Master, thy Master for wagesfollowes not thee: therefore thou art a Sheepe. Sp. Such another proofe will make me cry baa. Pro. But do'st thou heare: gau'st thou my Letterto Iulia? Sp. I Sir: I (a lost-Mutton) gaue your Letter to her(a lac'd-Mutton) and she (a lac'd-Mutton) gaue mee (alost-Mutton) nothing for my labour. Pro. Here's too small a Pasture for such store ofMuttons. Sp. If the ground be ouer-charg'd, you were beststicke her. Pro. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best poundyou. Sp. Nay Sir, lesse then a pound shall serue me for car-rying your Letter. Pro. You mistake; I meane the pound, a Pinfold. Sp. From a pound to a pin? fold it ouer and ouer,'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your louer Pro. But what said she? Sp. I. Pro. Nod-I, why that's noddy. Sp. You mistooke Sir: I say she did nod;And you aske me if she did nod, and I say I. Pro. And that set together is noddy. Sp. Now you haue taken the paines to set it toge-ther, take it for your paines. Pro. No, no, you shall haue it for bearing the letter. Sp. Well, I perceiue I must be faine to beare with you. Pro. Why Sir, how doe you beare with me? Sp. Marry Sir, the letter very orderly,Hauing nothing but the word noddy for my paines. Pro. Beshrew me, but you haue a quicke wit. Sp. And yet it cannot ouer-take your slow purse. Pro. Come, come, open the matter in briefe; whatsaid she. Sp. Open your purse, that the money, and the mattermay be both at once deliuered. Pro. Well Sir: here is for your paines: what said she? Sp. Truely Sir, I thinke you'll hardly win her. Pro. Why? could'st thou perceiue so much from her? Sp. Sir, I could perceiue nothing at all from her;No, not so much as a ducket for deliuering your letter:And being so hard to me, that brought your minde;I feare she'll proue as hard to you in telling your minde.Giue her no token but stones, for she's as hard as steele. Pro. What said she, nothing? Sp. No, not so much as take this for thy pains:To testifie your bounty, I thank you, you haue cestern'd me;In requital whereof, henceforth, carry your letters yourselfe; And so Sir, I'le commend you to my Master. Pro. Go, go, be gone, to saue your Ship from wrack,Which cannot perish hauing thee aboarde,Being destin'd to a drier death on shore:I must goe send some better Messenger,I feare my Iulia would not daigne my lines,Receiuing them from such a worthlesse post. Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Iulia and Lucetta. Iul. But say Lucetta (now we are alone)Would'st thou then counsaile me to fall in loue? Luc. I Madam, so you stumble not vnheedfully. Iul. Of all the faire resort of Gentlemen,That euery day with par'le encounter me,In thy opinion which is worthiest loue? Lu. Please you repeat their names, ile shew my minde,According to my shallow simple skill. Iu. What thinkst thou of the faire sir Eglamoure? Lu. As of a Knight, well-spoken, neat, and fine;But were I you, he neuer should be mine. Iu. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? Lu. Well of his wealth; but of himselfe, so, so. Iu. What think'st thou of the gentle Protheus? Lu. Lord, Lord: to see what folly raignes in vs. Iu. How now? what meanes this passion at his name? Lu. Pardon deare Madam, 'tis a passing shame,That I (vnworthy body as I am)Should censure thus on louely Gentlemen. Iu. Why not on Protheus, as of all the rest? Lu. Then thus: of many good, I thinke him best. Iul. Your reason? Lu. I haue no other but a womans reason:I thinke him so, because I thinke him so. Iul. And would'st thou haue me cast my loue on him? Lu. I: if you thought your loue not cast away. Iul. Why he, of all the rest, hath neuer mou'd me. Lu. Yet he, of all the rest, I thinke best loues ye. Iul. His little speaking, shewes his loue but small. Lu. Fire that's closest kept, burnes most of all. Iul. They doe not loue, that doe not shew their loue. Lu. Oh, they loue least, that let men know their loue. Iul. I would I knew his minde. Lu. Peruse this paper Madam. Iul. To Iulia: say, from whom? Lu. That the Contents will shew. Iul. Say, say: who gaue it thee? Lu. Sir Valentines page: & sent I think from Protheus; He would haue giuen it you, but I being in the way,Did in your name receiue it: pardon the fault I pray. Iul. Now (by my modesty) a goodly Broker:Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?To whisper, and conspire against my youth?Now trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,And you an officer fit for the place:There: take the paper: see it be return'd,Or else returne no more into my sight. Lu. To plead for loue, deserues more fee, then hate. Iul. Will ye be gon? Lu. That you may ruminate. Exit. Iul. And yet I would I had ore-look'd the Letter;It were a shame to call her backe againe,And pray her to a fault, for which I chid her.What 'foole is she, that knowes I am a Maid,And would not force the letter to my view?Since Maides, in modesty, say no, to that,Which they would haue the profferer construe, I.Fie, fie: how way-ward is this foolish loue;That (like a testie Babe) will scratch the Nurse,And presently, all humbled kisse the Rod?How churlishly, I chid Lucetta hence,When willingly, I would haue had her here?How angerly I taught my brow to frowne,When inward ioy enforc'd my heart to smile?My pennance is, to call Lucetta backeAnd aske remission, for my folly past.What hoe: Lucetta. Lu. What would your Ladiship? Iul. Is't neere dinner time? Lu. I would it were,That you might kill your stomacke on your meat, And not vpon your Maid. Iu. What is't that youTooke vp so gingerly? Lu. Nothing. Iu. Why didst thou stoope then? Lu. To take a paper vp, that I let fall. Iul. And is that paper nothing? Lu. Nothing concerning me. Iul. Then let it lye, for those that it concernes. Lu. Madam, it will not lye where it concernes,Vnlesse it haue a false Interpreter. Iul. Some loue of yours, hath writ to you in Rime. Lu. That I might sing it (Madam) to a tune:Giue me a Note, your Ladiship can set Iul. As little by such toyes, as may be possible:Best sing it to the tune of Light O, Loue. Lu. It is too heauy for so light a tune. Iu. Heauy? belike it hath some burden then? Lu. I: and melodious were it, would you sing it, Iu. And why not you? Lu. I cannot reach so high. Iu. Let's see your Song:How now Minion? Lu. Keepe tune there still; so you will sing it out:And yet me thinkes I do not like this tune. Iu. You doe not? Lu. No (Madam) tis too sharpe. Iu. You (Minion) are too saucie. Lu. Nay, now you are too flat;And marre the concord, with too harsh a descant:There wanteth but a Meane to fill your Song. Iu. The meane is dround with you vnruly base. Lu. Indeede I bid the base for Protheus. Iu. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me;Here is a coile with protestation:Goe, get you gone: and let the papers lye:You would be fingring them, to anger me. Lu. She makes it stra[n]ge, but she would be best pleas'dTo be so angred with another Letter. Iu. Nay, would I were so angred with the same:Oh hatefull hands, to teare such louing words;Iniurious Waspes, to feede on such sweet hony,And kill the Bees that yeelde it, with your stings;Ile kisse each seuerall paper, for amends:Looke, here is writ, kinde Iulia: vnkinde Iulia, As in reuenge of thy ingratitude,I throw thy name against the bruzing-stones,Trampling contemptuously on thy disdaine.And here is writ, Loue wounded Protheus. Poore wounded name: my bosome, as a bed,Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd;And thus I search it with a soueraigne kisse.But twice, or thrice, was Protheus written downe:Be calme (good winde) blow not a word away,Till I haue found each letter, in the Letter,Except mine own name: That, some whirle-winde beareVnto a ragged, fearefull, hanging Rocke,And throw it thence into the raging Sea.Loe, here in one line is his name twice writ: Poore forlorne Protheus, passionate Protheus:To the sweet Iulia: that ile teare away:And yet I will not, sith so prettilyHe couples it, to his complaining Names;Thus will I fold them, one vpon another;Now kisse, embrace, contend, doe what you will. Lu. Madam: dinner is ready: and your father staies. Iu. Well, let vs goe. Lu. What, shall these papers lye, like Tel-tales here? Iu. If you respect them; best to take them vp. Lu. Nay, I was taken vp, for laying them downe.Yet here they shall not lye, for catching cold. Iu. I see you haue a months minde to them. Lu. I (Madam) you may say what sights you see;I see things too, although you iudge I winke. Iu. Come, come, wilt please you goe. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Antonio and Panthino. Protheus. Ant. Tell me Panthino, what sad talke was that,Wherewith my brother held you in the Cloyster? Pan. 'Twas of his Nephew Protheus, your Sonne. Ant. Why? what of him? Pan. He wondred that your LordshipWould suffer him, to spend his youth at home,While other men, of slender reputationPut forth their Sonnes, to seeke preferment out.Some to the warres, to try their fortune there;Some, to discouer Islands farre away:Some, to the studious Vniuersities;For any, or for all these exercises,He said, that Protheus, your sonne, was meet;And did request me, to importune youTo let him spend his time no more at home;Which would be great impeachment to his age,In hauing knowne no trauaile in his youth. Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to thatWhereon, this month I haue bin hamering.I haue consider'd well, his losse of time,And how he cannot be a perfect man,Not being tryed, and tutord in the world:Experience is by industry atchieu'd,And perfected by the swift course of time:Then tell me, whether were I best to send him? Pan. I thinke your Lordship is not ignorantHow his companion, youthfull Valentine, Attends the Emperour in his royall Court. Ant. I know it well. Pan. 'Twere good, I thinke, your Lordship sent him(thither,There shall he practise Tilts, and Turnaments;Heare sweet discourse, conuerse with Noble-men,And be in eye of euery ExerciseWorthy his youth, and noblenesse of birth. Ant. I like thy counsaile: well hast thou aduis'd:And that thou maist perceiue how well I like it,The execution of it shall make knowne;Euen with the speediest expedition,I will dispatch him to the Emperors Court. Pan. To morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, With other Gentlemen of good esteemeAre iournying, to salute the Emperor, And to commend their seruice to his will. Ant. Good company: with them shall Protheus go:And in good time: now will we breake with him. Pro. Sweet Loue, sweet lines, sweet life,Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;Here is her oath for loue, her honors paune; O that our Fathers would applaud our louesTo seale our happinesse with their consents. Pro. Oh heauenly Iulia. Ant. How now? What Letter are you reading there? Pro. May't please your Lordship, 'tis a word or twoOf commendations sent from Valentine; Deliuer'd by a friend, that came from him. Ant. Lend me the Letter: Let me see what newes. Pro. There is no newes (my Lord) but that he writesHow happily he liues, how well-belou'd,And daily graced by the Emperor;Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish? Pro. As one relying on your Lordships will,And not depending on his friendly wish. Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish:Muse not that I thus sodainly proceed;For what I will, I will, and there an end:I am resolu'd, that thou shalt spend some timeWith Valentinus, in the Emperors Court:What maintenance he from his friends receiues,Like exhibition thou shalt haue from me,To morrow be in readinesse, to goe,Excuse it not: for I am peremptory. Pro. My Lord I cannot be so soone prouided,Please you deliberate a day or two. Ant. Look what thou want'st shalbe sent after thee:No more of stay: to morrow thou must goe;Come on Panthino; you shall be imployd,To hasten on his Expedition. Pro. Thus haue I shund the fire, for feare of burning,And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd.I fear'd to shew my Father Iulias Letter,Least he should take exceptions to my loue,And with the vantage of mine owne excuseHath he excepted most against my loue.Oh, how this spring of loue resemblethThe vncertaine glory of an Aprill day,Which now shewes all the beauty of the Sun,And by and by a clowd takes all away. Pan. Sir Protheus, your Fathers call's for you,He is in hast, therefore I pray you go. Pro. Why this it is: my heart accords thereto,And yet a thousand times it answer's no. Exeunt. Finis.
Actus secundus: Scoena Prima. Enter Valentine, Speed, Siluia. Speed. Sir, your Gloue. Valen. Not mine: my Gloues are on. Sp. Why then this may be yours: for this is but one. Val. Ha? Let me see: I, giue it me, it's mine:Sweet Ornament, that deckes a thing diuine,Ah Siluia, Siluia. Speed. Madam Siluia: Madam Siluia. Val. How now Sirha? Speed. Shee is not within hearing Sir. Val. Why sir, who bad you call her? Speed. Your worship sir, or else I mistooke. Val. Well: you'll still be too forward. Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. Val. Goe to, sir, tell me: do you know Madam Siluia? Speed. Shee that your worship loues? Val. Why, how know you that I am in loue? Speed. Marry by these speciall markes: first, you hauelearn'd (like Sir Protheus) to wreath your Armes like aMale-content: to rellish a Loue-song, like a Robin-red-breast: to walke alone like one that had the pestilence:to sigh, like a Schoole-boy that had lost his A.B.C. toweep like a yong wench that had buried her Grandam:to fast, like one that takes diet: to watch, like one thatfeares robbing: to speake puling, like a beggar at Hal-low-Masse:You were wont, when you laughed, to crowlike a cocke; when you walk'd, to walke like one of theLions: when you fasted, it was presently after dinner:when you look'd sadly, it was for want of money: Andnow you are Metamorphis'd with a Mistris, that when Ilooke on you, I can hardly thinke you my Master. Val. Are all these things perceiu'd in me? Speed. They are all perceiu'd without ye. Val. Without me? they cannot. Speed. Without you? nay, that's certaine: for with-out you were so simple, none else would: but you areso without these follies, that these follies are within you,and shine through you like the water in an Vrinall: thatnot an eye that sees you, but is a Physician to commenton your Malady. Val. But tell me: do'st thou know my Lady Siluia? Speed. Shee that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper? Val. Hast thou obseru'd that? euen she I meane. Speed. Why sir, I know her not. Val. Do'st thou know her by my gazing on her, andyet know'st her not? Speed. Is she not hard-fauour'd, sir? Val. Not so faire (boy) as well fauour'd. Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. Val. What dost thou know? Speed. That shee is not so faire, as (of you) well-fa-uourd? Val. I meane that her beauty is exquisite,But her fauour infinite. Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the o-ther out of all count. Val. How painted? and how out of count? Speed. Marry sir, so painted to make her faire, that noman counts of her beauty. Val. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty. Speed. You neuer saw her since she was deform'd. Val. How long hath she beene deform'd? Speed. Euer since you lou'd her. Val. I haue lou'd her euer since I saw her,And still I see her beautifull. Speed. If you loue her, you cannot see her. Val. Why? Speed. Because Loue is blinde: O that you had mineeyes, or your owne eyes had the lights they were wontto haue, when you chidde at Sir Protheus, for going vn-garter'd. Val. What should I see then? Speed. Your owne present folly, and her passing de-formitie: for hee beeing in loue, could not see to garterhis hose; and you, beeing in loue, cannot see to put onyour hose. Val. Belike (boy) then you are in loue, for last morning You could not see to wipe my shooes. Speed. True sir: I was in loue with my bed, I thankeyou, you swing'd me for my loue, which makes mee the bolder to chide you, for yours. Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. Speed. I would you were set, so your affection wouldcease. Val. Last night she enioyn'd me,To write some lines to one she loues. Speed. And haue you? Val. I haue. Speed. Are they not lamely writt? Val. No (Boy) but as well as I can do them:Peace, here she comes. Speed. Oh excellent motion; oh exceeding Puppet:Now will he interpret to her. Val. Madam & Mistres, a thousand good-morrows. Speed. Oh, 'giue ye-good-ev'n: heer's a million ofmanners. Sil. Sir Valentine, and seruant, to you two thousand. Speed. He should giue her interest: & she giues it him. Val. As you inioynd me; I haue writ your LetterVnto the secret, nameles friend of yours:Which I was much vnwilling to proceed in,But for my duty to your Ladiship. Sil. I thanke you (gentle Seruant) 'tis very Clerkly-done. Val. Now trust me (Madam) it came hardly-off:For being ignorant to whom it goes,I writ at randome, very doubtfully. Sil. Perchance you think too much of so much pains? Val. No (Madam) so it steed you, I will write(Please you command) a thousand times as much:And yet —— Sil. A pretty period: well: I ghesse the sequell;And yet I will not name it: and yet I care not.And yet, take this againe: and yet I thanke you:Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. Speed. And yet you will: and yet, another yet. Val. What meanes your Ladiship?Doe you not like it? Sil. Yes, yes: the lines are very queintly writ,But (since vnwillingly) take them againe.Nay, take them. Val. Madam, they are for you. Silu. I, I: you writ them Sir, at my request,But I will none of them: they are for you:I would haue had them writ more mouingly: Val. Please you, Ile write your Ladiship another. Sil. And when it's writ: for my sake read it ouer,And if it please you, so: if not: why so: Val. If it please me, (Madam?) what then? Sil. Why if it please you, take it for your labour;And so good-morrow Seruant. Exit. Sil. Speed. Oh Iest vnseene: inscrutible: inuisible,As a nose on a mans face, or a Wethercocke on a steeple:My Master sues to her: and she hath taught her Sutor,He being her Pupill, to become her Tutor.Oh excellent deuise, was there euer heard a better?That my master being scribe,To himselfe should write the Letter? Val. How now Sir?What are you reasoning with your selfe? Speed. Nay: I was riming: 'tis you that haue the reason. Val. To doe what? Speed. To be a Spokes-man from Madam Siluia. Val. To whom? Speed. To your selfe: why, she woes you by a figure. Val. What figure? Speed. By a Letter, I should say. Val. Why she hath not writ to me? Speed. What need she,When shee hath made you write to your selfe?Why, doe you not perceiue the iest? Val. No, beleeue me. Speed. No beleeuing you indeed sir:But did you perceiue her earnest? Val. She gaue me none, except an angry word. Speed. Why she hath giuen you a Letter. Val. That's the Letter I writ to her friend. Speed. And the letter hath she deliuer'd, & there an end. Val. I would it were no worse. Speed. Ile warrant you, 'tis as well:For often haue you writ to her: and she in modesty,Or else for want of idle time, could not againe reply,Or fearing els some messe[n]ger, that might her mind discouerHer self hath taught her Loue himself, to write vnto her louer. All this I speak in print, for in print I found it.Why muse you sir, 'tis dinner time. Val. I haue dyn'd. Speed. I, but hearken sir: though the Cameleon Louecan feed on the ayre, I am one that am nourish'd by myvictuals; and would faine haue meate: oh bee not likeyour Mistresse, be moued, be moued. Exeunt.
Scoena secunda. Enter Protheus, Iulia, Panthion. Pro. Haue patience, gentle Iulia: Iul. I must where is no remedy. Pro. When possibly I can, I will returne. Iul. If you turne not: you will return the sooner:Keepe this remembrance for thy Iulia's sake. Pro. Why then wee'll make exchange;Here, take you this. Iul. And seale the bargaine with a holy kisse. Pro. Here is my hand, for my true constancie:And when that howre ore-slips me in the day,Wherein I sigh not (Iulia) for thy sake,The next ensuing howre, some foule mischanceTorment me for my Loues forgetfulnesse:My father staies my comming: answere not:The tide is now; nay, not thy tide of teares,That tide will stay me longer then I should, Iulia, farewell: what, gon without a word? I, so true loue should doe: it cannot speake,For truth hath better deeds, then words to grace it. Panth. Sir Protheus: you are staid for. Pro. Goe: I come, I come:Alas, this parting strikes poore Louers dumbe. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Launce, Panthion. Launce. Nay, 'twill bee this howre ere I haue doneweeping: all the kinde of the Launces, haue this veryfault: I haue receiu'd my proportion, like the prodigious Sonne, and am going with Sir Protheus to the ImperiallsCourt: I thinke Crab my dog, be the sowrest natureddogge that liues: My Mother weeping: my Fatherwayling: my Sister crying: our Maid howling: ourCatte wringing her hands, and all our house in a greatperplexitie, yet did not this cruell-hearted Curre sheddeone teare: he is a stone, a very pibble stone, and has nomore pitty in him then a dogge: a Iew would haue weptto haue seene our parting: why my Grandam hauingno eyes, looke you, wept her selfe blinde at my parting:nay, Ile shew you the manner of it. This shooe is my fa-ther: no, this left shooe is my father; no, no, this leftshooe is my mother: nay, that cannot bee so neyther:yes; it is so, it is so: it hath the worser sole: this shooewith the hole in it, is my mother: and this my father:a veng'ance on't, there 'tis: Now sir, this staffe is my si-ster: for, looke you, she is as white as a lilly, and assmall as a wand: this hat is Nan our maid: I am thedogge: no, the dogge is himselfe, and I am the dogge:oh, the dogge is me, and I am my selfe: I; so, so: nowcome I to my Father; Father, your blessing: nowshould not the shooe speake a word for weeping:now should I kisse my Father; well, hee weepes on:Now come I to my Mother: Oh that she could speakenow, like a would-woman: well, I kisse her: whythere 'tis; heere's my mothers breath vp and downe:Now come I to my sister; marke the moane she makes:now the dogge all this while sheds not a teare: norspeakes a word: but see how I lay the dust with myteares. Panth. Launce, away, away: a Boord: thy Master isship'd, and thou art to post after with oares; what's thematter? why weep'st thou man? away asse, you'l loosethe Tide, if you tarry any longer. Laun. It is no matter if the tide were lost, for it is thevnkindest Tide, that euer any man tide. Panth. What's the vnkindest tide? Lau. Why, he that's tide here, Crab my dog. Pant. Tut, man: I meane thou'lt loose the flood, andin loosing the flood, loose thy voyage, and in loosing thyvoyage, loose thy Master, and in loosing thy Master,loose thy seruice, and in loosing thy seruice: —— whydost thou stop my mouth? Laun. For feare thou shouldst loose thy tongue. Panth. Where should I loose my tongue? Laun. In thy Tale. Panth. In thy Taile. Laun. Loose the Tide, and the voyage, and the Ma-ster, and the Seruice, and the tide: why man, if the Riuerwere drie, I am able to fill it with my teares: if the windewere downe, I could driue the boate with my sighes. Panth. Come: come away man, I was sent to callthee. Lau. Sir: call me what thou dar'st. Pant. Wilt thou goe? Laun. Well, I will goe. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Valentine, Siluia, Thurio, Speed, Duke, Protheus. Sil. Seruant. Val. Mistris. Spee. Master, Sir Thurio frownes on you. Val. I Boy, it's for loue. Spee. Not of you. Val. Of my Mistresse then. Spee. 'Twere good you knockt him. Sil. Seruant, you are sad. Val. Indeed, Madam, I seeme so. Thu. Seeme you that you are not? Val. Hap'ly I doe. Thu. So doe Counterfeyts. Val. So doe you. Thu. What seeme I that I am not? Val. Wise. Thu. What instance of the contrary? Val. Your folly. Thu. And how quoat you my folly? Val. I quoat it in your Ierkin. Thu. My Ierkin is a doublet. Val. Well then, Ile double your folly. Thu. How? Sil. What, angry, Sir Thurio, do you change colour? Val. Giue him leaue, Madam, he is a kind of Camelion. Thu. That hath more minde to feed on your bloud,then liue in your ayre. Val. You haue said Sir. Thu. I Sir, and done too for this time. Val. I know it wel sir, you alwaies end ere you begin. Sil. A fine volly of words, gentleme[n], & quickly shot off Val. 'Tis indeed, Madam, we thank the giuer. Sil. Who is that Seruant? Val. Your selfe (sweet Lady) for you gaue the fire,Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your Ladiships lookes,And spends what he borrowes kindly in your company. Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shallmake your wit bankrupt. Val. I know it well sir: you haue an Exchequer of words,And I thinke, no other treasure to giue your followers:For it appeares by their bare LiueriesThat they liue by your bare words. Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more:Here comes my father. Duk. Now, daughter Siluia, you are hard beset.Sir Valentine, your father is in good health,What say you to a Letter from your friendsOf much good newes? Val. My Lord, I will be thankfull,To any happy messenger from thence. Duk. Know ye Don Antonio, your Countriman? Val. I, my good Lord, I know the GentlemanTo be of worth, and worthy estimation,And not without desert so well reputed. Duk. Hath he not a Sonne? Val. I, my good Lord, a Son, that well deseruesThe honor, and regard of such a father. Duk. You know him well? Val. I knew him as my selfe: for from our InfancieWe haue conuerst, and spent our howres together,And though my selfe haue beene an idle Trewant,Omitting the sweet benefit of timeTo cloath mine age with Angel-like perfection:Yet hath Sir Protheus (for that's his name)Made vse, and faire aduantage of his daies:His yeares but yong, but his experience old:His head vn-mellowed, but his Iudgement ripe;And in a word (for far behinde his worthComes all the praises that I now bestow.) He is compleat in feature, and in minde,With all good grace, to grace a Gentleman. Duk. Beshrew me sir, but if he make this goodHe is as worthy for an Empresse loue,As meet to be an Emperors Councellor:Well, Sir: this Gentleman is come to meWith Commendation from great Potentates,And heere he meanes to spend his time a while,I thinke 'tis no vn-welcome newes to you. Val. Should I haue wish'd a thing, it had beene he. Duk. Welcome him then according to his worth: Siluia, I speake to you, and you Sir Thurio, For Valentine, I need not cite him to it,I will send him hither to you presently. Val. This is the Gentleman I told your LadishipHad come along with me, but that his MistresseDid hold his eyes, lockt in her Christall lookes. Sil. Be-like that now she hath enfranchis'd themVpon some other pawne for fealty. Val. Nay sure, I thinke she holds them prisoners stil. Sil. Nay then he should be blind, and being blindHow could he see his way to seeke out you? Val. Why Lady, Loue hath twenty paire of eyes. Thur. They say that Loue hath not an eye at all. Val. To see such Louers, Thurio, as your selfe,Vpon a homely obiect, Loue can winke. Sil. Haue done, haue done: here comes the gentleman. Val. Welcome, deer Protheus: Mistris, I beseech youConfirme his welcome, with some speciall fauor. Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hether,If this be he you oft haue wish'd to heare from. Val. Mistris, it is: sweet Lady, entertaine himTo be my fellow-seruant to your Ladiship. Sil. Too low a Mistres for so high a seruant. Pro. Not so, sweet Lady, but too meane a seruantTo haue a looke of such a worthy a Mistresse. Val. Leaue off discourse of disabilitie:Sweet Lady, entertaine him for your Seruant. Pro. My dutie will I boast of, nothing else. Sil. And dutie neuer yet did want his meed.Seruant, you are welcome to a worthlesse Mistresse. Pro. Ile die on him that saies so but your selfe. Sil. That you are welcome? Pro. That you are worthlesse. Thur. Madam, my Lord your father wold speak with you. Sil. I wait vpon his pleasure: Come Sir Thurio, Goe with me: once more, new Seruant welcome;Ile leaue you to confer of home affaires,When you haue done, we looke too heare from you. Pro. Wee'll both attend vpon your Ladiship. Val. Now tell me: how do al from whence you came? Pro. Your frends are wel, & haue the[m] much co[m]mended. Val. And how doe yours? Pro. I left them all in health. Val. How does your Lady? & how thriues your loue? Pro. My tales of Loue were wont to weary you,I know you ioy not in a Loue-discourse. Val. I Protheus, but that life is alter'd now,I haue done pennance for contemning Loue,Whose high emperious thoughts haue punish'd meWith bitter fasts, with penitentiall grones,With nightly teares, and daily hart-sore sighes,For in reuenge of my contempt of loue,Loue hath chas'd sleepe from my enthralled eyes,And made them watchers of mine owne hearts sorrow.O gentle Protheus, Loue's a mighty Lord,And hath so humbled me, as I confesseThere is no woe to his correction,Nor to his Seruice, no such ioy on earth:Now, no discourse, except it be of loue:Now can I breake my fast, dine, sup, and sleepe,Vpon the very naked name of Loue. Pro. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye:Was this the Idoll, that you worship so? Val. Euen She; and is she not a heauenly Saint? Pro. No; But she is an earthly Paragon. Val. Call her diuine. Pro. I will not flatter her. Val. O flatter me: for Loue delights in praises. Pro. When I was sick, you gaue me bitter pils,And I must minister the like to you. Val. Then speake the truth by her; if not diuine,Yet let her be a principalitie,Soueraigne to all the Creatures on the earth. Pro. Except my Mistresse. Val. Sweet: except not any,Except thou wilt except against my Loue. Pro. Haue I not reason to prefer mine owne? Val. And I will help thee to prefer her to:Shee shall be dignified with this high honour,To beare my Ladies traine, lest the base earthShould from her vesture chance to steale a kisse,And of so great a fauor growing proud,Disdaine to roote the Sommer-swelling flowre,And make rough winter euerlastingly. Pro. Why Valentine, what Bragadisme is this? Val. Pardon me (Protheus) all I can is nothing,To her, whose worth, make other worthies nothing;Shee is alone. Pro. Then let her alone. Val. Not for the world: why man, she is mine owne,And I as rich in hauing such a IewellAs twenty Seas, if all their sand were pearle,The water, Nectar, and the Rocks pure gold.Forgiue me, that I doe not dreame on thee,Because thou seest me doate vpon my loue:My foolish Riuall that her Father likes(Onely for his possessions are so huge)Is gone with her along, and I must after,For Loue (thou know'st is full of iealousie.) Pro. But she loues you? Val. I, and we are betroathd: nay more, our mariage howre,With all the cunning manner of our flightDetermin'd of: how I must climbe her window,The Ladder made of Cords, and all the meansPlotted, and 'greed on for my happinesse.Good Protheus goe with me to my chamber,In these affaires to aid me with thy counsaile. Pro. Goe on before: I shall enquire you forth:I must vnto the Road, to dis-embarqueSome necessaries, that I needs must vse,And then Ile presently attend you. Val. Will you make haste? Exit. Pro. I will.Euen as one heate, another heate expels,Or as one naile, by strength driues out another.So the remembrance of my former LoueIs by a newer obiect quite forgotten,It is mine, or Valentines praise?Her true perfection, or my false transgression?That makes me reasonlesse, to reason thus?Shee is faire: and so is Iulia that I loue, (That I did loue, for now my loue is thaw'd,Which like a waxen Image 'gainst a fireBeares no impression of the thing it was.)Me thinkes my zeale to Valentine is cold,And that I loue him not as I was wont:O, but I loue his Lady too-too much,And that's the reason I loue him so little.How shall I doate on her with more aduice,That thus without aduice begin to loue her?'Tis but her picture I haue yet beheld,And that hath dazel'd my reasons light:But when I looke on her perfections,There is no reason, but I shall be blinde.If I can checke my erring loue, I will,If not, to compasse her Ile vse my skill. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Speed and Launce. Speed. Launce, by mine honesty welcome to Padua. Laun. Forsweare not thy selfe, sweet youth, for I amnot welcome. I reckon this alwaies, that a man is neuervndon till hee be hang'd, nor neuer welcome to a place,till some certaine shot be paid, and the Hostesse say wel-come. Speed. Come-on you mad-cap: Ile to the Ale-housewith you presently; where, for one shot of fiue pence,thou shalt haue fiue thousand welcomes: But sirha, howdid thy Master part with Madam Iulia? Lau. Marry after they cloas'd in earnest, they partedvery fairely in iest. Spee. But shall she marry him? Lau. No. Spee. How then? shall he marry her? Lau. No, neither. Spee. What, are they broken? Lau. No; they are both as whole as a fish. Spee. Why then, how stands the matter with them? Lau. Marry thus, when it stands well with him, itstands well with her. Spee. What an asse art thou, I vnderstand thee not. Lau. What a blocke art thou, that thou canst not?My staffe vnderstands me? Spee. What thou saist? Lau. I, and what I do too: looke thee, Ile but leane,and my staffe vnderstands me. Spee. It stands vnder thee indeed. Lau. Why, stand-vnder: and vnder-stand is all one. Spee. But tell me true, wil't be a match? Lau. Aske my dogge, if he say I, it will: if hee sayno, it will: if hee shake his taile, and say nothing, itwill. Spee. The conclusion is then, that it will. Lau. Thou shalt neuer get such a secret from me, butby a parable. Spee. 'Tis well that I get it so: but Launce, how saistthou that that my master is become a notable Louer? Lau. I neuer knew him otherwise. Spee. Then how? Lau. A notable Lubber: as thou reportest him tobee. Spee. Why, thou whorson Asse, thou mistak'st me, Lau. Why Foole, I meant not thee, I meant thyMaster. Spee. I tell thee, my Master is become a hot Louer. Lau. Why, I tell thee, I care not, though hee burnehimselfe in Loue. If thou wilt goe with me to the Ale-house: if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Iew, and not worththe name of a Christian. Spee. Why? Lau. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee asto goe to the Ale with a Christian: Wilt thou goe? Spee. At thy seruice. Exeunt.
Scoena Sexta. Enter Protheus solus. Pro. To leaue my Iulia; shall I be forsworne?To loue faire Siluia; shall I be forsworne?To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworne.And ev'n that Powre which gaue me first my oathProuokes me to this three-fold periurie.Loue bad mee sweare, and Loue bids me for-sweare;O sweet-suggesting Loue, if thou hast sin'd,Teach me (thy tempted subiect) to excuse it.At first I did adore a twinkling Starre,But now I worship a celestiall Sunne:Vn-heedfull vowes may heedfully be broken,And he wants wit, that wants resolued will,To learne his wit, t' exchange the bad for better;Fie, fie, vnreuerend tongue, to call her bad,Whose soueraignty so oft thou hast preferd,With twenty thousand soule-confirming oathes.I cannot leaue to loue; and yet I doe:But there I leaue to loue, where I should loue. Iulia I loose, and Valentine I loose,If I keepe them, I needs must loose my selfe:If I loose them, thus finde I by their losse,For Valentine, my selfe: for Iulia, Siluia. I to my selfe am deerer then a friend,For Loue is still most precious in it selfe,And Siluia (witnesse heauen that made her faire)Shewes Iulia but a swarthy Ethiope.I will forget that Iulia is aliue,Remembring that my Loue to her is dead.And Valentine Ile hold an Enemie,Ayming at Siluia as a sweeter friend.I cannot now proue constant to my selfe,Without some treachery vs'd to Valentine. This night he meaneth with a Corded-ladderTo climbe celestiall Siluia's chamber window,My selfe in counsaile his competitor.Now presently Ile giue her father noticeOf their disguising and pretended flight:Who (all inrag'd) will banish Valentine: For Thurio he intends shall wed his daughter,But Valentine being gon, Ile quickely crosseBy some slie tricke, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. Loue lend me wings, to make my purpose swiftAs thou hast lent me wit, to plot this drift. Exit.
Scoena septima. Enter Iulia and Lucetta. Iul. Counsaile, Lucetta, gentle girle assist me,And eu'n in kinde loue, I doe coniure thee,Who art the Table wherein all my thoughtsAre visibly Character'd, and engrau'd,To lesson me, and tell me some good meaneHow with my honour I may vndertakeA iourney to my louing Protheus. Luc. Alas, the way is wearisome and long. Iul. A true-deuoted Pilgrime is not wearyTo measure Kingdomes with his feeble steps,Much lesse shall she that hath Loues wings to flie,And when the flight is made to one so deere,Of such diuine perfection as Sir Protheus. Luc. Better forbeare, till Protheus make returne. Iul. Oh, know'st thou not, his looks are my soules food?Pitty the dearth that I haue pined in,By longing for that food so long a time.Didst thou but know the inly touch of Loue,Thou wouldst as soone goe kindle fire with snowAs seeke to quench the fire of Loue with words. Luc. I doe not seeke to quench your Loues hot fire,But qualifie the fires extreame rage,Lest it should burne aboue the bounds of reason. Iul. The more thou dam'st it vp, the more it burnes:The Current that with gentle murmure glides(Thou know'st) being stop'd, impatiently doth rage:But when his faire course is not hindered,He makes sweet musicke with th' enameld stones,Giuing a gentle kisse to euery sedgeHe ouer-taketh in his pilgrimage.And so by many winding nookes he straiesWith willing sport to the wilde Ocean.Then let me goe, and hinder not my course:Ile be as patient as a gentle streame,And make a pastime of each weary step,Till the last step haue brought me to my Loue,And there Ile rest, as after much turmoileA blessed soule doth in Elizium. Luc. But in what habit will you goe along? Iul. Not like a woman, for I would preuentThe loose encounters of lasciuious men:Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weedesAs may beseeme some well reputed Page. Luc. Why then your Ladiship must cut your haire. Iul. No girle, Ile knit it vp in silken strings,With twentie od-conceited true-loue knots:To be fantastique, may become a youthOf greater time then I shall shew to be. Luc. What fashion (Madam) shall I make your bree-ches? Iul. That fits as well, as tell me (good my Lord)What compasse will you weare your Farthingale?Why eu'n what fashion thou best likes (Lucetta.) Luc. You must needs haue the[m] with a cod-peece Ma-[dam] Iul. Out, out, (Lucetta) that wilbe illfauourd. Luc. A round hose (Madam) now's not worth a pinVnlesse you haue a cod-peece to stick pins on. Iul. Lucetta, as thou lou'st me let me haueWhat thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly.But tell me (wench) how will the world repute meFor vndertaking so vnstaid a iourney?I feare me it will make me scandaliz'd. Luc. If you thinke so, then stay at home, and go not. Iul. Nay, that I will not. Luc. Then neuer dreame on Infamy, but go:If Protheus like your iourney, when you come,No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone:I feare me he will scarce be pleas'd with all. Iul. That is the least (Lucetta) of my feare:A thousand oathes, an Ocean of his teares,And instances of infinite of Loue,Warrant me welcome to my Protheus. Luc. All these are seruants to deceitfull men. Iul. Base men, that vse them to so base effect;But truer starres did gouerne Protheus birth,His words are bonds, his oathes are oracles,His loue sincere, his thoughts immaculate,His teares, pure messengers, sent from his heart,His heart, as far from fraud, as heauen from earth. Luc. Pray heau'n he proue so when you come to him. Iul. Now, as thou lou'st me, do him not that wrong,To beare a hard opinion of his truth:Onely deserue my loue, by louing him,And presently goe with me to my chamberTo take a note of what I stand in need of,To furnish me vpon my longing iourney:All that is mine I leaue at thy dispose,My goods, my Lands, my reputation,Onely, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence:Come; answere not: but to it presently,I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius, Scena Prima. Enter Duke, Thurio, Protheus, Valentine,Launce, Speed. Duke. Sir Thurio, giue vs leaue (I pray) a while,We haue some secrets to confer about.Now tell me Protheus, what's your will with me? Pro. My gracious Lord, that which I wold discouer,The Law of friendship bids me to conceale,But when I call to minde your gracious fauoursDone to me (vndeseruing as I am)My dutie pricks me on to vtter thatWhich else, no worldly good should draw from me:Know (worthy Prince) Sir Valentine my friendThis night intends to steale away your daughter:My selfe am one made priuy to the plot.I know you haue determin'd to bestow herOn Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates,And should she thus be stolne away from you,It would be much vexation to your age.Thus (for my duties sake) I rather choseTo crosse my friend in his intended drift,Then (by concealing it) heap on your headA pack of sorrowes, which would presse you downe(Being vnpreuented) to your timelesse graue. Duke. Protheus, I thank thee for thine honest care,Which to requite, command me while I liue.This loue of theirs, my selfe haue often seene,Haply when they haue iudg'd me fast asleepe,And oftentimes haue purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her companie, and my Court.But fearing lest my iealous ayme might erre,And so (vnworthily) disgrace the man(A rashnesse that I euer yet haue shun'd)I gaue him gentle lookes, thereby to findeThat which thy selfe hast now disclos'd to me.And that thou maist perceiue my feare of this,Knowing that tender youth is soone suggested,I nightly lodge her in an vpper Towre,The key whereof, my selfe haue euer kept:And thence she cannot be conuay'd away. Pro. Know (noble Lord) they haue deuis'd a meaneHow he her chamber-window will ascend,And with a Corded-ladder fetch her downe:For which, the youthfull Louer now is gone,And this way comes he with it presently.Where (if it please you) you may intercept him.But (good my Lord) doe it so cunninglyThat my discouery be not aimed at:For, loue of you, not hate vnto my friend,Hath made me publisher of this pretence. Duke. Vpon mine Honor, he shall neuer knowThat I had any light from thee of this. Pro. Adiew, my Lord, Sir Valentine is comming. Duk. Sir Valentine, whether away so fast? Val. Please it your Grace, there is a MessengerThat stayes to beare my Letters to my friends,And I am going to deliuer them. Duk. Be they of much import? Val. The tenure of them doth but signifieMy health, and happy being at your Court. Duk. Nay then no matter: stay with me a while,I am to breake with thee of some affairesThat touch me neere: wherein thou must be secret.'Tis not vnknown to thee, that I haue soughtTo match my friend Sir Thurio, to my daughter. Val. I know it well (my Lord) and sure the MatchWere rich and honourable: besides, the gentlemanIs full of Vertue, Bounty, Worth, and QualitiesBeseeming such a Wife, as your faire daughter:Cannot your Grace win her to fancie him? Duk. No, trust me, She is peeuish, sullen, froward,Prowd, disobedient, stubborne, lacking duty,Neither regarding that she is my childe,Nor fearing me, as if I were her father:And may I say to thee, this pride of hers(Vpon aduice) hath drawne my loue from her,And where I thought the remnant of mine ageShould haue beene cherish'd by her child-like dutie,I now am full resolu'd to take a wife,And turne her out, to who will take her in:Then let her beauty be her wedding dowre:For me, and my possessions she esteemes not. Val. What would your Grace haue me to do in this? Duk. There is a Lady in Verona heereWhom I affect: but she is nice, and coy,And naught esteemes my aged eloquence.Now therefore would I haue thee to my Tutor(For long agone I haue forgot to court,Besides the fashion of the time is chang'd)How, and which way I may bestow my selfeTo be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words,Dumbe Iewels often in their silent kindeMore then quicke words, doe moue a womans minde. Duk. But she did scorne a present that I sent her, Val. A woman somtime scorns what best co[n]tents her.Send her another: neuer giue her ore,For scorne at first, makes after-loue the more.If she doe frowne, 'tis not in hate of you,But rather to beget more loue in you.If she doe chide, 'tis not to haue you gone,For why, the fooles are mad, if left alone.Take no repulse, what euer she doth say,For, get you gon, she doth not meane away.Flatter, and praise, commend, extoll their graces:Though nere so blacke, say they haue Angells faces,That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man,If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Duk. But she I meane, is promis'd by her friendsVnto a youthfull Gentleman of worth,And kept seuerely from resort of men,That no man hath accesse by day to her. Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. Duk. I, but the doores be lockt, and keyes kept safe,That no man hath recourse to her by night. Val. What letts but one may enter at her window? Duk. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground,And built so sheluing, that one cannot climbe itWithout apparant hazard of his life. Val. Why then a Ladder quaintly made of CordsTo cast vp, with a paire of anchoring hookes,Would serue to scale another Hero's towre,So bold Leander would aduenture it. Duk. Now as thou art a Gentleman of bloodAduise me, where I may haue such a Ladder. Val. When would you vse it? pray sir, tell me that. Duk. This very night; for Loue is like a childeThat longs for euery thing that he can come by. Val. By seauen a clock, ile get you such a Ladder. Duk But harke thee: I will goe to her alone,How shall I best conuey the Ladder thither? Val. It will be light (my Lord) that you may beare itVnder a cloake, that is of any length. Duk. A cloake as long as thine will serue the turne? Val. I my good Lord. Duk. Then let me see thy cloake,Ile get me one of such another length. Val. Why any cloake will serue the turn (my Lord) Duk. How shall I fashion me to weare a cloake?I pray thee let me feele thy cloake vpon me.What Letter is this same? what's here? to Siluia?And heere an Engine fit for my proceeding,Ile be so bold to breake the seale for once. My thoughts do harbour with my Siluia nightly,And slaues they are to me, that send them flying.Oh, could their Master come, and goe as lightly,Himselfe would lodge where (senceles) they are lying.My Herald Thoughts, in thy pure bosome rest-them,While I (their King) that thither them importuneDoe curse the grace, that with such grace hath blest them,Because my selfe doe want my seruants fortune.I curse my selfe, for they are sent by me,That they should harbour where their Lord should be. What's here? Siluia, this night I will enfranchise thee. 'Tis so: and heere's the Ladder for the purpose.Why Phaeton (for thou art Merops sonne)Wilt thou aspire to guide the heauenly Car?And with thy daring folly burne the world?Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee? Goe base Intruder, ouer-weening Slaue,Bestow thy fawning smiles on equall mates,And thinke my patience, (more then thy desert)Is priuiledge for thy departure hence.Thanke me for this, more then for all the fauorsWhich (all too-much) I haue bestowed on thee.But if thou linger in my TerritoriesLonger then swiftest expeditionWill giue thee time to leaue our royall Court,By heauen, my wrath shall farre exceed the loueI euer bore my daughter, or thy selfe.Be gone, I will not heare thy vaine excuse,But as thou lou'st thy life, make speed from hence. Val. And why not death, rather then liuing torment?To die, is to be banisht from my selfe,And Siluia is my selfe: banish'd from herIs selfe from selfe. A deadly banishment:What light, is light, if Siluia be not seene?What ioy is ioy, if Siluia be not by?Vnlesse it be to thinke that she is byAnd feed vpon the shadow of perfection.Except I be by Siluia in the night,There is no musicke in the Nightingale.Vnlesse I looke on Siluia in the day,There is no day for me to looke vpon.Shee is my essence, and I leaue to be;If I be not by her faire influenceFoster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept aliue.I flie not death, to flie his deadly doome,Tarry I heere, I but attend on death,But flie I hence, I flie away from life. Pro. Run (boy) run, run, and seeke him out. Lau. So-hough, Soa hough—— Pro. What seest thou? Lau. Him we goe to finde,There's not a haire on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. Pro. Valentine? Val. No. Pro. Who then? his Spirit? Val. Neither, Pro. What then? Val. Nothing. Lau. Can nothing speake? Master, shall I strike? Pro. Who wouldst thou strike? Lau. Nothing. Pro. Villaine, forbeare. Lau. Why Sir, Ile strike nothing: I pray you. Pro. Sirha, I say forbeare: friend Valentine, a word. Val. My eares are stopt, & cannot hear good newes,So much of bad already hath possest them. Pro. Then in dumbe silence will I bury mine,For they are harsh, vn-tuneable, and bad. Val. Is Siluia dead? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine indeed, for sacred Siluia, Hath she forsworne me? Pro. No, Valentine. Val. No Valentine, if Siluia haue forsworne me.What is your newes? Lau. Sir, there is a proclamation, that you are vanished. Pro. That thou art banish'd: oh that's the newes,From hence, from Siluia, and from me thy friend. Val. Oh, I haue fed vpon this woe already,And now excesse of it will make me surfet.Doth Siluia know that I am banish'd? Pro. I, I: and she hath offered to the doome(Which vn-reuerst stands in effectuall force)A Sea of melting pearle, which some call teares;Those at her fathers churlish feete she tenderd,With them vpon her knees, her humble selfe,Wringing her hands, whose whitenes so became them,As if but now they waxed pale for woe:But neither bended knees, pure hands held vp,Sad sighes, deepe grones, nor siluer-shedding tearesCould penetrate her vncompassionate Sire;But Valentine, if he be tane, must die.Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so,When she for thy repeale was suppliant,That to close prison he commanded her,With many bitter threats of biding there. Val. No more: vnles the next word that thou speak'stHaue some malignant power vpon my life:If so: I pray thee breath it in mine eare,As ending Antheme of my endlesse dolor. Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not helpe,And study helpe for that which thou lament'st,Time is the Nurse, and breeder of all good;Here, if thou stay, thou canst not see thy loue:Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life:Hope is a louers staffe, walke hence with thatAnd manage it, against despairing thoughts:Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence,Which, being writ to me, shall be deliuer'dEuen in the milke-white bosome of thy Loue.The time now serues not to expostulate,Come, Ile conuey thee through the City-gate.And ere I part with thee, confer at largeOf all that may concerne thy Loue-affaires:As thou lou'st Siluia (though not for thy selfe)Regard thy danger, and along with me. Val. I pray thee Launce, and if thou seest my BoyBid him make haste, and meet me at the North-gate. Pro. Goe sirha, finde him out: Come Valentine. Val. Oh my deere Siluia; haplesse Valentine. Launce. I am but a foole, looke you, and yet I hauethe wit to thinke my Master is a kinde of a knaue: butthat's all one, if he be but one knaue: He liues not nowthat knowes me to be in loue, yet I am in loue, but aTeeme of horse shall not plucke that from me: nor who'tis I loue: and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman, Iwill not tell my selfe: and yet 'tis a Milke-maid: yet 'tisnot a maid: for shee hath had Gossips: yet 'tis a maid,for she is her Masters maid, and serues for wages. Sheehath more qualities then a Water-Spaniell, which ismuch in a bare Christian: Heere is the Cate-log of herCondition. Inprimis. Shee can fetch and carry: whya horse can doe no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, butonely carry, therefore is shee better then a Iade. Item. She can milke, looke you, a sweet vertue in a maid withcleane hands. Speed. How now Signior Launce? what newes withyour Mastership? La. With my Mastership? why, it is at Sea: Sp. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word: whatnewes then in your paper? La. The black'st newes that euer thou heard'st. Sp. Why man? how blacke? La. Why, as blacke as Inke. Sp. Let me read them? La. Fie on thee Iolt-head, thou canst not read. Sp. Thou lyest: I can. La. I will try thee: tell me this: who begot thee? Sp. Marry, the son of my Grand-father. La. Oh illiterate loyterer; it was the sonne of thyGrand-mother: this proues that thou canst not read. Sp. Come foole, come: try me in thy paper. La. There: and S[aint]. Nicholas be thy speed. Sp. Inprimis she can milke. La. I that she can. Sp. Item, she brewes good Ale. La. And thereof comes the prouerbe: (Blessing ofyour heart, you brew good Ale.) Sp. Item, she can sowe. La. That's as much as to say (Can she so?) Sp. Item she can knit. La. What neede a man care for a stock with a wench,When she can knit him a stocke? Sp. Item, she can wash and scoure. La. A speciall vertue: for then shee neede not bewash'd, and scowr'd. Sp. Item, she can spin. La. Then may I set the world on wheeles, when shecan spin for her liuing. Sp. Item, she hath many namelesse vertues. La. That's as much as to say Bastard-vertues: thatindeede know not their fathers; and therefore haue nonames. Sp. Here follow her vices. La. Close at the heeles of her vertues. Sp. Item, shee is not to be fasting in respect of herbreath. La. Well: that fault may be mended with a break-fast: read on. Sp. Item, she hath a sweet mouth. La. That makes amends for her soure breath. Sp. Item, she doth talke in her sleepe. La. It's no matter for that; so shee sleepe not in hertalke. Sp. Item, she is slow in words. La. Oh villaine, that set this downe among her vices;To be slow in words, is a womans onely vertue:I pray thee out with't, and place it for her chiefe vertue. Sp. Item, she is proud. La. Out with that too:It was Eues legacie, and cannot be t'ane from her. Sp. Item, she hath no teeth. La. I care not for that neither: because I loue crusts. Sp. Item, she is curst. La. Well: the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. Sp. Item, she will often praise her liquor. La. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she will not,I will; for good things should be praised. Sp. Item, she is too liberall. La. Of her tongue she cannot; for that's writ downeshe is slow of: of her purse, shee shall not, for that ilekeepe shut: Now, of another thing shee may, and thatcannot I helpe. Well, proceede. Sp. Item, shee hath more haire then wit, and morefaults then haires, and more wealth then faults. La. Stop there: Ile haue her: she was mine, and notmine, twice or thrice in that last Article: rehearse thatonce more. Sp. Item, she hath more haire then wit. La. More haire then wit: it may be ile proue it: Thecouer of the salt, hides the salt, and therefore it is morethen the salt; the haire that couers the wit, is morethen the wit; for the greater hides the lesse: What'snext? Sp. And more faults then haires. La. That's monstrous: oh that that were out. Sp. And more wealth then faults. La. Why that word makes the faults gracious:Well, ile haue her: and if it be a match, as nothing isimpossible. Sp. What then? La. Why then, will I tell thee, that thy Master staiesfor thee at the North gate. Sp. For me? La. For thee? I, who art thou? he hath staid for a bet-ter man then thee. Sp. And must I goe to him? La. Thou must run to him; for thou hast staid so long,that going will scarce serue the turne. Sp. Why didst not tell me sooner? 'pox of your loueLetters. La. Now will he be swing'd for reading my Letter;An vnmannerly slaue, that will thrust himselfe into se-crets: Ile after, to reioyce in the boyes correctio[n]. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Duke, Thurio, Protheus. Du. Sir Thurio, feare not, but that she will loue youNow Valentine is banish'd from her sight. Th. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most,Forsworne my company, and rail'd at me,That I am desperate of obtaining her. Du. This weake impresse of Loue, is as a figureTrenched in ice, which with an houres heateDissolues to water, and doth loose his forme.A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,And worthlesse Valentine shall be forgot.How now sir Protheus, is your countriman(According to our Proclamation) gon? Pro. Gon, my good Lord. Du. My daughter takes his going grieuously? Pro. A little time (my Lord) will kill that griefe. Du. So I beleeue: but Thurio thinkes not so: Protheus, the good conceit I hold of thee,(For thou hast showne some signe of good desert)Makes me the better to confer with thee. Pro. Longer then I proue loyall to your Grace,Let me not liue, to looke vpon your Grace. Du. Thou know'st how willingly, I would effectThe match betweene sir Thurio, and my daughter? Pro. I doe my Lord. Du. And also, I thinke, thou art not ignorantHow she opposes her against my will? Pro. She did my Lord, when Valentine was here. Du. I, and peruersly, she perseuers so:What might we doe to make the girle forgetThe loue of Valentine, and loue sir Thurio? Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine, With falsehood, cowardize, and poore discent:Three things, that women highly hold in hate. Du. I, but she'll thinke, that it is spoke in hate. Pro. I, if his enemy deliuer it.Therefore it must with circumstance be spokenBy one, whom she esteemeth as his friend. Du. Then you must vndertake to slander him. Pro. And that (my Lord) I shall be loath to doe:'Tis an ill office for a Gentleman,Especially against his very friend. Du. Where your good word cannot aduantage him,Your slander neuer can endamage him;Therefore the office is indifferent,Being intreated to it by your friend. Pro. You haue preuail'd (my Lord) if I can doe itBy ought that I can speake in his dispraise,She shall not long continue loue to him:But say this weede her loue from Valentine, It followes not that she will loue sir Thurio. Th. Therefore, as you vnwinde her loue from him;Least it should rauell, and be good to none,You must prouide to bottome it on me:Which must be done, by praising me as muchAs you, in worth dispraise, sir Valentine. Du. And Protheus, we dare trust you in this kinde,Because we know (on Valentines report)You are already loues firme votary,And cannot soone reuolt, and change your minde.Vpon this warrant, shall you haue accesse,Where you, with Siluia, may conferre at large.For she is lumpish, heauy, mellancholly,And (for your friends sake) will be glad of you;Where you may temper her, by your perswasion,To hate yong Valentine, and loue my friend. Pro. As much as I can doe, I will effect:But you sir Thurio, are not sharpe enough:You must lay Lime, to tangle her desiresBy walefull Sonnets, whose composed RimesShould be full fraught with seruiceable vowes. Du. I, much is the force of heauen-bred Poesie. Pro. Say that vpon the altar of her beautyYou sacrifice your teares, your sighes, your heart:Write till your inke be dry: and with your tearesMoist it againe: and frame some feeling line,That may discouer such integrity:For Orpheus Lute, was strung with Poets sinewes,Whose golden touch could soften steele and stones;Make Tygers tame, and huge Leuiathans Forsake vnsounded deepes, to dance on Sands.After your dire-lamenting Elegies,Visit by night your Ladies chamber-windowWith some sweet Consort; To their InstrumentsTune a deploring dumpe: the nights dead silenceWill well become such sweet complaining grieuance:This, or else nothing, will inherit her. Du. This discipline, showes thou hast bin in loue. Th. And thy aduice, this night, ile put in practise:Therefore, sweet Protheus, my direction-giuer,Let vs into the City presentlyTo sort some Gentlemen, well skil'd in Musicke.I haue a Sonnet, that will serue the turneTo giue the on-set to thy good aduise. Du. About it Gentlemen. Pro. We'll wait vpon your Grace, till after Supper,And afterward determine our proceedings. Du. Euen now about it, I will pardon you. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima. Enter Valentine, Speed, and certaine Out-lawes. 1.Out-l. Fellowes, stand fast: I see a passenger. 2.Out. If there be ten, shrinke not, but down with 'em. 3.Out. Stand sir, and throw vs that you haue about 'ye.If not: we'll make you sit, and rifle you. Sp. Sir we are vndone; these are the VillainesThat all the Trauailers doe feare so much. Val. My friends. 1.Out. That's not so, sir: we are your enemies. 2.Out. Peace: we'll heare him. 3.Out. I by my beard will we: for he is a proper man. Val. Then know that I haue little wealth to loose;A man I am, cross'd with aduersitie:My riches, are these poore habiliments,Of which, if you should here disfurnish me,You take the sum and substance that I haue. 2.Out. Whether trauell you? Val. To Verona. 1.Out. Whence came you? Val. From Millaine. 3.Out. Haue you long soiourn'd there? Val. Some sixteene moneths, and longer might haue staid,If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 1.Out. What, were you banish'd thence? Val. I was. 2.Out. For what offence? Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse;I kil'd a man, whose death I much repent,But yet I slew him manfully, in fight,Without false vantage, or base treachery. 1.Out. Why nere repent it, if it were done so;But were you banisht for so small a fault? Val. I was, and held me glad of such a doome. 2.Out. Haue you the Tongues? Val. My youthfull trauaile, therein made me happy,Or else I often had beene often miserable. 3.Out. By the bare scalpe of Robin Hoods fat Fryer,This fellow were a King, for our wilde faction. 1.Out. We'll haue him: Sirs, a word. Sp. Master, be one of them:It's an honourable kinde of theeuery. Val. Peace villaine. 2.Out. Tell vs this: haue you any thing to take to? Val. Nothing but my fortune. 3.Out. Know then, that some of vs are Gentlemen,Such as the fury of vngouern'd youthThrust from the company of awfull men.My selfe was from Verona banished,For practising to steale away a Lady,And heire and Neece, alide vnto the Duke. 2.Out. And I from Mantua, for a Gentleman,Who, in my moode, I stab'd vnto the heart. 1.Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these.But to the purpose: for we cite our faults,That they may hold excus'd our lawlesse liues;And partly seeing you are beautifideWith goodly shape; and by your owne report,A Linguist, and a man of such perfection,As we doe in our quality much want. 2.Out. Indeede because you are a banish'd man,Therefore, aboue the rest, we parley to you:Are you content to be our Generall?To make a vertue of necessity,And liue as we doe in this wildernesse? 3.Out. What saist thou? wilt thou be of our consort?Say I, and be the captaine of vs all: We'll doe thee homage, and be rul'd by thee,Loue thee, as our Commander, and our King. 1.Out. But if thou scorne our curtesie, thou dyest. 2.Out. Thou shalt not liue, to brag what we haue of-fer'd. Val. I take your offer, and will liue with you,Prouided that you do no outragesOn silly women, or poore passengers. 3.Out. No, we detest such vile base practises.Come, goe with vs, we'll bring thee to our Crewes,And show thee all the Treasure we haue got;Which, with our selues, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Protheus, Thurio, Iulia, Host, Musitian, Siluia. Pro. Already haue I bin false to Valentine, And now I must be as vniust to Thurio, Vnder the colour of commending him,I haue accesse my owne loue to prefer.But Siluia is too faire, too true, too holy,To be corrupted with my worthlesse guifts;When I protest true loyalty to her,She twits me with my falsehood to my friend;When to her beauty I commend my vowes,She bids me thinke how I haue bin forsworneIn breaking faith with Iulia, whom I lou'd;And notwithstanding all her sodaine quips,The least whereof would quell a louers hope:Yet (Spaniel-like) the more she spurnes my loue,The more it growes, and fawneth on her still;But here comes Thurio; now must we to her window,And giue some euening Musique to her eare. Th. How now, sir Protheus, are you crept before vs? Pro. I gentle Thurio, for you know that loueWill creepe in seruice, where it cannot goe. Th. I, but I hope, Sir, that you loue not here. Pro. Sir, but I doe: or else I would be hence. Th. Who, Siluia? Pro. I, Siluia, for your sake. Th. I thanke you for your owne: Now GentlemenLet's tune: and too it lustily a while. Ho. Now, my yong guest; me thinks your' allycholly;I pray you why is it? Iu. Marry (mine Host) because I cannot be merry. Ho. Come, we'll haue you merry: ile bring you whereyou shall heare Musique, and see the Gentleman thatyou ask'd for. Iu. But shall I heare him speake. Ho. I that you shall. Iu. That will be Musique. Ho. Harke, harke. Iu. Is he among these? Ho. I: but peace, let's heare'm. Song. Who is Siluia? what is she?That all our Swaines commend her?Holy, faire, and wise is she,The heauen such grace did lend her,that she might admired be.Is she kinde as she is faire?For beauty liues with kindnesse:Loue doth to her eyes repaire,To helpe him of his blindnesse:And being help'd, inhabits there.Then to Siluia, let vs sing,That Siluia is excelling;She excels each mortall thingVpon the dull earth dwelling.To her let vs Garlands bring. Ho. How now? are you sadder then you were before;How doe you, man? the Musicke likes you not. Iu. You mistake: the Musitian likes me not. Ho. Why, my pretty youth? Iu. He plaies false (father.) Ho. How, out of tune on the strings. Iu. Not so: but yetSo false that he grieues my very heart-strings. Ho. You haue a quicke eare. Iu. I, I would I were deafe: it makes me haue a slow heart. Ho. I perceiue you delight not in Musique. Iu. Not a whit, when it iars so. Ho. Harke, what fine change is in the Musique. Iu. I: that change is the spight. Ho. You would haue them alwaies play but one thing. Iu. I would alwaies haue one play but one thing.But Host, doth this Sir Protheus, that we talke on,Often resort vnto this Gentlewoman? Ho. I tell you what Launce his man told me,He lou'd her out of all nicke. Iu. Where is Launce? Ho. Gone to seeke his dog, which to morrow, by hisMasters command, hee must carry for a present to hisLady. Iu. Peace, stand aside, the company parts. Pro. Sir Thurio, feare not you, I will so pleade,That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. Th. Where meete we? Pro. At Saint Gregories well. Th. Farewell. Pro. Madam: good eu'n to your Ladiship. Sil. I thanke you for your Musique (Gentlemen)Who is that that spake? Pro. One (Lady) if you knew his pure hearts truth,You would quickly learne to know him by his voice. Sil. Sir Protheus, as I take it. Pro. Sir Protheus (gentle Lady) and your Seruant. Sil. What's your will? Pro. That I may compasse yours. Sil. You haue your wish: my will is euen this,That presently you hie you home to bed:Thou subtile, periur'd, false, disloyall man:Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitlesse,To be seduced by thy flattery,That has't deceiu'd so many with thy vowes?Returne, returne, and make thy loue amends:For me (by this pale queene of night I sweare)I am so farre from granting thy request,That I despise thee, for thy wrongfull suite;And by and by intend to chide my selfe,Euen for this time I spend in talking to thee. Pro. I grant (sweet loue) that I did loue a Lady,But she is dead. Iu. 'Twere false, if I should speake it;For I am sure she is not buried. Sil. Say that she be: yet Valentine thy friendSuruiues; to whom (thy selfe art witnesse)I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'dTo wrong him, with thy importunacy? Pro. I likewise heare that Valentine is dead. Sil. And so suppose am I; for in her graueAssure thy selfe, my loue is buried. Pro. Sweet Lady, let me rake it from the earth. Sil. Goe to thy Ladies graue and call hers thence,Or at the least, in hers, sepulcher thine. Iul. He heard not that. Pro. Madam: if your heart be so obdurate:Vouchsafe me yet your Picture for my loue,The Picture that is hanging in your chamber:To that ile speake, to that ile sigh and weepe:For since the substance of your perfect selfeIs else deuoted, I am but a shadow;And to your shadow, will I make true loue. Iul. If 'twere a substance you would sure deceiue it,And make it but a shadow, as I am. Sil. I am very loath to be your Idoll Sir;But, since your falsehood shall become you wellTo worship shadowes, and adore false shapes,Send to me in the morning, and ile send it:And so, good rest. Pro. As wretches haue ore-nightThat wait for execution in the morne. Iul. Host, will you goe? Ho. By my hallidome, I was fast asleepe. Iul. Pray you, where lies Sir Protheus? Ho. Marry, at my house:Trust me, I thinke 'tis almost day. Iul. Not so: but it hath bin the longest nightThat ere I watch'd, and the most heauiest.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Eglamore, Siluia. Eg. This is the houre that Madam Siluia Entreated me to call, and know her minde:Ther's some great matter she'ld employ me in.Madam, Madam. Sil. Who cals? Eg. Your seruant, and your friend;One that attends your Ladiships command. Sil. Sir Eglamore, a thousand times good morrow. Eg. As many (worthy Lady) to your selfe:According to your Ladiships impose,I am thus early come, to know what seruiceIt is your pleasure to command me in. Sil. Oh Eglamoure, thou art a Gentleman:Thinke not I flatter (for I sweare I doe not)Valiant, wise, remorse-full, well accomplish'd.Thou art not ignorant what deere good will I beare vnto the banish'd Valentine: Nor how my father would enforce me marryVaine Thurio (whom my very soule abhor'd.)Thy selfe hast lou'd, and I haue heard thee sayNo griefe did euer come so neere thy heart,As when thy Lady, and thy true-loue dide,Vpon whose Graue thou vow'dst pure chastitie:Sir Eglamoure: I would to Valentine To Mantua, where I heare, he makes aboad;And for the waies are dangerous to passe,I doe desire thy worthy company,Vpon whose faith and honor, I repose.Vrge not my fathers anger (Eglamoure)But thinke vpon my griefe (a Ladies griefe)And on the iustice of my flying hence,To keepe me from a most vnholy match,Which heauen and fortune still rewards with plagues.I doe desire thee, euen from a heartAs full of sorrowes, as the Sea of sands,To beare me company, and goe with me:If not, to hide what I haue said to thee,That I may venture to depart alone. Egl. Madam, I pitty much your grieuances,Which, since I know they vertuously are plac'd,I giue consent to goe along with you,Wreaking as little what betideth me,As much, I wish all good befortune you.When will you goe? Sil. This euening comming. Eg. Where shall I meete you? Sil. At Frier Patrickes Cell,Where I intend holy Confession. Eg. I will not faile your Ladiship:Good morrow (gentle Lady.) Sil. Good morrow, kinde Sir Eglamoure. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Launce, Protheus, Iulia, Siluia. Lau. When a mans seruant shall play the Curre withhim (looke you) it goes hard: one that I brought vp ofa puppy: one that I sau'd from drowning, when three orfoure of his blinde brothers and sisters went to it: I hauetaught him (euen as one would say precisely, thus Iwould teach a dog) I was sent to deliuer him, as a pre-sent to Mistris Siluia, from my Master; and I came nosooner into the dyning-chamber, but he steps me to herTrencher, and steales her Capons-leg: O, 'tis a foulething, when a Cur cannot keepe himselfe in all compa-nies: I would haue (as one should say) one that takes vp-on him to be a dog indeede, to be, as it were, a dog at allthings. If I had not had more wit then he, to take a faultvpon me that he did, I thinke verily hee had bin hang'dfor't: sure as I liue he had suffer'd for't: you shall iudge:Hee thrusts me himselfe into the company of three orfoure gentleman-like-dogs, vnder the Dukes table: heehad not bin there (blesse the marke) a pissing while, butall the chamber smelt him: out with the dog (saies one)what cur is that (saies another) whip him out (saies thethird) hang him vp (saies the Duke.) I hauing bin ac-quainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab; andgoes me to the fellow that whips the dogges: friend(quoth I) you meane to whip the dog: I marry doe I(quoth he) you doe him the more wrong (quoth I) 'twasI did the thing you wot of: he makes me no more adoe,but whips me out of the chamber: how many Masterswould doe this for his Seruant? nay, ile be sworne I hauesat in the stockes, for puddings he hath stolne, otherwisehe had bin executed: I haue stood on the Pillorie forGeese he hath kil'd, otherwise he had sufferd for't: thouthink'st not of this now: nay, I remember the tricke youseru'd me, when I tooke my leaue of Madam Siluia: did not I bid thee still marke me, and doe as I do; when did'stthou see me heaue vp my leg, and make water against aGentlewomans farthingale? did'st thou euer see me doesuch a tricke? Pro. Sebastian is thy name: I like thee well,And will imploy thee in some seruice presently. Iu. In what you please, ile doe what I can. Pro. I hope thou wilt.How now you whor-son pezant,Where haue you bin these two dayes loytering? La. Marry Sir, I carried Mistris Siluia the dogge youbad me. Pro. And what saies she to my little Iewell? La. Marry she saies your dog was a cur, and tels youcurrish thanks is good enough for such a present. Pro. But she receiu'd my dog? La. No indeede did she not:Here haue I brought him backe againe. Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me? La. I Sir, the other Squirrill was stolne from meBy the Hangmans boyes in the market place,And then I offer'd her mine owne, who is a dogAs big as ten of yours, & therefore the guift the greater. Pro. Goe, get thee hence, and finde my dog againe,Or nere returne againe into my sight.Away, I say: stayest thou to vexe me here;A Slaue, that still an end, turnes me to shame: Sebastian, I haue entertained thee,Partly that I haue neede of such a youth,That can with some discretion doe my businesse:For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish Lowt;But chiefely, for thy face, and thy behauiour,Which (if my Augury deceiue me not)Witnesse good bringing vp, fortune, and truth:Therefore know thee, for this I entertaine thee.Go presently, and take this Ring with thee,Deliuer it to Madam Siluia; She lou'd me well, deliuer'd it to me. Iul. It seemes you lou'd not her, not leaue her token:She is dead belike? Pro. Not so: I thinke she liues. Iul. Alas. Pro. Why do'st thou cry alas? Iul. I cannot choose but pitty her. Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pitty her? Iul. Because, me thinkes that she lou'd you as wellAs you doe loue your Lady Siluia: She dreames on him, that has forgot her loue,You doate on her, that cares not for your loue.'Tis pitty Loue, should be so contrary:And thinking on it, makes me cry alas. Pro. Well: giue her that Ring, and therewithallThis Letter: that's her chamber: Tell my Lady,I claime the promise for her heauenly Picture:Your message done, hye home vnto my chamber,Where thou shalt finde me sad, and solitarie. Iul. How many women would doe such a message?Alas poore Protheus, thou hast entertain'dA Foxe, to be the Shepheard of thy Lambs;Alas, poore foole, why doe I pitty himThat with his very heart despiseth me?Because he loues her, he despiseth me,Because I loue him, I must pitty him.This Ring I gaue him, when he parted from me,To binde him to remember my good will:And now am I (vnhappy Messenger)To plead for that, which I would not obtaine;To carry that, which I would haue refus'd;To praise his faith, which I would haue disprais'd.I am my Masters true confirmed Loue,But cannot be true seruant to my Master,Vnlesse I proue false traitor to my selfe.Yet will I woe for him, but yet so coldly,As (heauen it knowes) I would not haue him speed.Gentlewoman, good day: I pray you be my meaneTo bring me where to speake with Madam Siluia. Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she? Iul. If you be she, I doe intreat your patienceTo heare me speake the message I am sent on. Sil. From whom? Iul. From my Master, Sir Protheus, Madam. Sil. Oh: he sends you for a Picture? Iul. I, Madam. Sil. Vrsula, bring my Picture there,Goe, giue your Master this: tell him from me,One Iulia, that his changing thoughts forgetWould better fit his Chamber, then this Shadow. Iul. Madam, please you peruse this Letter;Pardon me (Madam) I haue vnaduis'dDeliuer'd you a paper that I should not;This is the Letter to your Ladiship. Sil. I pray thee let me looke on that againe. Iul. It may not be: good Madam pardon me. Sil. There, hold:I will not looke vpon your Masters lines:I know they are stuft with protestations,And full of new-found oathes, which he will breakeAs easily, as I doe teare his paper. Iul. Madam, he sends your Ladiship this Ring. Sil. The more shame for him, that he sends it me;For I haue heard him say a thousand times,His Iulia gaue it him, at his departure:Though his false finger haue prophan'd the Ring,Mine shall not doe his Iulia so much wrong. Iul. She thankes you. Sil. What sai'st thou? Iul. I thanke you Madam, that you tender her:Poore Gentlewoman, my Master wrongs her much. Sil. Do'st thou know her? Iul. Almost as well as I doe know my selfe.To thinke vpon her woes, I doe protestThat I haue wept a hundred seuerall times. Sil. Belike she thinks that Protheus hath forsook her? Iul. I thinke she doth: and that's her cause of sorrow. Sil. Is she not passing faire? Iul. She hath bin fairer (Madam) then she is,When she did thinke my Master lou'd her well;She, in my iudgement, was as faire as you.But since she did neglect her looking-glasse,And threw her Sun-expelling Masque away,The ayre hath staru'd the roses in her cheekes,And pinch'd the lilly-tincture of her face,That now she is become as blacke as I. Sil. How tall was she? Iul. About my stature: for at Pentecost, When all our Pageants of delight were plaid,Our youth got me to play the womans part,And I was trim'd in Madam Iulias gowne,Which serued me as fit, by all mens iudgements,As if the garment had bin made for me:Therefore I know she is about my height,And at that time I made her weepe a good, For I did play a lamentable part.(Madam) 'twas Ariadne, passioningFor Thesus periury, and vniust flight;Which I so liuely acted with my teares:That my poore Mistris moued therewithall,Wept bitterly: and would I might be dead,If I in thought felt not her very sorrow. Sil. She is beholding to thee (gentle youth)Alas (poore Lady) desolate, and left;I weepe my selfe to thinke vpon thy words:Here youth: there is my purse; I giue thee thisFor thy sweet Mistris sake, because thou lou'st her. Farewell. Iul. And she shall thanke you for't, if ere you know her.A vertuous gentlewoman, milde, and beautifull.I hope my Masters suit will be but cold,Since she respects my Mistris loue so much.Alas, how loue can trifle with it selfe:Here is her Picture: let me see, I thinkeIf I had such a Tyre, this face of mineWere full as louely, as is this of hers;And yet the Painter flatter'd her a little,Vnlesse I flatter with my selfe too much.Her haire is Aburne, mine is perfect Yellow; If that be all the difference in his loue,Ile get me such a coulour'd Perrywig:Her eyes are grey as glasse, and so are mine. I, but her fore-head's low, and mine's as high:What should it be that he respects in her,But I can make respectiue in my selfe?If this fond Loue, were not a blinded god.Come shadow, come, and take this shadow vp,For 'tis thy riuall: O thou sencelesse forme,Thou shalt be worship'd, kiss'd, lou'd, and ador'd;And were there sence in his Idolatry,My substance should be statue in thy stead.Ile vse thee kindly, for thy Mistris sakeThat vs'd me so: or else by Ioue, I vow,I should haue scratch'd out your vnseeing eyes,To make my Master out of loue with thee. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scoena Prima. Enter Eglamoure, Siluia. Egl. The Sun begins to guild the westerne skie,And now it is about the very houreThat Siluia, at Fryer Patricks Cell should meet me,She will not faile; for Louers breake not houres,Vnlesse it be to come before their time,So much they spur their expedition.See where she comes: Lady a happy euening. Sil. Amen, Amen: goe on (good Eglamoure)Out at the Posterne by the Abbey wall;I feare I am attended by some Spies. Egl. Feare not: the Forrest is not three leagues off,If we recouer that, we are sure enough. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Thurio, Protheus, Iulia, Duke. Th. Sir Protheus, what saies Siluia to my suit? Pro. Oh Sir, I finde her milder then she was,And yet she takes exceptions at your person. Thu. What? that my leg is too long? Pro. No, that it is too little. Thu. Ile weare a Boote, to make it somewhat rounder. Pro. But loue will not be spurd to what it loathes. Thu. What saies she to my face? Pro. She saies it is a faire one. Thu. Nay then the wanton lyes: my face is blacke. Pro. But Pearles are faire; and the old saying is,Blacke men are Pearles, in beauteous Ladies eyes. Thu. 'Tis true, such Pearles as put out Ladies eyes,For I had rather winke, then looke on them. Thu. How likes she my discourse? Pro. Ill, when you talke of war. Thu. But well, when I discourse of loue and peace. Iul. But better indeede, when you hold you peace. Thu. What sayes she to my valour? Pro. Oh Sir, she makes no doubt of that. Iul. She needes not, when she knowes it cowardize. Thu. What saies she to my birth? Pro. That you are well deriu'd. Iul. True: from a Gentleman, to a foole. Thu. Considers she my Possessions? Pro. Oh, I: and pitties them. Thu. Wherefore? Iul. That such an Asse should owe them. Pro. That they are out by Lease. Iul. Here comes the Duke. Du. How now sir Protheus; how now Thurio?Which of you saw Eglamoure of late? Thu. Not I. Pro. Nor I. Du. Saw you my daughter? Pro. Neither. Du. Why thenShe's fled vnto that pezant, Valentine; And Eglamoure is in her Company:'Tis true: for Frier Laurence met them bothAs he, in pennance wander'd through the Forrest:Him he knew well: and guesd that it was she,But being mask'd, he was not sure of it.Besides she did intend ConfessionAt Patricks Cell this euen, and there she was not.These likelihoods confirme her flight from hence;Therefore I pray you stand, not to discourse,But mount you presently, and meete with meVpon the rising of the Mountaine footeThat leads toward Mantua, whether they are fled:Dispatch (sweet Gentlemen) and follow me. Thu. Why this it is, to be a peeuish Girle,That flies her fortune when it followes her:Ile after; more to be reueng'd on Eglamoure, Then for the loue of reck-lesse Siluia. Pro. And I will follow, more for Siluias loueThen hate of Eglamoure that goes with her. Iul. And I will follow, more to crosse that loueThen hate for Siluia, that is gone for loue. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Siluia, Out-lawes. 1.Out. Come, come be patient: We must bring you to our Captaine. Sil. A thousand more mischances then this oneHaue learn'd me how to brooke this patiently. 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 1 Out. Where is the Gentleman that was with her? 3 Out. Being nimble footed, he hath out-run vs.But Moyses and Valerius follow him:Goe thou with her to the West end of the wood,There is our Captaine: Wee'll follow him that's fled,The Thicket is beset, he cannot scape. 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our Captains caue.Feare not: he beares an honourable minde,And will not vse a woman lawlesly. Sil. O Valentine: this I endure for thee. Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Valentine, Protheus, Siluia, Iulia, Duke, Thurio,Out-lawes. Val. How vse doth breed a habit in a man?This shadowy desart, vnfrequented woodsI better brooke then flourishing peopled Townes:Here can I sit alone, vn-seene of any,And to the Nightingales complaining NotesTune my distresses, and record my woes.O thou that dost inhabit in my brest,Leaue not the Mansion so long Tenant-lesse,Lest growing ruinous, the building fall,And leaue no memory of what it was,Repaire me, with thy presence, Siluia: Thou gentle Nimph, cherish thy for-lorne swaine.What hallowing, and what stir is this to day?These are my mates, that make their wills their Law,Haue some vnhappy passenger in chace;They loue me well: yet I haue much to doeTo keepe them from vnciuill outrages.Withdraw thee Valentine: who's this comes heere? Pro. Madam, this seruice I haue done for you(Though you respect not aught your seruant doth)To hazard life, and reskew you from him,That would haue forc'd your honour, and your loue,Vouchsafe me for my meed, but one faire looke:(A smaller boone then this I cannot beg,And lesse then this, I am sure you cannot giue.) Val. How like a dreame is this? I see, and heare:Loue, lend me patience to forbeare a while. Sil. O miserable, vnhappy that I am. Pro. Vnhappy were you (Madam) ere I came:But by my comming, I haue made you happy. Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most vnhappy. Iul. And me, when he approcheth to your presence. Sil. Had I beene ceazed by a hungry Lion,I would haue beene a break-fast to the Beast,Rather then haue false Protheus reskue me:Oh heauen be iudge how I loue Valentine, Whose life's as tender to me as my soule,And full as much (for more there cannot be)I doe detest false periur'd Protheus: Therefore be gone, sollicit me no more. Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to deathWould I not vndergoe, for one calme looke:Oh 'tis the curse in Loue, and still approu'dWhen women cannot loue, where they're belou'd. Sil. When Protheus cannot loue, where he's belou'd:Read ouer Iulia's heart, (thy first best Loue)For whose deare sake, thou didst then rend thy faithInto a thousand oathes; and all those oathes,Descended into periury, to loue me,Thou hast no faith left now, vnlesse thou'dst two,And that's farre worse then none: better haue noneThen plurall faith, which is too much by one:Thou Counterfeyt, to thy true friend. Pro. In Loue,Who respects friend? Sil. All men but Protheus. Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of mouing wordsCan no way change you to a milder forme;Ile wooe you like a Souldier, at armes end,And loue you 'gainst the nature of Loue: force ye. Sil. Oh heauen. Pro. Ile force thee yeeld to my desire. Val. Ruffian: let goe that rude vnciuill touch,Thou friend of an ill fashion. Pro. Valentine. Val. Thou co[m]mon friend, that's without faith or loue,For such is a friend now: treacherous man,Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eyeCould haue perswaded me: now I dare not sayI haue one friend aliue; thou wouldst disproue me:Who should be trusted, when ones right handIs periured to the bosome? Protheus I am sorry I must neuer trust thee more,But count the world a stranger for thy sake:The priuate wound is deepest: oh time, most accurst.'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst? Pro. My shame and guilt confounds me:Forgiue me Valentine: if hearty sorrowBe a sufficient Ransome for offence,I tender't heere: I doe as truely suffer,As ere I did commit. Val. Then I am paid:And once againe, I doe receiue thee honest;Who by Repentance is not satisfied,Is nor of heauen, nor earth; for these are pleas'd:By Penitence th' Eternalls wrath's appeas'd:And that my loue may appeare plaine and free,All that was mine, in Siluia, I giue thee. Iul. Oh me vnhappy. Pro. Looke to the Boy. Val. Why, Boy?Why wag: how now? what's the matter? look vp: speak. Iul. O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliuer a ringto Madam Siluia:  which (out of my neglect) was neuer done. Pro. Where is that ring? boy? Iul. Heere 'tis: this is it. Pro. How? let me see.Why this is the ring I gaue to Iulia. Iul. Oh, cry you mercy sir, I haue mistooke:This is the ring you sent to Siluia. Pro. But how cam'st thou by this ring? at my departI gaue this vnto Iulia. Iul. And Iulia her selfe did giue it me,And Iulia her selfe hath brought it hither. Pro. How? Iulia? Iul. Behold her, that gaue ayme to all thy oathes,And entertain'd 'em deepely in her heart.How oft hast thou with periury cleft the roote?Oh Protheus, let this habit make thee blush. Be thou asham'd that I haue tooke vpon me,Such an immodest rayment; if shame liueIn a disguise of loue?It is the lesser blot modesty findes,Women to change their shapes, then men their minds. Pro. Then men their minds? tis true: oh heuen, were manBut Constant, he were perfect; that one errorFils him with faults: makes him run through all th' sins;Inconstancy falls-off, ere it begins:What is in Siluia's face, but I may spieMore fresh in Iulia's, with a constant eye? Val. Come, come: a hand from either:Let me be blest to make this happy close:'Twere pitty two such friends should be long foes. Pro. Beare witnes (heauen) I haue my wish for euer. Iul. And I mine. Out-l. A prize: a prize: a prize. Val. Forbeare, forbeare I say: It is my Lord the Duke. Your Grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd,Banished Valentine. Duke. Sir Valentine? Thu. Yonder is Siluia: and Siluia's mine. Val. Thurio giue backe; or else embrace thy death:Come not within the measure of my wrath:Doe not name Siluia thine: if once againe, Verona shall not hold thee: heere she stands,Take but possession of her, with a Touch:I dare thee, but to breath vpon my Loue. Thur. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I:I hold him but a foole that will endangerHis Body, for a Girle that loues him not:I claime her not, and therefore she is thine. Duke. The more degenerate and base art thouTo make such meanes for her, as thou hast done,And leaue her on such slight conditions.Now, by the honor of my Ancestry,I doe applaud thy spirit, Valentine, And thinke thee worthy of an Empresse loue:Know then, I heere forget all former greefes,Cancell all grudge, repeale thee home againe,Plead a new state in thy vn-riual'd merit,To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine, Thou art a Gentleman, and well deriu'd,Take thou thy Siluia, for thou hast deseru'd her. Val. I thank your Grace, the gift hath made me happy:I now beseech you (for your daughters sake)To grant one Boone that I shall aske of you. Duke. I grant it (for thine owne) what ere it be. Val. These banish'd men, that I haue kept withall,Are men endu'd with worthy qualities:Forgiue them what they haue committed here,And let them be recall'd from their Exile:They are reformed, ciuill, full of good,And fit for great employment (worthy Lord.) Duke. Thou hast preuaild, I pardon them and thee:Dispose of them, as thou knowst their deserts.Come, let vs goe, we will include all iarres,With Triumphes, Mirth, and rare solemnity. Val. And as we walke along, I dare be boldWith our discourse, to make your Grace to smile.What thinke you of this Page (my Lord?) Duke. I think the Boy hath grace in him, he blushes. Val. I warrant you (my Lord) more grace, then Boy. Duke. What meane you by that saying? Val. Please you, Ile tell you, as we passe along,That you will wonder what hath fortuned:Come Protheus, 'tis your pennance, but to heareThe story of your Loues discouered.That done, our day of marriage shall be yours,One Feast, one house, one mutuall happinesse. Exeunt.
The names of all the Actors. Duke: Father to Siluia. Valentine.Protheus. the two Gentlemen.Anthonio: father to Protheus.Thurio: a foolish riuall to Valentine.Eglamoure: Agent for Siluia in her escape.Host: where Iulia lodges.Out-lawes with Valentine. Speed: a clownish seruant to Valentine. Launce: the like to Protheus.Panthion: seruant to Antonio.Iulia: beloued of Protheus.Siluia: beloued of Valentine.Lucetta: waighting-woman to Iulia. FINIS.
THE Merry Wiues of Windsor.
Actus primus, Scena prima. Enter Iustice Shallow, Slender, Sir Hugh Euans, Master Page, Falstoffe, Bardolph, Nym, Pistoll, Anne Page, Mistresse Ford, Mistresse Page, Simple. Shallow. Sir Hugh, perswade me not: I will make a Star-Chamber matter of it, if hee were twenty Sir Iohn Falstoffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow Esquire. Slen. In the County of Glocester, Iustice of Peace and Coram. Shal. I (Cosen Slender) and Cust-alorum. Slen. I, and Ratolorum too; and a Gentleman borne(Master Parson) who writes himselfe Armigero, in anyBill, Warrant, Quittance, or Obligation, Armigero. Shal. I that I doe, and haue done any time these threehundred yeeres. Slen. All his successors (gone before him) hath don't:and all his Ancestors (that come after him) may: theymay giue the dozen white Luces in their Coate. Shal. It is an olde Coate. Euans. The dozen white Lowses doe become an oldCoat well: it agrees well passant: It is a familiar beast toman, and signifies Loue. Shal. The Luse is the fresh-fish, the salt-fish, is an oldCoate. Slen. I may quarter (Coz). Shal. You may, by marrying. Euans. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. Shal. Not a whit. Euan. Yes per-lady: if he ha's a quarter of your coat,there is but three Skirts for your selfe, in my simple con-iectures; but that is all one: if Sir Iohn Falstaffe hauecommitted disparagements vnto you, I am of the Churchand will be glad to do my beneuolence, to make attone-ments and compremises betweene you. Shal. The Councell shall heare it, it is a Riot. Euan. It is not meet the Councell heare a Riot: thereis no feare of Got in a Riot: The Councell (looke you)shall desire to heare the feare of Got, and not to heare aRiot: take your viza-ments in that. Shal. Ha; o'my life, if I were yong againe, the swordshould end it. Euans. It is petter that friends is the sword, and endit: and there is also another deuice in my praine, whichperaduenture prings goot discretions with it. There is Anne Page, which is daughter to Master Thomas Page, which is pretty virginity. Slen. Mistris Anne Page? she has browne haire, andspeakes small like a woman. Euans. It is that ferry person for all the orld, as iust asyou will desire, and seuen hundred pounds of Moneyes,and Gold, and Siluer, is her Grand-sire vpon his deaths-bed, (Got deliuer to a ioyfull resurrections) giue, whenshe is able to ouertake seuenteene yeeres old. It were agoot motion, if we leaue our pribbles and prabbles, anddesire a marriage betweene Master Abraham, and Mistris Anne Page. Slen. Did her Grand-sire leaue her seauen hundredpound? Euan. I, and her father is make her a petter penny. Slen. I know the young Gentlewoman, she has goodgifts. Euan. Seuen hundred pounds, and possibilities, isgoot gifts. Shal. Wel, let vs see honest Mr Page: is Falstaffe there? Euan. Shall I tell you a lye? I doe despise a lyer, as Idoe despise one that is false, or as I despise one that is nottrue: the Knight Sir Iohn is there, and I beseech you beruled by your well-willers: I will peat the doore for Mr. Page. What hoa? Got-plesse your house heere. Mr.Page. Who's there? Euan. Here is go't's plessing and your friend, and Iu-stice Shallow, and heere yong Master Slender: that perad-uentures shall tell you another tale, if matters grow toyour likings. Mr.Page. I am glad to see your Worships well: Ithanke you for my Venison Master Shallow. Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you: much gooddoe it your good heart: I wish'd your Venison better, itwas ill killd: how doth good Mistresse Page? and I thankyou alwaies with my heart, la: with my heart. M.Page. Sir, I thanke you. Shal. Sir, I thanke you: by yea, and no I doe. M.Pa. I am glad to see you, good Master Slender. Slen. How do's your fallow Greyhound, Sir, I heardsay he was out-run on Cotsall. M.Pa. It could not be iudg'd, Sir. Slen. You'll not confesse: you'll not confesse. Shal. That he will not, 'tis your fault, 'tis your fault:'tis a good dogge. M.Pa. A Cur, Sir. Shal. Sir: hee's a good dog, and a faire dog, can therebe more said? he is good, and faire. Is Sir Iohn Falstaffe heere? M.Pa. Sir, hee is within: and I would I could doe agood office betweene you. Euan. It is spoke as a Christians ought to speake. Shal. He hath wrong'd me (Master Page.) M.Pa. Sir, he doth in some sort confesse it. Shal. If it be confessed, it is not redressed; is not thatso (M[aster]. Page?) he hath wrong'd me, indeed he hath, at aword he hath: beleeue me, Robert Shallow Esquire, saithhe is wronged. Ma.Pa. Here comes Sir Iohn. Fal. Now, Master Shallow, you'll complaine of me tothe King? Shal. Knight, you haue beaten my men, kill'd mydeere, and broke open my Lodge. Fal. But not kiss'd your Keepers daughter? Shal. Tut, a pin: this shall be answer'd. Fal. I will answere it strait, I haue done all this:That is now answer'd. Shal. The Councell shall know this. Fal. 'Twere better for you if it were known in coun-cell: you'll be laugh'd at. Eu. Pauca verba; (Sir Iohn) good worts. Fal. Good worts? good Cabidge; Slender, I brokeyour head: what matter haue you against me? Slen. Marry sir, I haue matter in my head against you,and against your cony-catching Rascalls, Bardolf, Nym, and Pistoll. Bar. You Banbery Cheese. Slen. I, it is no matter. Pist. How now, Mephostophilus? Slen. I, it is no matter. Nym. Slice, I say; pauca, pauca: Slice, that's my humor. Slen. Where's Simple my man? can you tell, Cosen? Eua. Peace, I pray you: now let vs vnderstand: thereis three Vmpires in this matter, as I vnderstand; that is,Master Page (fidelicet Master Page,) & there is my selfe,(fidelicet my selfe) and the three party is (lastly, and fi-nally) mine Host of the Garter. Ma.Pa. We three to hear it, & end it between them. Euan. Ferry goo't, I will make a priefe of it in mynote-booke, and we wil afterwards orke vpon the cause,with as great discreetly as we can. Fal. Pistoll. Pist. He heares with eares. Euan. The Teuill and his Tam: what phrase is this?he heares with eare? why, it is affectations. Fal. Pistoll, did you picke M[aster]. Slenders purse? Slen. I, by these gloues did hee, or I would I mightneuer come in mine owne great chamber againe else, ofseauen groates in mill-sixpences, and two Edward Sho-uelboords, that cost me two shilling and two pence apeece of Yead Miller: by these gloues. Fal. Is this true, Pistoll? Euan. No, it is false, if it is a picke-purse. Pist. Ha, thou mountaine Forreyner: Sir Iohn, andMaster mine, I combat challenge of this Latine Bilboe:word of deniall in thy labras here; word of denial; froth,and scum thou liest. Slen. By these gloues, then 'twas he. Nym. Be auis'd sir, and passe good humours: I willsay marry trap with you, if you runne the nut-hooks hu-mor on me, that is the very note of it. Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it: forthough I cannot remember what I did when you mademe drunke, yet I am not altogether an asse. Fal. What say you Scarlet, and Iohn? Bar. Why sir, (for my part) I say the Gentleman haddrunke himselfe out of his fiue sentences. Eu. It is his fiue sences: fie, what the ignorance is. Bar. And being fap, sir, was (as they say) casheerd: andso conclusions past the Car-eires. Slen. I, you spake in Latten then to: but 'tis no mat-ter; Ile nere be drunk whilst I liue againe, but in honest,ciuill, godly company for this tricke: if I be drunke, Ilebe drunke with those that haue the feare of God, and notwith drunken knaues. Euan. So got-udge me, that is a vertuous minde. Fal. You heare all these matters deni'd, Gentlemen;you heare it. Mr.Page. Nay daughter, carry the wine in, wee'lldrinke within. Slen. Oh heauen: This is Mistresse Anne Page. Mr.Page. How now Mistris Ford? Fal. Mistris Ford, by my troth you are very wel met:by your leaue good Mistris. Mr.Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome: come,we haue a hot Venison pasty to dinner; Come gentle-men, I hope we shall drinke downe all vnkindnesse. Slen. I had rather then forty shillings I had my bookeof Songs and Sonnets heere: How now Simple, wherehaue you beene? I must wait on my selfe, must I? youhaue not the booke of Riddles about you, haue you? Sim. Booke of Riddles? why did you not lend it to Alice Short-cake vpon Alhallowmas last, a fortnight a-fore Michaelmas. Shal. Come Coz, come Coz, we stay for you: a wordwith you Coz: marry this, Coz: there is as 'twere a ten-der, a kinde of tender, made a farre-off by Sir Hugh here:doe you vnderstand me? Slen. I Sir, you shall finde me reasonable; if it be so,I shall doe that that is reason. Shal. Nay, but vnderstand me. Slen. So I doe Sir. Euan. Giue eare to his motions; (Mr. Slender) I willdescription the matter to you, if you be capacity of it. Slen. Nay, I will doe as my Cozen Shallow saies: Ipray you pardon me, he's a Iustice of Peace in his Coun-trie, simple though I stand here. Euan. But that is not the question: the question isconcerning your marriage. Shal. I, there's the point Sir. Eu. Marry is it: the very point of it, to Mi[stris]. An Page. Slen. Why if it be so; I will marry her vpon any rea-sonable demands. Eu. But can you affection the 'o-man, let vs commandto know that of your mouth, or of your lips: for diuersPhilosophers hold, that the lips is parcell of the mouth:therfore precisely, ca[n] you carry your good wil to the maid? Sh. Cosen Abraham Slender, can you loue her? Slen. I hope sir, I will do as it shall become one thatwould doe reason. Eu. Nay, got's Lords, and his Ladies, you must speakepossitable, if you can carry-her your desires towards her. Shal. That you must:Will you, (vpon good dowry) marry her? Slen. I will doe a greater thing then that, vpon yourrequest (Cosen) in any reason. Shal. Nay conceiue me, conceiue mee, (sweet Coz):What I doe is to pleasure you (Coz:) can you loue themaid? Slen. I will marry her (Sir) at your request; but ifthere bee no great loue in the beginning, yet Heauenmay decrease it vpon better acquaintance, when weeare married, and haue more occasion to know one ano-ther: I hope vpon familiarity will grow more content:but if you say mary-her, I will mary-her, that I am freelydissolued, and dissolutely. Eu. It is a fery discretion-answere; saue the fall is inthe 'ord, dissolutely: the ort is (according to our mea-ning)resolutely: his meaning is good. Sh. I: I thinke my Cosen meant well. Sl. I, or else I would I might be hang'd (la.) Sh. Here comes faire Mistris Anne; would I wereyong for your sake, Mistris Anne. An. The dinner is on the Table, my Father desiresyour worships company. Sh. I will wait on him, (faire Mistris Anne.) Eu. Od's plessed-wil: I wil not be abse[n]ce at the grace. An. Wil't please your worship to come in, Sir? Sl. No, I thank you forsooth, hartely; I am very well. An. The dinner attends you, Sir. Sl. I am not a-hungry, I thanke you, forsooth: goe,Sirha, for all you are my man, goe wait vpon my Cosen Shallow: a Iustice of peace sometime may be beholdingto his friend, for a Man; I keepe but three Men, and aBoy yet, till my Mother be dead: but what though, yetI liue like a poore Gentleman borne. An. I may not goe in without your worship: theywill not sit till you come. Sl. I' faith, ile eate nothing: I thanke you as much asthough I did. An. I pray you Sir walke in. Sl. I had rather walke here (I thanke you) I bruiz'dmy shin th' other day, with playing at Sword and Dag-ger with a Master of Fence (three veneys for a dish ofstew'd Prunes) and by my troth, I cannot abide the smellof hot meate since. Why doe your dogs barke so? bethere Beares ith' Towne? An. I thinke there are, Sir, I heard them talk'd of. Sl. I loue the sport well, but I shall as soone quarrellat it, as any man in England: you are afraid if you see theBeare loose, are you not? An. I indeede Sir. Sl. That's meate and drinke to me now: I haue seene Saskerson loose, twenty times, and haue taken him by theChaine: but (I warrant you) the women haue so crideand shrekt at it, that it past: But women indeede, cannotabide 'em, they are very ill-fauour'd rough things. Ma.Pa. Come, gentle M[aster]. Slender, come; we stay for you. Sl. Ile eate nothing, I thanke you Sir. Ma.Pa. By cocke and pie, you shall not choose, Sir:come, come. Sl. Nay, pray you lead the way. Ma.Pa. Come on, Sir. Sl. Mistris Anne: your selfe shall goe first. An. Not I Sir, pray you keepe on. Sl. Truely I will not goe first: truely-la: I will notdoe you that wrong. An. I pray you Sir. Sl. Ile rather be vnmannerly, then troublesome: youdoe your selfe wrong indeede-la. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Euans, and Simple. Eu. Go your waies, and aske of Doctor Caius house,which is the way; and there dwels one Mistris Quickly; which is in the manner of his Nurse; or his dry-Nurse; orhis Cooke; or his Laundry; his Washer, and his Ringer. Si. Well Sir. Eu. Nay, it is petter yet: giue her this letter; for it isa 'oman that altogeathers acquainta[n]ce with Mistris Anne Page; and the Letter is to desire, and require her to soli-cite your Masters desires, to Mistris Anne Page: I prayyou be gon: I will make an end of my dinner; ther's Pip-pins and Cheese to come. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falstaffe, Host, Bardolfe, Nym, Pistoll, Page. Fal. Mine Host of the Garter? Ho. What saies my Bully Rooke? speake schollerly,and wisely. Fal. Truely mine Host; I must turne away some of myfollowers. Ho. Discard, (bully Hercules) casheere; let them wag;trot, trot. Fal. I sit at ten pounds a weeke. Ho. Thou'rt an Emperor (Cesar, Keiser and Pheazar)I will entertaine Bardolfe: he shall draw; he shall tap; saidI well (bully Hector?) Fa. Doe so (good mine Host.) Ho. I haue spoke; let him follow; let me see thee froth,and liue: I am at a word: follow. Fal. Bardolfe, follow him: a Tapster is a good trade:an old Cloake, makes a new Ierkin: a wither'd Seruing-man, a fresh Tapster: goe, adew. Ba. It is a life that I haue desir'd: I will thriue. Pist. O base hungarian wight: wilt thou the spigot wield. Ni. He was gotten in drink: is not the humor co[n]ceited? Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this Tinderbox: hisThefts were too open: his filching was like an vnskilfullSinger, he kept not time. Ni. The good humor is to steale at a minutes rest. Pist. Conuay: the wise it call: Steale? foh: a fico forthe phrase. Fal. Well sirs, I am almost out at heeles. Pist. Why then let Kibes ensue. Fal. There is no remedy: I must conicatch, I must shift. Pist. Yong Rauens must haue foode. Fal. Which of you know Ford of this Towne? Pist. I ken the wight: he is of substance good. Fal. My honest Lads, I will tell you what I am about. Pist. Two yards, and more. Fal. No quips now Pistoll: (Indeede I am in the wastetwo yards about: but I am now about no waste: I am a-bout thrift) briefely: I doe meane to make loue to Fords wife: I spie entertainment in her: shee discourses: sheecarues: she giues the leere of inuitation: I can construethe action of her familier stile, & the hardest voice of herbehauior (to be english'd rightly) is, I am Sir Iohn Falstafs. Pist. He hath studied her will; and translated her will:out of honesty, into English. Ni. The Anchor is deepe: will that humor passe? Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of herhusbands Purse: he hath a legend of Angels. Pist. As many diuels entertaine: and to her Boy say I. Ni. The humor rises: it is good: humor me the angels. Fal. I haue writ me here a letter to her: & here ano-ther to Pages wife, who euen now gaue mee good eyestoo; examind my parts with most iudicious illiads: some-times the beame of her view, guilded my foote: some-times my portly belly. Pist. Then did the Sun on dung-hill shine. Ni. I thanke thee for that humour. Fal. O she did so course o're my exteriors with sucha greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye, did seemeto scorch me vp like a burning-glasse: here's anotherletter to her: She beares the Purse too: She is a Regionin Guiana: all gold, and bountie: I will be Cheaters tothem both, and they shall be Exchequers to mee: theyshall be my East and West Indies, and I will trade tothem both: Goe, beare thou this Letter to Mistris Page; and thou this to Mistris Ford: we will thriue (Lads) wewill thriue. Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,And by my side weare Steele? then Lucifer take all. Ni. I will run no base humor: here take the humor-Letter;I will keepe the hauior of reputation. Fal. Hold Sirha, beare you these Letters tightly,Saile like my Pinnasse to these golden shores.Rogues, hence, auaunt, vanish like haile-stones; goe,Trudge; plod away ith' hoofe: seeke shelter, packe: Falstaffe will learne the honor of the age,French-thrift, you Rogues, my selfe, and skirted Page. Pist. Let Vultures gripe thy guts: for gourd, andFullam holds: & high and low beguiles the rich & poore,Tester ile haue in pouch when thou shalt lacke,Base Phrygian Turke. Ni. I haue opperations,Which be humors of reuenge. Pist. Wilt thou reuenge? Ni. By Welkin, and her Star. Pist. With wit, or Steele? Ni. With both the humors, I:I will discusse the humour of this Loue to Ford. Pist. And I to Page shall eke vnfoldHow Falstaffe (varlet vile)His Doue will proue; his gold will hold,And his soft couch defile. Ni. My humour shall not coole: I will incense Ford to deale with poyson: I will possesse him with yallow-nesse, for the reuolt of mine is dangerous: that is mytrue humour. Pist. Thou art the Mars of Malecontents: I secondthee: troope on. Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Mistris Quickly, Simple, Iohn Rugby, Doctor,Caius, Fenton. Qu. What, Iohn Rugby, I pray thee goe to the Case-ment, and see if you can see my Master, Master Docter Caius comming: if he doe (I' faith) and finde any bodyin the house; here will be an old abusing of Gods pati-ence, and the Kings English. Ru. Ile goe watch. Qu. Goe, and we'll haue a posset for't soone at night,(in faith) at the latter end of a Sea-cole-fire: An honest,willing, kinde fellow, as euer seruant shall come in housewithall: and I warrant you, no tel-tale, nor no breede-bate: his worst fault is, that he is giuen to prayer; hee issomething peeuish that way: but no body but has hisfault: but let that passe. Peter Simple, you say yourname is? Si. I: for fault of a better. Qu. And Master Slender's your Master? Si. I forsooth. Qu. Do's he not weare a great round Beard, like aGlouers pairing-knife? Si. No forsooth: he hath but a little wee-face; witha little yellow Beard: a Caine colourd Beard. Qu. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? Si. I forsooth: but he is as tall a man of his hands, asany is betweene this and his head: he hath fought witha Warrener. Qu. How say you: oh, I should remember him: do'she not hold vp his head (as it were?) and strut in his gate? Si. Yes indeede do's he. Qu. Well, heauen send Anne Page, no worse fortune:Tell Master Parson Euans, I will doe what I can for yourMaster: Anne is a good girle, and I wish —— Ru. Out alas: here comes my Master. Qu. We shall all be shent: Run in here, good youngman: goe into this Closset: he will not stay long: what Iohn Rugby? Iohn: what Iohn I say? goe Iohn, goe en-quire for my Master, I doubt he be not well, that heecomes not home: (and downe, downe, adowne'a. &c. Ca. Vat is you sing? I doe not like des-toyes: prayyou goe and vetch me in my Closset, vnboyteere verd;a Box, a greene-a-Box: do intend vat I speake? a greene-a-Box. Qu. I forsooth ile fetch it you:I am glad hee went not in himselfe: if he had found theyong man he would haue bin horne-mad. Ca. Fe, fe, fe, fe, mai foy, il fait for ehando, Ie man voi a leCourt la grand affaires. Qu. Is it this Sir? Ca. Ouy mette le au mon pocket, de-peech quickly: Vere is dat knaue Rugby? Qu. What Iohn Rugby, Iohn? Ru. Here Sir. Ca. You are Iohn Rugby, and you are Iacke Rugby: Come, take-a-your Rapier, and come after my heele tothe Court. Ru. 'Tis ready Sir, here in the Porch. Ca. By my trot: I tarry too long: od's-me: que ay ie oublie: dere is some Simples in my Closset, dat I vill notfor the varld I shall leaue behinde. Qu. Ay-me, he'll finde the yong man there, & be mad. Ca. O Diable, Diable: vat is in my Closset?Villanie, La-roone: Rugby, my Rapier. Qu. Good Master be content. Ca. Wherefore shall I be content-a? Qu. The yong man is an honest man. Ca. What shall de honest man do in my Closset: dereis no honest man dat shall come in my Closset. Qu. I beseech you be not so flegmaticke: heare thetruth of it. He came of an errand to mee, from Parson Hugh. Ca. Vell. Si. I forsooth: to desire her to —— Qu. Peace, I pray you. Ca. Peace-a-your tongue: speake-a-your Tale. Si. To desire this honest Gentlewoman (your Maid)to speake a good word to Mistris Anne Page, for my Ma-ster in the way of Marriage. Qu. This is all indeede-la: but ile nere put my fingerin the fire, and neede not. Ca. Sir Hugh send-a you? Rugby, ballow mee somepaper: tarry you a littell-a-while. Qui. I am glad he is so quiet: if he had bin through-ly moued, you should haue heard him so loud, and so me-lancholly: but notwithstanding man, Ile doe yoe yourMaster what good I can: and the very yea, & the no is, yFrench Doctor my Master, (I may call him my Master,looke you, for I keepe his house; and I wash, ring, brew,bake, scowre, dresse meat and drinke, make the beds, anddoe all my selfe.) Simp. 'Tis a great charge to come vnder one bodieshand. Qui. Are you a-uis'd o'that? you shall finde it a greatcharge: and to be vp early, and down late: but notwith-standing, (to tell you in your eare, I wold haue no wordsof it) my Master himselfe is in loue with Mistris Anne Page: but notwithstanding that I know Ans mind, that'sneither heere nor there. Caius. You, Iack'Nape: giue-'a this Letter to Sir Hugh, by gar it is a shallenge: I will cut his troat in deParke, and I will teach a scuruy Iack-a-nape Priest tomeddle, or make:—— you may be gon: it is not goodyou tarry here: by gar I will cut all his two stones: bygar, he shall not haue a stone to throw at his dogge. Qui. Alas: he speakes but for his friend. Caius. It is no matter 'a ver dat: do not you tell-a-medat I shall haue Anne Page for my selfe? by gar, I villkill de Iack-Priest: and I haue appointed mine Host ofde Iarteer to measure our weapon: by gar, I wil my selfehaue Anne Page. Qui. Sir, the maid loues you, and all shall bee well:We must giue folkes leaue to prate: what the good-ier. Caius. Rugby, come to the Court with me: by gar, ifI haue not Anne Page, I shall turne your head out of mydore: follow my heeles, Rugby. Qui. You shall haue An-fooles head of your owne:No, I know Ans mind for that: neuer a woman in Wind-sor knowes more of Ans minde then I doe, nor can doemore then I doe with her, I thanke heauen. Fenton. Who's with in there, hoa? Qui. Who's there, I troa? Come neere the house Ipray you. Fen. How now (good woman) how dost thou? Qui. The better that it pleases your good Worshipto aske? Fen. What newes? how do's pretty Mistris Anne? Qui. In truth Sir, and shee is pretty, and honest, andgentle, and one that is your friend, I can tell you that bythe way, I praise heauen for it. Fen. Shall I doe any good thinkst thou? shall I notloose my suit? Qui. Troth Sir, all is in his hands aboue: but not-withstanding (Master Fenton) Ile be sworne on a bookeshee loues you: haue not your Worship a wart aboueyour eye? Fen. Yes marry haue I, what of that? Qui. Wel, thereby hangs a tale: good faith, it is suchanother Nan; (but (I detest) an honest maid as euerbroke bread: wee had an howres talke of that wart; Ishall neuer laugh but in that maids company: but (in-deed) shee is giuen too much to Allicholy and musing:but for you —— well —— goe too —— Fen. Well: I shall see her to day: hold, there's mo-ney for thee: Let mee haue thy voice in my behalfe: ifthou seest her before me, commend me. —— Qui. Will I? I faith that wee will: And I will tellyour Worship more of the Wart, the next time we haueconfidence, and of other wooers. Fen. Well, fare-well, I am in great haste now. Qui. Fare-well to your Worship: truely an honestGentleman: but Anne loues him not: for I know Ans minde as well as another do's: out vpon't: what haue Iforgot. Exit.
Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima. Enter Mistris Page, Mistris Ford, Master Page, Master Ford, Pistoll, Nim, Quickly, Host, Shallow. Mist.Page. What, haue scap'd Loue-letters in theholly-day-time of my beauty, and am I now a subiectfor them? let me see? Aske me no reason why I loue you, for though Loue vse Rea-son for his precisian, hee admits him not for his Counsailour: you are not yong, no more am I: goe to then, there's simpathie: you are merry, so am I: ha, ha, then there's more simpathie: you loue sacke, and so do I: would you desire better simpathie? Let it suffice thee (Mistris Page) at the least if the Loue of Souldier can suffice, that I loue thee: I will not say pitty mee,'tis not a Souldier-like phrase; but I say, loue me:By me, thine owne true Knight, by day or night:Or any kinde of light, with all his might,For thee to fight. Iohn Falstaffe. What a Herod of Iurie is this? O wicked, wicked world:One that is well-nye worne to peeces with ageTo show himselfe a yong Gallant? What an vnwaiedBehauiour hath this Flemish drunkard pickt (withThe Deuills name) out of my conuersation, that he daresIn this manner assay me? why, hee hath not beene thriceIn my Company: what should I say to him? I was thenFrugall of my mirth: (heauen forgiue mee:) why IleExhibit a Bill in the Parliament for the putting downeof men: how shall I be reueng'd on him? for reueng'd Iwill be? as sure as his guts are made of puddings. Mis.Ford. Mistris Page, trust me, I was going to yourhouse. Mis.Page. And trust me, I was comming to you: youlooke very ill. Mis.Ford. Nay Ile nere beleeue that; I haue to shewto the contrary. Mis.Page. 'Faith but you doe in my minde. Mis.Ford. Well: I doe then: yet I say, I could shewyou to the contrary: O Mistris Page, giue mee somecounsaile. Mis.Page. What's the matter, woman? Mi.Ford. O woman: if it were not for one trifling re-spect, I could come to such honour. Mi.Page. Hang the trifle (woman) take the honour:what is it? dispence with trifles: what is it? Mi.Ford. If I would but goe to hell, for an eternallmoment, or so: I could be knighted. Mi.Page. What thou liest? Sir Alice Ford? theseKnights will hacke, and so thou shouldst not alter the ar-ticle of thy Gentry. Mi.Ford. Wee burne day-light: heere, read, read:perceiue how I might bee knighted, I shall thinke theworse of fat men, as long as I haue an eye to make diffe-rence of mens liking: and yet hee would not sweare: praise womens modesty: and gaue such orderly and wel-behaued reproofe to al vncomelinesse, that I would hauesworne his disposition would haue gone to the truth ofhis words: but they doe no more adhere and keep placetogether, then the hundred Psalms to the tune of Green-sleeues: What tempest (I troa) threw this Whale, (withso many Tuns of oyle in his belly) a'shoare at Windsor?How shall I bee reuenged on him? I thinke the best waywere, to entertaine him with hope, till the wicked fireof lust haue melted him in his owne greace: Did you e-uer heare the like? Mis.Page. Letter for letter; but that the name of Page and Ford differs: to thy great comfort in this my-stery of ill opinions, heere's the twyn-brother of thy Let-ter: but let thine inherit first, for I protest mine neuershall: I warrant he hath a thousand of these Letters, writwith blancke-space for different names (sure more): andthese are of the second edition: hee will print them outof doubt: for he cares not what hee puts into the presse,when he would put vs two: I had rather be a Giantesse,and lye vnder Mount Pelion: Well; I will find you twen-tie lasciuious Turtles ere one chaste man. Mis.Ford. Why this is the very same: the very hand:the very words: what doth he thinke of vs? Mis.Page. Nay I know not: it makes me almost rea-die to wrangle with mine owne honesty: Ile entertainemy selfe like one that I am not acquainted withall: forsure vnlesse hee know some straine in mee, that I knownot my selfe, hee would neuer haue boorded me in thisfurie. Mi.Ford. Boording, call you it? Ile bee sure to keepehim aboue decke. Mi.Page. So will I: if hee come vnder my hatches,Ile neuer to Sea againe: Let's bee reueng'd on him: let'sappoint him a meeting: giue him a show of comfort inhis Suit, and lead him on with a fine baited delay, till heehath pawn'd his horses to mine Host of the Garter. Mi.Ford. Nay, I wil consent to act any villany againsthim, that may not sully the charinesse of our honesty: ohthat my husband saw this Letter: it would giue eternallfood to his iealousie. Mis.Page. Why look where he comes; and my goodman too: hee's as farre from iealousie, as I am from gi-uing him cause, and that (I hope) is an vnmeasurable di-stance. Mis.Ford. You are the happier woman. Mis.Page. Let's consult together against this greasieKnight: Come hither. Ford. Well: I hope, it be not so. Pist. Hope is a curtall-dog in some affaires:Sir Iohn affects thy wife. Ford. Why sir, my wife is not young. Pist. He wooes both high and low, both rich & poor,both yong and old, one with another (Ford) he loues theGally-mawfry (Ford) perpend. Ford. Loue my wife? Pist. With liuer, burning hot: preuent:Or goe thou like Sir Acteon he, withRing-wood at thy heeles: O, odious is the name. Ford. What name Sir? Pist. The horne I say: Farewell:Take heed, haue open eye, for theeues doe foot by night.Take heed, ere sommer comes, or Cuckoo-birds do sing.Away sir Corporall Nim: Beleeue it (Page) he speakes sence. Ford. I will be patient: I will find out this. Nim. And this is true: I like not the humor of lying:hee hath wronged mee in some humors: I should haueborne the humour'd Letter to her: but I haue a sword:and it shall bite vpon my necessitie: he loues your wife;There's the short and the long: My name is Corporall Nim: I speak, and I auouch; 'tis true: my name is Nim: and Falstaffe loues your wife: adieu, I loue not the hu-mour of bread and cheese: adieu. Page. The humour of it (quoth 'a?) heere's a fellowfrights English out of his wits. Ford. I will seeke out Falstaffe. Page. I neuer heard such a drawling-affecting rogue. Ford. If I doe finde it: well. Page. I will not beleeue such a Cataian, though thePriest o' th' Towne commended him for a true man. Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow: well. Page. How now Meg? Mist.Page. Whether goe you (George?) harke you. Mis.Ford. How now (sweet Frank) why art thou me-lancholy? Ford. I melancholy? I am not melancholy:Get you home: goe. Mis.Ford. Faith, thou hast some crochets in thy head,Now: will you goe, Mistris Page? Mis.Page. Haue with you: you'll come to dinner George? Looke who comes yonder: shee shall bee ourMessenger to this paltrie Knight. Mis.Ford. Trust me, I thought on her: shee'll fit it. Mis.Page. You are come to see my daughter Anne? Qui. I forsooth: and I pray how do's good Mistresse Anne? Mis.Page. Go in with vs and see: we haue an hourestalke with you. Page. How now Master Ford? For. You heard what this knaue told me, did you not? Page. Yes, and you heard what the other told me? Ford. Doe you thinke there is truth in them? Pag. Hang 'em slaues: I doe not thinke the Knightwould offer it: But these that accuse him in his intenttowards our wiues, are a yoake of his discarded men: ve-ry rogues, now they be out of seruice. Ford. Were they his men? Page. Marry were they. Ford. I like it neuer the beter for that,Do's he lye at the Garter? Page. I marry do's he: if hee should intend this voy-age toward my wife, I would turne her loose to him;and what hee gets more of her, then sharpe words, let itlye on my head. Ford. I doe not misdoubt my wife: but I would beeloath to turne them together: a man may be too confi-dent: I would haue nothing lye on my head: I cannotbe thus satisfied. Page. Looke where my ranting-Host of the Gartercomes: there is eyther liquor in his pate, or mony in hispurse, when hee lookes so merrily: How now mineHost? Host. How now Bully-Rooke: thou'rt a GentlemanCaueleiro Iustice, I say. Shal. I follow, (mine Host) I follow: Good-euen,and twenty (good Master Page.) Master Page, wil you gowith vs? we haue sport in hand. Host. Tell him Caueleiro-Iustice: tell him Bully-Rooke. Shall. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, betweene Sir Hugh the Welch Priest, and Caius the French Doctor. Ford. Good mine Host o'th' Garter: a word with you. Host. What saist thou, my Bully-Rooke? Shal. Will you goe with vs to behold it? My merryHost hath had the measuring of their weapons; and (Ithinke) hath appointed them contrary places: for (be-leeue mee) I heare the Parson is no Iester: harke, I willtell you what our sport shall be. Host. Hast thou no suit against my Knight? my guest-Caualeire? Shal. None, I protest: but Ile giue you a pottle ofburn'd sacke, to giue me recourse to him, and tell himmy name is Broome: onely for a iest. Host. My hand, (Bully:) thou shalt haue egresse andregresse, (said I well?) and thy name shall be Broome. Itis a merry Knight: will you goe An-heires? Shal. Haue with you mine Host. Page. I haue heard the French-man hath good skillin his Rapier. Shal. Tut sir: I could haue told you more: In thesetimes you stand on distance: your Passes, Stoccado's, andI know not what: 'tis the heart (Master Page) 'tis heere,'tis heere: I haue seene the time, with my long-sword, Iwould haue made you fowre tall fellowes skippe likeRattes. Host. Heere boyes, heere, heere: shall we wag? Page. Haue with you: I had rather heare them scold,then fight. Ford. Though Page be a secure foole, and stands sofirmely on his wiues frailty; yet, I cannot put-off my o-pinion so easily: she was in his company at Pages house:and what they made there, I know not. Well, I wil lookefurther into't, and I haue a disguise, to sound Falstaffe; ifI finde her honest, I loose not my labor: if she be other-wise, 'tis labour well bestowed. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Falstaffe, Pistoll, Robin, Quickly, Bardolffe,Ford. Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. Pist. Why then the world's mine Oyster, which I,with sword will open. Fal. Not a penny: I haue beene content (Sir,) youshould lay my countenance to pawne: I haue grated vp-on my good friends for three Repreeues for you, andyour Coach-fellow Nim; or else you had look'd throughthe grate, like a Geminy of Baboones: I am damn'd in hell, for swearing to Gentlemen my friends, you weregood Souldiers, and tall-fellowes. And when Mistresse Briget lost the handle of her Fan, I took't vpon mine ho-nour thou hadst it not. Pist. Didst not thou share? hadst thou not fifteenepence? Fal. Reason, you roague, reason: thinkst thou Ile en-danger my soule, gratis? at a word, hang no more aboutmee, I am no gibbet for you: goe, a short knife, and athrong, to your Mannor of Pickt-hatch: goe, you'll notbeare a Letter for mee you roague? you stand vpon yourhonor: why, (thou vnconfinable basenesse) it is as muchas I can doe to keepe the termes of my honor precise: I, I, I my selfe sometimes, leauing the feare of heauen onthe left hand, and hiding mine honor in my necessity, amfaine to shufflle: to hedge, and to lurch, and yet, youRogue, will en-sconce your raggs; your Cat-a-Moun-taine-lookes,your red-lattice phrases, and your bold-beating-oathes,vnder the shelter of your honor? youwill not doe it? you? Pist. I doe relent: what would thou more of man? Robin. Sir, here's a woman would speake with you. Fal. Let her approach. Qui. Giue your worship good morrow. Fal. Good-morrow, good-wife. Qui. Not so, and't please your worship. Fal. Good maid then. Qui. Ile be sworne,As my mother was the first houre I was borne. Fal. I doe beleeue the swearer; what with me? Qui. Shall I vouch-safe your worship a word, ortwo? Fal. Two thousand (faire woman) and ile vouchsafethee the hearing. Qui. There is one Mistresse Ford, (Sir) I pray come alittle neerer this waies: I my selfe dwell with M[aster]. Doctor Caius: Fal. Well, on; Mistresse Ford, you say. Qui. Your worship saies very true: I pray your wor-ship come a little neerer this waies. Fal. I warrant thee, no-bodie heares: mine ownepeople, mine owne people. Qui. Are they so? heauen-blesse them, and makethem his Seruants. Fal. Well; Mistresse Ford, what of her? Qui. Why, Sir; shee's a good-creature; Lord, Lord,your Worship's a wanton: well: heauen forgiue you,and all of vs, I pray ——. Fal. Mistresse Ford: come, Mistresse Ford. Qui. Marry this is the short, and the long of it: youhaue brought her into such a Canaries, as 'tis wonder-full: the best Courtier of them all (when the Court layat Windsor) could neuer haue brought her to such a Ca-narie: yet there has beene Knights, and Lords, and Gen-tlemen, with their Coaches; I warrant you Coach afterCoach, letter after letter, gift after gift, smelling so sweet-ly; all Muske, and so rushling, I warrant you, in silkeand golde, and in such alligant termes, and in such wineand suger of the best, and the fairest, that would hauewonne any womans heart: and I warrant you, they couldneuer get an eye-winke of her: I had my selfe twentieAngels giuen me this morning, but I defie all Angels (inany such sort, as they say) but in the way of honesty: andI warrant you, they could neuer get her so much as sippeon a cup with the prowdest of them all, and yet there hasbeene Earles: nay, (which is more) Pentioners, but Iwarrant you all is one with her. Fal. But what saies shee to mee? be briefe my goodshee- Mercurie. Qui. Marry, she hath receiu'd your Letter: for thewhich she thankes you a thousand times; and she giuesyou to notifie, that her husband will be absence from hishouse, betweene ten and eleuen. Fal. Ten, and eleuen. Qui. I, forsooth: and then you may come and see thepicture (she sayes) that you wot of: Master Ford her hus-band will be from home: alas, the sweet woman leadesan ill life with him: hee's a very iealousie-man; she leadsa very frampold life with him, (good hart.) Fal. Ten, and eleuen. Woman, commend me to her, I will not faile her. Qui. Why, you say well: But I haue another messen-ger to your worship: Mistresse Page hath her heartiecommendations to you to: and let mee tell you in youreare, shee's as fartuous a ciuill modest wife, and one (Itell you) that will not misse you morning nor eueningprayer, as any is in Windsor, who ere bee the other: andshee bade me tell your worship, that her husband is sel-dome from home, but she hopes there will come a time.I neuer knew a woman so doate vpon a man; surely Ithinke you haue charmes, la: yes in truth. Fal. Not I, I assure thee; setting the attraction of mygood parts aside, I haue no other charmes. Qui. Blessing on your heart for't. Fal. But I pray thee tell me this: has Fords wife, and Pages wife acquainted each other, how they loue me? Qui. That were a iest indeed: they haue not so littlegrace I hope, that were a tricke indeed: But Mistris Page would desire you to send her your little Page of al loues:her husband has a maruellous infectio[n] to the little Page:and truely Master Page is an honest man: neuer a wife in Windsor leades a better life then she do's: doe what sheewill, say what she will, take all, pay all, goe to bed whenshe list, rise when she list, all is as she will: and truly shedeserues it; for if there be a kinde woman in Windsor, sheis one: you must send her your Page, no remedie. Fal. Why, I will. Qu. Nay, but doe so then, and looke you, hee maycome and goe betweene you both: and in any case hauea nay-word, that you may know one anothers minde,and the Boy neuer neede to vnderstand any thing; for'tis not good that children should know any wickednes:olde folkes you know, haue discretion, as they say, andknow the world. Fal. Farethee-well, commend mee to them both:there's my purse, I am yet thy debter: Boy, goe alongwith this woman, this newes distracts me. Pist. This Puncke is one of Cupids Carriers,Clap on more sailes, pursue: vp with your sights:Giue fire: she is my prize, or Ocean whelme them all. Fal. Saist thou so (old Iacke) go thy waies: Ile makemore of thy olde body then I haue done: will they yetlooke after thee? wilt thou after the expence of so muchmoney, be now a gainer? good Body, I thanke thee: letthem say 'tis grossely done, so it bee fairely done, nomatter. Bar. Sir Iohn, there's one Master Broome below wouldfaine speake with you, and be acquainted with you; andhath sent your worship a mornings draught of Sacke. Fal. Broome is his name? Bar. I Sir. Fal. Call him in: such Broomes are welcome to mee,that ore'flowes such liquor: ah ha, Mistresse Ford and Mi-stresse Page, haue I encompass'd you? goe to, via. Ford. 'Blesse you sir. Fal. And you sir: would you speake with me? Ford. I make bold, to presse, with so little prepara-tion vpon you. Fal. You'r welcome, what's your will? giue vs leaueDrawer. Ford. Sir, I am a Gentleman that haue spent much,my name is Broome. Fal. Good Master Broome, I desire more acquaintanceof you. Ford. Good Sir Iohn, I sue for yours: not to chargeyou, for I must let you vnderstand, I thinke my selfe inbetter plight for a Lender, then you are: the which hathsomething emboldned me to this vnseason'd intrusion:for they say, if money goe before, all waies doe lyeopen. Fal. Money is a good Souldier (Sir) and will on. Ford. Troth, and I haue a bag of money heere trou-bles me: if you will helpe to beare it (Sir Iohn) take all,or halfe, for easing me of the carriage. Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserue to bee yourPorter. Ford. I will tell you sir, if you will giue mee the hea-ring. Fal. Speake (good Master Broome) I shall be glad tobe your Seruant. Ford. Sir, I heare you are a Scholler: (I will be briefewith you) and you haue been a man long knowne to me,though I had neuer so good means as desire, to make myselfe acquainted with you. I shall discouer a thing toyou, wherein I must very much lay open mine owne im-perfection: but (good Sir Iohn) as you haue one eye vp-on my follies, as you heare them vnfolded, turne anotherinto the Register of your owne, that I may passe with areproofe the easier, sith you your selfe know how easie itis to be such an offender. Fal. Very well Sir, proceed. Ford. There is a Gentlewoman in this Towne, herhusbands name is Ford. Fal. Well Sir. Ford. I haue long lou'd her, and I protest to you, be-stowed much on her: followed her with a doating ob-seruance: Ingross'd opportunities to meete her: fee'd e-uery slight occasion that could but nigardly giue meesight of her: not only bought many presents to giue her,but haue giuen largely to many, to know what sheewould haue giuen: briefly, I haue pursu'd her, as Louehath pursued mee, which hath beene on the wing of alloccasions: but whatsoeuer I haue merited, either in myminde, or in my meanes, meede I am sure I haue receiuednone, vnlesse Experience be a Iewell, that I haue purcha-sed at an infinite rate, and that hath taught mee to saythis,"Loue like a shadow flies, when substance Loue pursues, "Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues. Fal. Haue you receiu'd no promise of satisfaction ather hands? Ford. Neuer. Fal. Haue you importun'd her to such a purpose? Ford. Neuer. Fal. Of what qualitie was your loue then? Ford. Like a fair house, built on another mans ground,so that I haue lost my edifice, by mistaking the place,where I erected it. Fal. To what purpose haue you vnfolded this to me? For. When I haue told you that, I haue told you all:Some say, that though she appeare honest to mee, yet inother places shee enlargeth her mirth so farre, that thereis shrewd construction made of her. Now (Sir Iohn) hereis the heart of my purpose: you are a gentleman of ex-cellent breeding, admirable discourse, of great admit-tance, authenticke in your place and person, generallyallow'd for your many war-like, court-like, and learnedpreparations. Fal. O Sir. Ford. Beleeue it, for you know it: there is money,spend it, spend it, spend more; spend all I haue, onely giue me so much of your time in enchange of it, as to layan amiable siege to the honesty of this Fords wife: vseyour Art of wooing; win her to consent to you: if anyman may, you may as soone as any. Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of youraffection that I should win what you would enioy? Me-thinkes you prescribe to your selfe very preposterously. Ford. O, vnderstand my drift: she dwells so securelyon the excellency of her honor, that the folly of my souledares not present it selfe: shee is too bright to be look'dagainst. Now, could I come to her with any detectionin my hand; my desires had instance and argument tocommend themselues, I could driue her then from theward of her purity, her reputation, her marriage-vow,and a thousand other her defences, which now are too-too strongly embattaild against me: what say you too't,Sir Iohn? Fal. Master Broome, I will first make bold with yourmoney: next, giue mee your hand: and last, as I am agentleman, you shall, if you will, enioy Fords wife. Ford. O good Sir. Fal. I say you shall. Ford. Want no money (Sir Iohn) you shall want none. Fal. Want no Mistresse Ford (Master Broome) you shallwant none: I shall be with her (I may tell you) by herowne appointment, euen as you came in to me, her assi-stant, or goe-betweene, parted from me: I say I shall bewith her betweene ten and eleuen: for at that time theiealious-rascally-knaue her husband will be forth: comeyou to me at night, you shall know how I speed. Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance: do you know Ford Sir? Fal. Hang him (poore Cuckoldly knaue) I knowhim not: yet I wrong him to call him poore: They saythe iealous wittolly-knaue hath masses of money, forthe which his wife seemes to me well-fauourd: I will vseher as the key of the Cuckoldly-rogues Coffer, & ther'smy haruest-home. Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir, that you might a-uoid him, if you saw him. Fal. Hang him, mechanicall-salt-butter rogue; I wilstare him out of his wits: I will awe-him with my cud-gell: it shall hang like a Meteor ore the Cuckolds horns:Master Broome, thou shalt know, I will predominate o-uer the pezant, and thou shalt lye with his wife. Cometo me soone at night: Ford's a knaue, and I will aggra-uate his stile: thou (Master Broome) shalt know him forknaue, and Cuckold. Come to me soone at night. Ford. What a damn'd Epicurian-Rascall is this? myheart is ready to cracke with impatience: who saies thisis improuident iealousie? my wife hath sent to him, thehowre is fixt, the match is made: would any man hauethought this? see the hell of hauing a false woman: mybed shall be abus'd, my Coffers ransack'd, my reputati-on gnawne at, and I shall not onely receiue this villanouswrong, but stand vnder the adoption of abhominabletermes, and by him that does mee this wrong: Termes,names: Amaimon sounds well: Lucifer, well: Barbason, well: yet they are Diuels additions, the names of fiends:But Cuckold, Wittoll, Cuckold? the Diuell himselfehath not such a name. Page is an Asse, a secure Asse; heewill trust his wife, hee will not be iealous: I will rathertrust a Fleming with my butter, Parson Hugh the Welsh-man with my Cheese, an Irish-man with my Aqua-vitae-bottle,or a Theefe to walke my ambling gelding, thenmy wife with her selfe. Then she plots, then shee rumi-nates, then shee deuises: and what they thinke in theirhearts they may effect; they will breake their hearts butthey will effect. Heauen bee prais'd for my iealousie:eleuen o' clocke the howre, I will preuent this, detectmy wife, bee reueng'd on Falstaffe, and laugh at Page. Iwill about it, better three houres too soone, then a my-nute too late: fie, fie, fie: Cuckold, Cuckold, Cuckold. Exit.
Scena Tertia. Enter Caius, Rugby, Page, Shallow, Slender, Host. Caius. Iacke Rugby. Rug. Sir. Caius. Vat is the clocke, Iack. Rug. 'Tis past the howre (Sir) that Sir Hugh promis'dto meet. Cai. By gar, he has saue his soule, dat he is no-come:hee has pray his Pible well, dat he is no-come: by gar(Iack Rugby) he is dead already, if he be come. Rug. Hee is wise Sir: hee knew your worship wouldkill him if he came. Cai. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill killhim: take your Rapier, (Iacke) I vill tell you how I villkill him. Rug. Alas sir, I cannot fence. Cai. Villaine, take your Rapier. Rug. Forbeare: heer's company. Host. 'Blesse thee, bully-Doctor. Shal. 'Saue you Mr. Doctor Caius. Page. Now good Mr. Doctor. Slen. 'Giue you good-morrow, sir. Caius. Vat be all you one, two, tree, fowre, come for? Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foigne, to see theetrauerse, to see thee heere, to see thee there, to see theepasse thy puncto, thy stock, thy reuerse, thy distance, thymontant: Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Fran-cisco? ha Bully? what saies my Esculapius? my Galien? myheart of Elder? ha? is he dead bully-Stale? is he dead? Cai. By gar, he is de Coward-Iack-Priest of de vorld:he is not show his face. Host. Thou art a Castalion-king-Vrinall: Hector of Greece (my Boy) Cai. I pray you beare witnesse, that me haue stay,sixe or seuen, two tree howres for him, and hee is no-come. Shal. He is the wiser man (M[aster]. Doctor) he is a curer ofsoules, and you a curer of bodies: if you should fight, yougoe against the haire of your professions: is it not true,Master Page? Page. Master Shallow; you haue your selfe beene agreat fighter, though now a man of peace. Shal. Body-kins M[aster]. Page, though I now be old, andof the peace; if I see a sword out, my finger itches tomake one: though wee are Iustices, and Doctors, andChurch-men (M[aster]. Page) wee haue some salt of our youthin vs, we are the sons of women (M[aster]. Page.) Page. 'Tis true, Mr. Shallow. Shal. It wil be found so, (M[aster]. Page:) M[aster]. Doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home: I am sworn of the peace:you haue show'd your selfe a wise Physician, and Sir Hugh hath showne himselfe a wise and patient Church-man: you must goe with me, M[aster]. Doctor. Host. Pardon, Guest-Iustice; a Mounseur Mocke-water. Cai. Mock-vater? vat is dat? Host. Mock-water, in our English tongue, is Valour(Bully.) Cai. By gar, then I haue as much Mock-vater as deEnglishman: scuruy-Iack-dog-Priest: by gar, mee villcut his eares. Host. He will Clapper-claw thee tightly (Bully.) Cai. Clapper-de-claw? vat is dat? Host. That is, he will make thee amends. Cai. By-gar, me doe looke hee shall clapper-de-clawme, for by-gar, me vill haue it. Host. And I will prouoke him to't, or let him wag. Cai. Me tanck you for dat. Host. And moreouer, (Bully) but first, Mr. Ghuest,and M[aster]. Page, & eeke Caualeiro Slender, goe you throughthe Towne to Frogmore. Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he? Host. He is there, see what humor he is in: and I willbring the Doctor about by the Fields: will it doe well? Shal. We will doe it. All. Adieu, good M[aster]. Doctor. Cai. By-gar, me vill kill de Priest, for he speake for aIack-an-Ape to Anne Page. Host. Let him die: sheath thy impatience: throw coldwater on thy Choller: goe about the fields with meethrough Frogmore, I will bring thee where Mistris Anne Page is, at a Farm-house a Feasting: and thou shalt wooeher: Cride-game, said I well? Cai. By-gar, mee dancke you vor dat: by gar I loueyou: and I shall procure 'a you de good Guest: de Earle,de Knight, de Lords, de Gentlemen, my patients. Host. For the which, I will be thy aduersary toward Anne Page: said I well? Cai. By-gar, 'tis good: vell said. Host. Let vs wag then. Cai. Come at my heeles, Iack Rugby. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scoena Prima. Enter Euans, Simple, Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Caius,Rugby. Euans. I pray you now, good Master Slenders seruing-man, and friend Simple by your name; which way haueyou look'd for Master Caius, that calls himselfe Doctorof Phisicke. Sim. Marry Sir, the pittie-ward, the Parke-ward:euery way: olde Windsor way, and euery way but theTowne-way. Euan. I most fehemently desire you, you will alsolooke that way. Sim. I will sir. Euan. 'Plesse my soule: how full of Chollors I am, andtrempling of minde: I shall be glad if he haue deceiuedme: how melancholies I am? I will knog his Vrinalls a-bout his knaues costard, when I haue good oportunitiesfor the orke: 'Plesse my soule: To shallow Riuers to whose falls: melodious Birds sings Madrigalls: There will we make our Peds of Roses: and a thousand fragrant posies. To shal-low: 'Mercie on mee, I haue a great dispositions to cry. Melodious birds sing Madrigalls: —— When as I sat in Pa-bilon: and a thousand vagram Posies. To shallow, &c. Sim. Yonder he is comming, this way, Sir Hugh. Euan. Hee's welcome: To shallow Riuers, to whose fals: Heauen prosper the right: what weapons is he? Sim. No weapons, Sir: there comes my Master, Mr. Shallow, and another Gentleman; from Frogmore, ouerthe stile, this way. Euan. Pray you giue mee my gowne, or else keepe itin your armes. Shal. How now Master Parson? good morrow goodSir Hugh: keepe a Gamester from the dice, and a goodStudient from his booke, and it is wonderfull. Slen. Ah sweet Anne Page. Page. 'Saue you, good Sir Hugh. Euan. 'Plesse you from his mercy-sake, all of you. Shal. What? the Sword, and the Word?Doe you study them both, Mr. Parson? Page. And youthfull still, in your doublet and hose,this raw-rumaticke day? Euan. There is reasons, and causes for it. Page. We are come to you, to doe a good office, Mr.Parson. Euan. Fery-well: what is it? Page. Yonder is a most reuerend Gentleman; who(be-like) hauing receiued wrong by some person, is atmost odds with his owne grauity and patience, that eueryou saw. Shal. I haue liued foure-score yeeres, and vpward: Ineuer heard a man of his place, grauity, and learning, sowide of his owne respect. Euan. What is he? Page. I thinke you know him: Mr. Doctor Caius therenowned French Physician. Euan. Got's-will, and his passion of my heart: I hadas lief you would tell me of a messe of porredge. Page. Why? Euan. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen , and hee is a knaue besides: a cowardly knaue, asyou would desires to be acquainted withall. Page. I warrant you, hee's the man should fight withhim. Slen. O sweet Anne Page. Shal. It appeares so by his weapons: keepe them a-sunder: here comes Doctor Caius. Page. Nay good Mr. Parson, keepe in your weapon. Shal. So doe you, good Mr. Doctor. Host. Disarme them, and let them question: let themkeepe their limbs whole, and hack our English. Cai. I pray you let-a-mee speake a word with youreare; vherefore vill you not meet-a me? Euan. Pray you vse your patience in good time. Cai. By-gar, you are de Coward: de Iack dog: IohnApe. Euan. Pray you let vs not be laughing-stocks to othermens humors: I desire you in friendship, and I will oneway or other make you amends: I will knog your Vrinalabout your knaues Cogs-combe. Cai. Diable: Iack Rugby: mine Host de Iarteer: haue Inot stay for him, to kill him? haue I not at de place I didappoint? Euan. As I am a Christians-soule, now looke you:this is the place appointed, Ile bee iudgement by mine Host of the Garter. Host. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaule, French & Welch, Soule-Curer, and Body-Curer. Cai. I, dat is very good, excellant. Host. Peace, I say: heare mine Host of the Garter,Am I politicke? Am I subtle? Am I a Machiuell?Shall I loose my Doctor? No, hee giues me the Potionsand the Motions. Shall I loose my Parson? my Priest?my Sir Hugh? No, he giues me the Prouerbes, and theNo-verbes. Giue me thy hand (Celestiall) so: Boyes of Art, I haue deceiu'd you both: I haue directed you towrong places: your hearts are mighty, your skinnes arewhole, and let burn'd Sacke be the issue: Come, lay theirswords to pawne: Follow me, Lad of peace, follow, fol-low, follow. Shal. Trust me, a mad Host: follow Gentlemen, fol-low. Slen. O sweet Anne Page. Cai. Ha' do I perceiue dat? Haue you make-a-de-sotof vs, ha, ha? Eua. This is well, he has made vs his vlowting-stog:I desire you that we may be friends: and let vs knog ourpraines together to be reuenge on this same scall scur-uy-cogging-companionthe Host of the Garter. Cai. By gar, with all my heart: he promise to bringme where is Anne Page: by gar he deceiue me too. Euan. Well, I will smite his noddles: pray you follow.
Scena Secunda. Mist.Page, Robin, Ford, Page, Shallow, Slender, Host,Euans, Caius. Mist.Page. Nay keepe your way (little Gallant) youwere wont to be a follower, but now you are a Leader:whether had you rather lead mine eyes, or eye your ma-sters heeles? Rob. I had rather (forsooth) go before you like a man,then follow him like a dwarfe. M.Pa. O you are a flattering boy, now I see you'l be a(Courtier. Ford. Well met mistris Page, whether go you. M.Pa. Truly Sir, to see your wife, is she at home? Ford. I, and as idle as she may hang together for wantof company: I thinke if your husbands were dead, youtwo would marry. M.Pa. Be sure of that, two other husbands. Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cocke? M.Pa. I cannot tell what (the dickens) his name is myhusband had him of, what do you cal your Knights name sirrah? Rob. Sir Iohn Falstaffe. Ford. Sir Iohn Falstaffe. M.Pa. He, he, I can neuer hit on's name; there is such aleague betweene my goodman, and he: is your Wife at home indeed? Ford. Indeed she is. M.Pa. By your leaue sir, I am sicke till I see her. Ford. Has Page any braines? Hath he any eies? Hath heany thinking? Sure they sleepe, he hath no vse of them:why this boy will carrie a letter twentie mile as easie, asa Canon will shoot point-blanke twelue score: hee pee-ces out his wiues inclination: he giues her folly motionand aduantage: and now she's going to my wife, & Fal-staffes boy with her: A man may heare this showre singin the winde; and Falstaffes boy with her: good plots,they are laide, and our reuolted wiues share damnationtogether. Well, I will take him, then torture my wife,plucke the borrowed vaile of modestie from the so-see-ming Mist[ris]. Page, divulge Page himselfe for a secure andwilfull Acteon, and to these violent proceedings all myneighbors shall cry aime. The clocke giues me my Qu,and my assurance bids me search, there I shall finde Fal-staffe: I shall be rather praisd for this, then mock'd, forit is as possitiue, as the earth is firme, that Falstaffe isthere: I will go. Shal. Page, &c. Well met Mr Ford. Ford. Trust me, a good knotte; I haue good cheere athome, and I pray you all go with me. Shal. I must excuse my selfe Mr Ford. Slen. And so must I Sir,We haue appointed to dine with Mistris Anne, And I would not breake with her for more monyThen Ile speake of. Shal. We haue linger'd about a match betweene An Page, and my cozen Slender, and this day wee shall haueour answer. Slen. I hope I haue your good will Father Page. Pag. You haue Mr Slender, I stand wholly for you,But my wife (Mr Doctor) is for you altogether. Cai. I be-gar, and de Maid is loue-a-me: my nursh-a-Quicklytell me so mush. Host. What say you to yong Mr Fenton? He capers,he dances, he has eies of youth: he writes verses, heespeakes holliday, he smels April and May, he wil carry't,he will carry't, 'tis in his buttons, he will carry't. Page. Not by my consent I promise you. The Gentle-man is of no hauing, hee kept companie with the wildePrince, and Pointz: he is of too high a Region, he knowstoo much: no, hee shall not knit a knot in his fortunes,with the finger of my substance: if he take her, let himtake her simply: the wealth I haue waits on my consent,and my consent goes not that way. Ford. I beseech you heartily, some of you goe homewith me to dinner: besides your cheere you shall hauesport, I will shew you a monster: Mr Doctor, you shalgo, so shall you Mr Page, and you Sir Hugh. Shal. Well, fare you well:We shall haue the freer woing at Mr Pages. Cai. Go home Iohn Rugby, I come anon. Host. Farewell my hearts, I will to my honest Knight Falstaffe, and drinke Canarie with him. Ford. I thinke I shall drinke in Pipe-wine first withhim, Ile make him dance. Will you go Gentles? All. Haue with you, to see this Monster. Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter M.Ford, M.Page, Seruants, Robin, Falstaffe,Ford, Page, Caius, Euans. Mist.Ford. What Iohn, what Robert. M.Page. Quickly, quickly: Is the Buck-basket —— Mis.Ford. I warrant. What Robin I say. Mis.Page. Come, come, come. Mist.Ford. Heere, set it downe. M.Pag. Giue your men the charge, we must be briefe. M.Ford. Marrie, as I told you before (Iohn & Robert)be ready here hard-by in the Brew-house, & when I so-dainly call you, come forth, and (without any pause, orstaggering) take this basket on your shoulders: that done,trudge with it in all hast, and carry it among the Whit-sters in Dotchet Mead, and there empty it in the muddieditch, close by the Thames side. M.Page. You will do it? M.Ford. I ha told them ouer and ouer, they lacke no direction. Be gone, and come when you are call'd. M.Page. Here comes little Robin. Mist.Ford. How now my Eyas-Musket, what newes with you? Rob. My M[aster]. Sir Iohn is come in at your backe doore(Mist[ris]. Ford, and requests your company. M.Page. You litle Iack-a-lent, haue you bin true to vs Rob. I, Ile be sworne: my Master knowes not of yourbeing heere: and hath threatned to put me into euerla-sting liberty, if I tell you of it: for he sweares he'll turneme away. Mist.Pag. Thou'rt a good boy: this secrecy of thineshall be a Tailor to thee, and shal make thee a new dou-blet and hose. Ile go hide me. Mi.Ford. Do so: go tell thy Master, I am alone: Mi-stris Page, remember you your Qu. Mist.Pag. I warrant thee, if I do not act it, hisse me. Mist.Ford. Go-too then: we'l vse this vnwholsomehumidity, this grosse-watry Pumpion; we'll teach himto know Turtles from Iayes. Fal. Haue I caught thee, my heauenly Iewell? Whynow let me die, for I haue liu'd long enough: This is theperiod of my ambition: O this blessed houre. Mist.Ford. O sweet Sir Iohn. Fal. Mistris Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate (Mist[ris]. Ford ) now shall I sin in my wish; I would thy Husbandwere dead, Ile speake it before the best Lord, I wouldmake thee my Lady. Mist.Ford. I your Lady Sir Iohn? Alas, I should bee apittifull Lady. Fal. Let the Court of France shew me such another:I see how thine eye would emulate the Diamond: Thouhast the right arched-beauty of the brow, that becomesthe Ship-tyre, the Tyre-valiant, or any Tire of Venetianadmittance. Mist.Ford. A plaine Kerchiefe, Sir Iohn: My browes become nothing else, nor that well neither. Fal. Thou art a tyrant to say so: thou wouldst makean absolute Courtier, and the firme fixture of thy foote,would giue an excellent motion to thy gate, in a semi-circled Farthingale. I see what thou wert if Fortune thyfoe, were not Nature thy friend: Come, thou canst nothide it. Mist.Ford. Beleeue me, ther's no such thing in me. Fal. What made me loue thee? Let that perswadethee. Ther's something extraordinary in thee: Come, Icannot cog, and say thou art this and that, like a-manieof these lisping-hauthorne buds, that come like womenin mens apparrell, and smell like Bucklers-berry in sim-ple time: I cannot, but I loue thee, none but thee; andthou deseru'st it. M.Ford. Do not betray me sir, I fear you loue M[istris]. Page. Fal. Thou mightst as well say, I loue to walke by theCounter-gate, which is as hatefull to me, as the reeke ofa Lime-kill. Mis.Ford. Well, heauen knowes how I loue you,And you shall one day finde it. Fal. Keepe in that minde, Ile deserue it. Mist.Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you doe;Or else I could not be in that minde. Rob. Mistris Ford, Mistris Ford: heere's Mistris Page atthe doore, sweating, and blowing, and looking wildely,and would needs speake with you presently. Fal. She shall not see me, I will ensconce mee behindethe Arras. M.Ford. Pray you do so, she's a very tatling woman.Whats the matter? How now? Mist.Page. O mistris Ford what haue you done? You'r sham'd, y'are ouerthrowne, y'are vndone for euer. M.Ford. What's the matter, good mistris Page? M.Page. O weladay, mist[ris]. Ford, hauing an honest manto your husband, to giue him such cause of suspition. M.Ford. What cause of suspition? M.Page. What cause of suspition? Out vpon you:How am I mistooke in you? M.Ford. Why (alas) what's the matter? M.Page. Your husband's comming hether (Woman)with all the Officers in Windsor, to search for a Gentle-man, that he sayes is heere now in the house; by yourconsent to take an ill aduantage of his absence: you arevndone. M.Ford. 'Tis not so, I hope. M.Page. Pray heauen it be not so, that you haue sucha man heere: but 'tis most certaine your husband's com-ming, with halfe Windsor at his heeles, to serch for sucha one, I come before to tell you: If you know your selfecleere, why I am glad of it: but if you haue a friend here,conuey, conuey him out. Be not amaz'd, call all yoursenses to you, defend your reputation, or bid farwell toyour good life for euer. M.Ford. What shall I do? There is a Gentleman mydeere friend: and I feare not mine owne shame so much,as his perill. I had rather then a thousand pound he wereout of the house. M.Page. For shame, neuer stand (you had rather, andyou had rather:) your husband's heere at hand, bethinkeyou of some conueyance: in the house you cannot hidehim. Oh, how haue you deceiu'd me? Looke, heere is abasket, if he be of any reasonable stature, he may creepein heere, and throw fowle linnen vpon him, as if it weregoing to bucking: Or it is whiting time, send him byyour two men to Datchet-Meade. M.Ford. He's too big to go in there: what shall I do? Fal. Let me see't, let me see't, O let me see't:Ile in, Ile in: Follow your friends counsell, Ile in. M.Page. What Sir Iohn Falstaffe? Are these your Let-ters, Knight? Fal. I loue thee, helpe mee away: let me creepe inheere: ile neuer —— M.Page. Helpe to couer your master (Boy:) Callyour men (Mist[ris]. Ford.) You dissembling Knight. M.Ford. What Iohn, Robert, Iohn; Go, take vp thesecloathes heere, quickly: Wher's the Cowle-staffe? Lookhow you drumble? Carry them to the Landresse in Dat-chet mead: quickly, come. Ford. 'Pray you come nere: if I suspect without cause,Why then make sport at me, then let me be your iest,I deserue it: How now? Whether beare you this? Ser. To the Landresse forsooth? M.Ford. Why, what haue you to doe whether theybeare it? You were best meddle with buck-washing. Ford. Buck? I would I could wash my selfe of the Buck:Bucke, bucke, bucke, I bucke: I warrant you Bucke,And of the season too; it shall appeare.Gentlemen, I haue dream'd to night, Ile tell you mydreame: heere, heere, heere bee my keyes, ascend myChambers, search, seeke, finde out: Ile warrant wee'levnkennell the Fox. Let me stop this way first: so, nowvncape. Page. Good master Ford, be contented:You wrong your selfe too much. Ford. True (master Page) vp Gentlemen,You shall see sport anon: Follow me Gentlemen. Euans. This is fery fantasticall humors and iealousies. Caius. By gar, 'tis no-the fashion of France:It is not iealous in France. Page. Nay follow him (Gentlemen) see the yssue ofhis search. Mist.Page. Is there not a double excellency in this? Mist.Ford. I know not which pleases me better,That my husband is deceiued, or Sir Iohn. Mist.Page. What a taking was hee in, when yourhusband askt who was in the basket? Mist.Ford. I am halfe affraid he will haue neede ofwashing: so throwing him into the water, will doe hima benefit. Mist.Page. Hang him dishonest rascall: I would allof the same straine, were in the same distresse. Mist.Ford. I thinke my husband hath some speciallsuspition of Falstaffs being heere: for I neuer saw him sogrosse in his iealousie till now. Mist.Page. I will lay a plot to try that, and wee willyet haue more trickes with Falstaffe: his dissolute diseasewill scarse obey this medicine. Mis.Ford. Shall we send that foolishion Carion, Mist[ris]. Quickly to him, and excuse his throwing into the water,and giue him another hope, to betray him to anotherpunishment? Mist.Page. We will do it: let him be sent for to mor-row eight a clocke to haue amends. Ford. I cannot finde him: may be the knaue bragg'dof that he could not compasse. Mis.Page. Heard you that? Mis.Ford. You vse me well, M[aster]. Ford? Do you? Ford. I, I do so. M.Ford. Heauen make you better then your thoghts Ford. Amen. Mi.Page. You do your selfe mighty wrong (M[aster]. Ford) Ford. I, I: I must beare it. Eu. If there be any pody in the house, & in the cham-bers, and in the coffers, and in the presses: heauen for-giue my sins at the day of iudgement. Caius. Be gar, nor I too: there is no-bodies. Page. Fy, fy, M[aster]. Ford, are you not asham'd? What spi-rit, what diuell suggests this imagination? I wold not ha your distemper in this kind, for the welth of Windsor castle. Ford. 'Tis my fault (M[aster]. Page) I suffer for it. Euans. You suffer for a pad conscience: your wife isas honest a o'mans, as I will desires among fiue thou-sand, and fiue hundred too. Cai. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. Ford. Well, I promisd you a dinner: come, come, walkin the Parke, I pray you pardon me: I wil hereafter makeknowne to you why I haue done this. Come wife, comeMi[stris]. Page, I pray you pardon me. Pray hartly pardon me. Page. Let's go in Gentlemen, but (trust me) we'l mockhim: I doe inuite you to morrow morning to my houseto breakfast: after we'll a Birding together, I haue a fineHawke for the bush. Shall it be so: Ford. Any thing. Eu. If there is one, I shall make two in the Companie Ca. If there be one, or two, I shall make-a-theturd. Ford. Pray you go, M[aster]. Page. Eua. I pray you now remembrance to morrow on thelowsie knaue, mine Host. Cai. Dat is good by gar, withall my heart. Eua. A lowsie knaue, to haue his gibes, and his moc-keries. Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Fenton, Anne, Page, Shallow, Slender,Quickly, Page, Mist.Page. Fen. I see I cannot get thy Fathers loue,Therefore no more turne me to him (sweet Nan.) Anne. Alas, how then? Fen. Why thou must be thy selfe.He doth obiect, I am too great of birth,And that my state being gall'd with my expence,I seeke to heale it onely by his wealth.Besides these, other barres he layes before me,My Riots past, my wilde Societies,And tels me 'tis a thing impossibleI should loue thee, but as a property. An. May be he tels you true.No, heauen so speed me in my time to come,Albeit I will confesse, thy Fathers wealthWas the first motiue that I woo'd thee (Anne:)Yet wooing thee, I found thee of more valewThen stampes in Gold, or summes in sealed bagges:And 'tis the very riches of thy selfe,That now I ayme at. An. Gentle M[aster]. Fenton, Yet seeke my Fathers loue, still seeke it sir,If opportunity and humblest suiteCannot attaine it, why then harke you hither. Shal. Breake their talke Mistris Quickly. My Kinsman shall speake for himselfe. Slen. Ile make a shaft or a bolt on't, slid, tis but venturing. Shal. Be not dismaid. Slen. No, she shall not dismay me:I care not for that, but that I am affeard. Qui. Hark ye, M[aster]. Slender would speak a word with you An. I come to him. This is my Fathers choice:O what a world of vilde ill-fauour'd faultsLookes handsome in three hundred pounds a yeere? Qui. And how do's good Master Fenton?Pray you a word with you. Shal. Shee's comming; to her Coz:O boy, thou hadst a father. Slen. I had a father (M[istris]. An ) my vncle can tel you goodiests of him: pray you Vncle, tel Mist[ris]. Anne the iest howmy Father stole two Geese out of a Pen, good Vnckle. Shal. Mistris Anne, my Cozen loues you. Slen. I that I do, as well as I loue any woman in Glo-cestershire. Shal. He will maintaine you like a Gentlewoman. Slen. I that I will, come cut and long-taile, vnder thedegree of a Squire. Shal. He will make you a hundred and fiftie poundsioynture. Anne. Good Maister Shallow let him woo for him-selfe. Shal. Marrie I thanke you for it: I thanke you forthat good comfort: she cals you (Coz) Ile leaue you. Anne. Now Master Slender. Slen. Now good Mistris Anne. Anne. What is your will? Slen. My will? Odd's-hart-lings, that's a prettieiest indeede: I ne're made my Will yet (I thanke Hea-uen:)I am not such a sickely creature, I giue Heauenpraise. Anne. I meane (M[aster]. Slender) what wold you with me? Slen. Truely, for mine owne part, I would little ornothing with you: your father and my vncle hath mademotions: if it be my lucke, so; if not, happy man bee hisdole, they can tell you how things go, better then I can:you may aske your father, heere he comes. Page. Now Mr Slender; Loue him daughter Anne. Why how now? What does Mr Fenten here?You wrong me Sir, thus still to haunt my house.I told you Sir, my daughter is disposd of. Fen. Nay Mr Page, be not impatient. Mist.Page. Good M[aster]. Fenton, come not to my child. Page. She is no match for you. Fen. Sir, will you heare me? Page. No, good M[aster]. Fenton. Come M[aster]. Shallow: Come sonne Slender, in;Knowing my minde, you wrong me (M[aster]. Fenton.) Qui. Speake to Mistris Page. Fen. Good Mist[ris]. Page, for that I loue your daughterIn such a righteous fashion as I do,Perforce, against all checkes, rebukes, and manners,I must aduance the colours of my loue,And not retire. Let me haue your good will. An. Good mother, do not marry me to yond foole. Mist.Page. I meane it not, I seeke you a better hus-band. Qui. That's my master, M[aster]. Doctor. An. Alas I had rather be set quick i'th earth,And bowl'd to death with Turnips. Mist.Page. Come, trouble not your selfe good M[aster]. Fenton, I will not be your friend, nor enemy:My daughter will I question how she loues you,And as I finde her, so am I affected:Till then, farewell Sir, she must needs go in,Her father will be angry. Fen. Farewell gentle Mistris: farewell Nan. Qui. This is my doing now: Nay, saide I, will youcast away your childe on a Foole, and a Physitian:Looke on M[aster]. Fenton, this is my doing. Fen. I thanke thee: and I pray thee once to night,Giue my sweet Nan this Ring: there's for thy paines. Qui. Now heauen send thee good fortune, a kindeheart he hath: a woman would run through fire & wa-ter for such a kinde heart. But yet, I would my Maisterhad Mistris Anne, or I would M[aster]. Slender had her: or (insooth) I would M[aster]. Fenton had her; I will do what I canfor them all three, for so I haue promisd, and Ile bee asgood as my word, but speciously for M[aster]. Fenton. Well, Imust of another errand to Sir Iohn Falstaffe from my twoMistresses: what a beast am I to slacke it. Exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Falstaffe, Bardolfe, Quickly, Ford. Fal. Bardolfe I say. Bar. Heere Sir. Fal. Go, fetch me a quart of Sacke, put a tost in't.Haue I liu'd to be carried in a Basket like a barrow ofbutchers Offall? and to be throwne in the Thames? Wel,if I be seru'd such another tricke, Ile haue my braines'tane out and butter'd, and giue them to a dogge for aNew-yeares gift. The rogues slighted me into the riuerwith as little remorse, as they would haue drown'de ablinde bitches Puppies, fifteene i'th litter: and you mayknow by my size, that I haue a kinde of alacrity in sink-ing: if the bottome were as deepe as hell, I shold down.I had beene drown'd, but that the shore was sheluy andshallow: a death that I abhorre: for the water swelles aman; and what a thing should I haue beene, when Ihad beene swel'd? I should haue beene a Mountaine ofMummie. Bar. Here's M[istris]. Quickly Sir to speake with you. Fal. Come, let me poure in some Sack to the Thameswater: for my bellies as cold as if I had swallow'd snow-bals, for pilles to coole the reines. Call her in. Bar. Come in woman. Qui. By your leaue: I cry you mercy?Giue your worship good morrow. Fal. Take away these Challices:Go, brew me a pottle of Sacke finely. Bard. With Egges, Sir? Fal. Simple of it selfe: Ile no Pullet-Spersme in mybrewage. How now? Qui. Marry Sir, I come to your worship from M[istris]. Ford. Fal. Mist[ris]. Ford? I haue had Ford enough: I was throwninto the Ford; I haue my belly full of Ford. Qui. Alas the day, (good-heart) that was not herfault: she do's so take on with her men; they mistooketheir erection. Fal. So did I mine, to build vpon a foolish Womans promise. Qui. Well, she laments Sir for it, that it would yernyour heart to see it: her husband goes this morning a birding; she desires you once more to come to her, be-tweene eight and nine: I must carry her word quickely,she'll make you amends I warrant you. Fal. Well, I will visit her, tell her so: and bidde herthinke what a man is: Let her consider his frailety, andthen iudge of my merit. Qui. I will tell her. Fal. Do so. Betweene nine and ten saist thou? Qui. Eight and nine Sir. Fal. Well, be gone: I will not misse her. Qui. Peace be with you Sir. Fal. I meruaile I heare not of Mr Broome: he sent meword to stay within: I like his money well.Oh, heere he comes. Ford. Blesse you Sir. Fal. Now M[aster]. Broome, you come to knowWhat hath past betweene me, and Fords wife. Ford. That indeed (Sir Iohn) is my businesse. Fal. M[aster]. Broome I will not lye to you,I was at her house the houre she appointed me. Ford. And sped you Sir? Fal. Very ill-fauouredly M[aster]. Broome. Ford. How so sir, did she change her determination? Fal. No (M[aster]. Broome) but the peaking Curnuto her hus-band (M[aster]. Broome) dwelling in a continual larum of ielou-sie, coms me in the instant of our encounter, after we hadembrast, kist, protested, & (as it were) spoke the prologueof our Comedy: and at his heeles, a rabble of his compa-nions, thither prouoked and instigated by his distemper,and (forsooth) to serch his house for his wiues Loue. Ford. What? While you were there? Fal. While I was there. For. And did he search for you, & could not find you? Fal. You shall heare. As good lucke would haue it,comes in one Mist[ris]. Page, giues intelligence of Fords ap-proch: and in her inuention, and Fords wiues distraction,they conuey'd me into a bucke-basket. Ford. A Buck-basket? Fal. Yes: a Buck-basket: ram'd mee in with fouleShirts and Smockes, Socks, foule Stockings, greasieNapkins, that (Master Broome) there was the rankestcompound of villanous smell, that euer offended no-strill. Ford. And how long lay you there? Fal. Nay, you shall heare (Master Broome) what Ihaue sufferd, to bring this woman to euill, for yourgood: Being thus cram'd in the Basket, a couple of Fords knaues, his Hindes, were cald forth by their Mi-stris, to carry mee in the name of foule Cloathes to Datchet-lane: they tooke me on their shoulders: metthe iealous knaue their Master in the doore; whoask'd them once or twice what they had in their Bas-ket? I quak'd for feare least the Lunatique Knauewould haue search'd it: but Fate (ordaining he shouldbe a Cuckold) held his hand: well, on went hee, fora search, and away went I for foule Cloathes: Butmarke the sequell (Master Broome) I suffered the pangsof three seuerall deaths: First, an intollerable fright,to be detected with a iealious rotten Bell-weather:Next to be compass'd like a good Bilbo in the circum-ference of a Pecke, hilt to point, heele to head. Andthen to be stopt in like a strong distillation with stink-ing Cloathes, that fretted in their owne grease:thinke of that, a man of my Kidney; thinke of that,that am as subiect to heate as butter; a man of conti-nuall dissolution, and thaw: it was a miracle to scapesuffocation. And in the height of this Bath (when Iwas more then halfe stew'd in grease (like a Dutch-dish)to be throwne into the Thames, andcoold, glowing-hot, in that serge like a Horse-shoo;thinke of that; hissing hot: thinke of that (Master Broome.) Ford. In good sadnesse Sir, I am sorry, that for my sakeyou haue sufferd all this.My suite then is desperate: You'll vndertake her nomore? Fal. Master Broome: I will be throwne into Etna, as I haue beene into Thames, ere I will leaue her thus;her Husband is this morning gone a Birding: Ihaue receiued from her another ambassie of mee-ting: 'twixt eight and nine is the houre (Master Broome.) Ford. 'Tis past eight already Sir. Fal. Is it? I will then addresse mee to my appoint-ment: Come to mee at your conuenient leisure, andyou shall know how I speede: and the conclusionshall be crowned with your enioying her: adiew: youshall haue her (Master Broome) Master Broome, you shallcuckold Ford. Ford. Hum: ha? Is this a vision? Is this a dreame?doe I sleepe? Master Ford awake, awake Master Ford: ther's a hole made in your best coate (Master Ford:) this'tis to be married; this 'tis to haue Lynnen, and Buck-baskets: Well, I will proclaime my selfe what I am:I will now take the Leacher: hee is at my house: heecannot scape me: 'tis impossible hee should: hee can-not creepe into a halfe-penny purse, nor into a Pepper-Boxe: But least the Diuell that guides him, shouldaide him, I will search impossible places: thoughwhat I am, I cannot auoide; yet to be what I wouldnot, shall not make me tame: If I haue hornes, to makeone mad, let the prouerbe goe with me, Ile be horne-mad. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima. Enter Mistris Page, Quickly, William, Euans. Mist.Pag. Is he at M[aster]. Fords already think'st thou? Qui. Sure he is by this; or will be presently; buttruely he is very couragious mad, about his throwinginto the water. Mistris Ford desires you to come so-dainely. Mist.Pag. Ile be with her by and by: Ile but bringmy yong-man here to Schoole: looke where his Mastercomes; 'tis a playing day I see: how now Sir Hugh, noSchoole to day? Eua. No: Master Slender is let the Boyes leaue to play. Qui 'Blessing of his heart. Mist.Pag. Sir Hugh, my husband saies my sonne pro-fits nothing in the world at his Booke: I pray you askehim some questions in his Accidence. Eu. Come hither William; hold vp your head; come. Mist.Pag. Come-on Sirha; hold vp your head; an-swere your Master, be not afraid. Eua. William, how many Numbers is in Nownes? Will. Two. Qui. Truely, I thought there had bin one Numbermore, because they say od's-Nownes. Eua. Peace, your tatlings. What is (Faire) William? Will. Pulcher. Qu. Powlcats? there are fairer things then Powlcats,sure. Eua. You are a very simplicity o'man: I pray youpeace. What is (Lapis) William? Will. A Stone. Eua. And what is a Stone (William?) Will. A Peeble. Eua. No; it is Lapis: I pray you remember in yourpraine. Will. Lapis. Eua. That is a good William: what is he (William) thatdo's lend Articles. Will. Articles are borrowed of the Pronoune; and bethus declined. Singulariter nominatiuo hic, haec, hoc. Eua. Nominatiuo hig, hag, hog: pray you marke: geni-tiuo huius: Well: what is your Accusatiue-case? Will. Accusatiuo hinc. Eua. I pray you haue your remembrance (childe) Ac-cusatiuo hing, hang, hog. Qu. Hang-hog, is latten for Bacon, I warrant you. Eua. Leaue your prables (o'man) What is the Foca-tiue case (William?) Will. O, Vocatiuo, O. Eua. Remember William, Focatiue, is caret. Qu. And that's a good roote. Eua. O'man, forbeare. Mist.Pag. Peace. Eua. What is your Genitiue case plurall (William?) Will. Genitiue case? Eua. I. Will. Genitiue horum, harum, horum. Qu. 'Vengeance of Ginyes case; fie on her; neuername her (childe) if she be a whore. Eua. For shame o'man. Qu. You doe ill to teach the childe such words: heeteaches him to hic, and to hac; which they'll doe fastenough of themselues, and to call horum; fie vpon you. Euans. O'man, art thou Lunatics? Hast thou no vn-derstandings for thy Cases, & the numbers of the Gen-ders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures, as I woulddesires. Mi.Page. Pre'thee hold thy peace. Eu. Shew me now (William) some declensions of yourPronounes. Will. Forsooth, I haue forgot. Eu. It is Qui, que, quod; if you forget your Quies, your Ques, and your Quods, you must be preeches: Goeyour waies and play, go. M.Pag. He is a better scholler then I thought he was. Eu. He is a good sprag-memory: Farewel Mis[tris]. Page. Mis.Page. Adieu good Sir Hugh: Get you home boy, Come we stay too long. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Falstoffe, Mist.Ford, Mist.Page, Seruants, Ford,Page, Caius, Euans, Shallow. Fal. Mi[stris]. Ford, Your sorrow hath eaten vp my suffe-rance; I see you are obsequious in your loue, and I pro-fesse requitall to a haires bredth, not onely Mist[ris]. Ford, in the simple office of loue, but in all the accustrement,complement, and ceremony of it: But are you sure ofyour husband now? Mis.Ford. Hee's a birding (sweet Sir Iohn.) Mis.Page. What hoa, gossip Ford: what hoa. Mis.Ford. Step into th' chamber, Sir Iohn. Mis.Page. How now (sweete heart) whose at homebesides your selfe? Mis.Ford. Why none but mine owne people. Mis.Page. Indeed? Mis.Ford. No certainly: Speake louder. Mist.Pag. Truly, I am so glad you haue no body here. Mist.Ford. Why? Mis.Page. Why woman, your husband is in his oldelines againe: he so takes on yonder with my husband, sorailes against all married mankinde; so curses all Eues daughters, of what complexion soeuer; and so buffetteshimselfe on the for-head: crying peere-out, peere-out,that any madnesse I euer yet beheld, seem'd but tame-nesse, ciuility, and patience to this his distemper he is innow: I am glad the fat Knight is not heere. Mist.Ford. Why, do's he talke of him? Mist.Page. Of none but him, and sweares he was ca-ried out the last time hee search'd for him, in a Basket:Protests to my husband he is now heere, & hath drawnehim and the rest of their company from their sport, tomake another experiment of his suspition: But I am gladthe Knight is not heere; now he shall see his owne foo-lerie. Mist.Ford. How neere is he Mistris Page? Mist.Pag. Hard by, at street end; he wil be here anon. Mist.Ford. I am vndone, the Knight is heere. Mist.Page. Why then you are vtterly sham'd, & hee'sbut a dead man. What a woman are you? Away withhim, away with him: Better shame, then murther. Mist.Ford. Which way should he go? How should Ibestow him? Shall I put him into the basket againe? Fal. No, Ile come no more i'th Basket:May I not go out ere he come? Mist.Page. Alas: three of Mr. Fords brothers watchthe doore with Pistols, that none shall issue out: other-wise you might slip away ere hee came: But what makeyou heere? Fal. What shall I do? Ile creepe vp into the chimney. Mist.Ford. There they alwaies vse to discharge theirBirding-peeces: creepe into the Kill-hole. Fal. Where is it? Mist.Ford. He will seeke there on my word: NeytherPresse, Coffer, Chest, Trunke, Well, Vault, but he hathan abstract for the remembrance of such places, and goesto them by his Note: There is no hiding you in thehouse. Fal. Ile go out then. Mist.Ford. If you goe out in your owne semblance,you die Sir Iohn, vnlesse you go out disguis'd. Mist.Ford. How might we disguise him? Mist.Page. Alas the day I know not, there is no wo-mans gowne bigge enough for him: otherwise he mightput on a hat, a muffler, and a kerchiefe, and so escape. Fal. Good hearts, deuise something: any extremitie,rather then a mischiefe. Mist.Ford. My Maids Aunt the fat woman of Brain-ford, has a gowne aboue. Mist.Page. On my word it will serue him: shee's asbig as he is: and there's her thrum'd hat, and her mufflertoo: run vp Sir Iohn. Mist.Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir Iohn: Mistris Page andI will looke some linnen for your head. Mist.Page. Quicke, quicke, wee'le come dresse youstraight: put on the gowne the while. Mist.Ford. I would my husband would meete himin this shape: he cannot abide the old woman of Brain-ford; he sweares she's a witch, forbad her my house, andhath threatned to beate her. Mist.Page. Heauen guide him to thy husbands cud-gell: and the diuell guide his cudgell afterwards. Mist.Ford. But is my husband comming? Mist.Page. I in good sadnesse is he, and talkes of thebasket too, howsoeuer he hath had intelligence. Mist.Ford. Wee'l try that: for Ile appoint my men tocarry the basket againe, to meete him at the doore withit, as they did last time. Mist.Page. Nay, but hee'l be heere presently: let's godresse him like the witch of Brainford. Mist.Ford. Ile first direct my men, what theyshall doe with the basket: Goe vp, Ile bring linnen forhim straight. Mist.Page. Hang him dishonest Varlet,We cannot misuse enough: We'll leaue a proofe by that which we will doo,Wiues may be merry, and yet honest too:We do not acte that often, iest, and laugh,'Tis old, but true, Still Swine eats all the draugh. Mist.Ford. Go Sirs, take the basket againe on yourshoulders: your Master is hard at doore: if hee bid youset it downe, obey him: quickly, dispatch. 1 Ser. Come, come, take it vp. 2 Ser. Pray heauen it be not full of Knight againe. 1 Ser. I hope not, I had liefe as beare so much lead. Ford. I, but if it proue true (Mr. Page) haue you anyway then to vnfoole me againe. Set downe the basketvillaine: some body call my wife: Youth in a basket:Oh you Panderly Rascals, there's a knot: a gin, a packe,a conspiracie against me: Now shall the diuel be sham'd.What wife I say: Come, come forth: behold what ho-nest cloathes you send forth to bleaching. Page. Why, this passes M[aster]. Ford: you are not to goeloose any longer, you must be pinnion'd. Euans. Why, this is Lunaticks: this is madde, as amad dogge. Shall. Indeed M[aster]. Ford, this is not well indeed. Ford. So say I too Sir, come hither Mistris Ford, Mi-stris Ford, the honest woman, the modest wife, the vertu-ous creature, that hath the iealious foole to her husband:I suspect without cause (Mistris) do I? Mist.Ford. Heauen be my witnesse you doe, if yoususpect me in any dishonesty. Ford. Well said Brazon-face, hold it out: Come forthsirrah. Page. This passes. Mist.Ford. Are you not asham'd, let the cloths alone. Ford. I shall finde you anon. Eua. 'Tis vnreasonable; will you take vp your wiuescloathes? Come, away. Ford. Empty the basket I say. M.Ford. Why man, why? Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one con-uay'dout of my house yesterday in this basket: whymay not he be there againe, in my house I am sure he is:my Intelligence is true, my iealousie is reasonable, pluckme out all the linnen. Mist.Ford. If you find a man there, he shall dye a Fleasdeath. Page. Heer's no man. Shal. By my fidelity this is not well Mr. Ford: Thiswrongs you. Euans. Mr Ford, you must pray, and not follow theimaginations of your owne heart: this is iealousies. Ford. Well, hee's not heere I seeke for. Page. No, nor no where else but in your braine. Ford. Helpe to search my house this one time: if I findnot what I seeke, shew no colour for my extremity: Letme for euer be your Table-sport: Let them say of me, asiealous as Ford, that search'd a hollow Wall-nut for hiswiues Lemman. Satisfie me once more, once more serchwith me. M.Ford. What hoa (Mistris Page,) come you andthe old woman downe: my husband will come into theChamber. Ford. Old woman? what old womans that? M.Ford. Why it is my maids Aunt of Brainford. Ford. A witch, a Queane, an olde couzening queane:Haue I not forbid her my house. She comes of errandsdo's she? We are simple men, wee doe not know what'sbrought to passe vnder the profession of Fortune-telling.She workes by Charmes, by Spels, by th' Figure, & suchdawbry as this is, beyond our Element: wee know no-thing. Come downe you Witch, you Hagge you, comedowne I say. Mist.Ford. Nay, good sweet husband, good Gentle-men, let him strike the old woman. Mist.Page. Come mother Prat, Come giue me yourhand. Ford. Ile Prat-her: Out of my doore, you Witch,you Ragge, you Baggage, you Poulcat, you Runnion,out, out: Ile coniure you, Ile fortune-tell you. Mist.Page. Are you not asham'd?I thinke you haue kill'd the poore woman. Mist.Ford. Nay he will do it, 'tis a goodly creditefor you. Ford. Hang her witch. Eua. By yea, and no, I thinke the o'man is a witch in-deede: I like not when a o'man has a great peard; I spiea great peard vnder his muffler. Ford. Will you follow Gentlemen, I beseech you fol-low: see but the issue of my iealousie: If I cry out thusvpon no traile, neuer trust me when I open againe. Page. Let's obey his humour a little further:Come Gentlemen. Mist.Page. Trust me he beate him most pittifully. Mist.Ford. Nay by th' Masse that he did not: he beatehim most vnpittifully, me thought. Mist.Page. Ile haue the cudgell hallow'd, and hungore the Altar, it hath done meritorious seruice. Mist.Ford. What thinke you? May we with the war-rant of woman-hood, and the witnesse of a good consci-ence, pursue him with any further reuenge? M.Page. The spirit of wantonnesse is sure scar'd outof him, if the diuell haue him not in fee-simple, withfine and recouery, he will neuer (I thinke) in the way ofwaste, attempt vs againe. Mist.Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how wee haueseru'd him? Mist.Page. Yes, by all meanes: if it be but to scrapethe figures out of your husbands braines: if they can findin their hearts, the poore vnuertuous fat Knight shall beany further afflicted, wee two will still bee the mini-sters. Mist.Ford. Ile warrant, they'l haue him publiquelysham'd, and me thinkes there would be no period to theiest, should he not be publikely sham'd. Mist.Page. Come, to the Forge with it, then shape it:I would not haue things coole. Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter Host and Bardolfe. Bar. Sir, the Germane desires to haue three of yourhorses: the Duke himselfe will be to morrow at Court,and they are going to meet him. Host. What Duke should that be comes so secretly?I heare not of him in the Court: let mee speake with theGentlemen, they speake English? Bar. I Sir? Ile call him to you. Host. They shall haue my horses, but Ile make thempay: Ile sauce them, they haue had my houses a week atcommaund: I haue turn'd away my other guests, theymust come off, Ile sawce them, come. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Page, Ford, Mistris Page, MistrisFord, and Euans. Eua. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a o'man as e-uer I did looke vpon. Page. And did he send you both these Letters at aninstant? Mist.Page. Within a quarter of an houre. Ford. Pardon me (wife) henceforth do what thou wilt:I rather will suspect the Sunne with gold,Then thee with wantonnes: Now doth thy honor stand (In him that was of late an Heretike)As firme as faith. Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well, no more:Be not as extreme in submission, as in offence,But let our plot go forward: Let our wiuesYet once againe (to make vs publike sport)Appoint a meeting with this old fat-fellow,Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. Ford. There is no better way then that they spoke of. Page. How? to send him word they'll meete him inthe Parke at midnight? Fie, fie, he'll neuer come. Eu. You say he has bin throwne in the Riuers: andhas bin greeuously peaten, as an old o'man: me-thinkesthere should be terrors in him, that he should not come:Me-thinkes his flesh is punish'd, hee shall haue no de-sires. Page. So thinke I too. M.Ford. Deuise but how you'l vse him whe[n] he comes,And let vs two deuise to bring him thether. Mis.Page. There is an old tale goes, that Herne theHunter (sometime a keeper heere in Windsor Forrest)Doth all the winter time, at still midnightWalke round about an Oake, with great rag'd-hornes,And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,And make milch-kine yeeld blood, and shakes a chaineIn a most hideous and dreadfull manner.You haue heard of such a Spirit, and well you knowThe superstitious idle-headed-EldReceiu'd, and did deliuer to our ageThis tale of Herne the Hunter, for a truth. Page. Why yet there want not many that do feareIn deepe of night to walke by this Hernes Oake:But what of this? Mist.Ford. Marry this is our deuise,That Falstaffe at that Oake shall meete with vs. Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come,And in this shape, when you haue brought him thether,What shall be done with him? What is your plot? Mist.Pa. That likewise haue we thoght vpon: & thus: Nan Page (my daughter) and my little sonne,And three or foure more of their growth, wee'l dresseLike Vrchins, Ouphes, and Fairies, greene and white,With rounds of waxen Tapers on their heads,And rattles in their hands; vpon a sodaine,As Falstaffe, she, and I, are newly met,Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at onceWith some diffused song: Vpon their sightWe two, in great amazednesse will flye:Then let them all encircle him about,And Fairy-like to pinch the vncleane Knight;And aske him why that houre of Fairy Reuell,In their so sacred pathes, he dares to treadIn shape prophane. Ford. And till he tell the truth,Let the supposed Fairies pinch him, sound,And burne him with their Tapers. Mist.Page. The truth being knowne, We'll all present our selues; dis-horne the spirit,And mocke him home to Windsor. Ford. The children mustBe practis'd well to this, or they'll neu'r doo't. Eua. I will teach the children their behauiours: and Iwill be like a Iacke-an-Apes also, to burne the Knightwith my Taber. Ford. That will be excellent,Ile go buy them vizards. Mist.Page. My Nan shall be the Queene of all theFairies, finely attired in a robe of white. Page. That silke will I go buy, and in that timeShall M[aster]. Slender steale my Nan away,And marry her at Eaton: go, send to Falstaffe straight. Ford. Nay, Ile to him againe in name of Broome, Hee'l tell me all his purpose: sure hee'l come. Mist.Page. Feare not you that: Go get vs propertiesAnd tricking for our Fayries. Euans. Let vs about it,It is admirable pleasures, and ferry honest knaueries. Mis.Page. Go Mist[ris]. Ford, Send quickly to Sir Iohn, to know his minde:Ile to the Doctor, he hath my good will,And none but he to marry with Nan Page: That Slender (though well landed) is an Ideot:And he, my husband best of all affects:The Doctor is well monied, and his friendsPotent at Court: he, none but he shall haue her,Though twenty thousand worthier come to craue her.
Scena Quinta. Enter Host, Simple, Falstaffe, Bardolfe, Euans,Caius, Quickly. Host. What wouldst thou haue? (Boore) what? (thickskin) speake, breathe, discusse: breefe, short, quicke,snap. Simp. Marry Sir, I come to speake with Sir Iohn Fal-staffe from M[aster]. Slender. Host. There's his Chamber, his House, his Castle,his standing-bed and truckle-bed: 'tis painted aboutwith the story of the Prodigall, fresh and new: go, knockand call: hee'l speake like an Anthropophaginian vntothee: Knocke I say. Simp. There's an olde woman, a fat woman gone vpinto his chamber: Ile be so bold as stay Sir till she comedowne: I come to speake with her indeed. Host. Ha? A fat woman? The Knight may be robb'd:Ile call. Bully-Knight, Bully Sir Iohn: speake from thyLungs Military: Art thou there? It is thine Host, thineEphesian cals. Fal. How now, mine Host? Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar taries the commingdowne of thy fat-woman: Let her descend (Bully) lether descend: my Chambers are honourable: Fie, priua-cy? Fie. Fal. There was (mine Host) an old-fat-woman euennow with me, but she's gone. Simp. Pray you Sir, was't not the Wise-woman of Brainford? Fal. I marry was it (Mussel-shell) what would youwith her? Simp. My Master (Sir) my master Slender, sent to herseeing her go thorough the streets, to know (Sir) whe-ther one Nim (Sir) that beguil'd him of a chaine, had thechaine, or no. Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. Sim. And what sayes she, I pray Sir? Fal. Marry shee sayes, that the very same man thatbeguil'd Master Slender of his Chaine, cozon'd him of it. Simp. I would I could haue spoken with the Woman her selfe, I had other things to haue spoken with hertoo, from him. Fal. What are they? let vs know. Host. I: come: quicke. Fal. I may not conceale them (Sir.) Host. Conceale them, or thou di'st. Sim. Why sir, they were nothing but about Mistris Anne Page, to know if it were my Masters fortune tohaue her, or no. Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. Sim. What Sir? Fal. To haue her, or no: goe; say the woman toldme so. Sim. May I be bold to say so Sir? Fal. I Sir: like who more bold. Sim. I thanke your worship: I shall make my Masterglad with these tydings. Host. Thou art clearkly: thou art clearkly (Sir Iohn)was there a wise woman with thee? Fal. I that there was (mine Host) one that hath taughtme more wit, then euer I learn'd before in my life: andI paid nothing for it neither, but was paid for my lear-ning. Bar. Out alas (Sir) cozonage: meere cozonage. Host. Where be my horses? speake well of them var-letto. Bar. Run away with the cozoners: for so soone asI came beyond Eaton, they threw me off, from behindeone of them, in a slough of myre; and set spurres, andaway; like three Germane-diuels; three Doctor Fau-stasses. Host. They are gone but to meete the Duke (villaine)doe not say they be fled: Germanes are honest men. Euan. Where is mine Host? Host. What is the matter Sir? Euan. Haue a care of your entertainments: there is afriend of mine come to Towne, tels mee there is threeCozen-Iermans, that has cozend all the Hosts of Reading, of Maidenhead; of Cole-brooke, of horses and money: Itell you for good will (looke you) you are wise, and fullof gibes, and vlouting-stocks: and 'tis not conuenientyou should be cozoned. Fare you well. Cai. Ver' is mine Host de Iarteere? Host. Here (Master Doctor) in perplexitie, and doubt-full delemma. Cai. I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is tell-a-me, datyou make grand preparation for a Duke de Iamanie: bymy trot: der is no Duke that the Court is know, tocome: I tell you for good will: adieu. Host. Huy and cry, (villaine) goe: assist me Knight, Iam vndone: fly, run: huy, and cry (villaine) I am vn-done. Fal. I would all the world might be cozond, for Ihaue beene cozond and beaten too: if it should cometo the eare of the Court, how I haue beene transformed;and how my transformation hath beene washd, andcudgeld, they would melt mee out of my fat drop bydrop, and liquor Fishermens-boots with me: I warrantthey would whip me with their fine wits, till I were ascrest-falne as a dride-peare: I neuer prosper'd, since Iforswore my selfe at Primero: well, if my winde werebut long enough; I would repent: Now? Whence comeyou? Qui. From the two parties forsooth. Fal. The Diuell take one partie, and his Dam theother: and so they shall be both bestowed; I haue suf-fer'dmore for their sakes; more then the villanous in-constancy of mans disposition is able to beare. Qui. And haue not they suffer'd? Yes, I warrant; spe-ciously one of them; Mistris Ford (good heart) is beatenblacke and blew, that you cannot see a white spot abouther. Fal. What tell'st thou mee of blacke, and blew? Iwas beaten my selfe into all the colours of the Raine-bow: and I was like to be apprehended for the Witchof Braineford, but that my admirable dexteritie of wit,my counterfeiting the action of an old woman deliuer'dme, the knaue Constable had set me ith' Stocks, ith' com-mon Stocks, for a Witch. Qu, Sir: let me speake with you in your Chamber,you shall heare how things goe, and (I warrant) to yourcontent: here is a Letter will say somewhat: (good-hearts)what a-doe here is to bring you together? Sure,one of you do's not serue heauen well, that you are socross'd. Fal. Come vp into my Chamber. Exeunt.
Scena Sexta. Enter Fenton, Host. Host. Master Fenton, talke not to mee, my minde isheauy: I will giue ouer all. Fen. Yet heare me speake: assist me in my purpose,And (as I am a gentleman) ile giue theeA hundred pound in gold, more then your losse. Host. I will heare you (Master Fenton) and I will (atthe least) keepe your counsell. Fen. From time to time, I haue acquainted youWith the deare loue I beare to faire Anne Page, Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection,(So farre forth, as her selfe might be her chooser)Euen to my wish; I haue a letter from herOf such contents, as you will wonder at;The mirth whereof, so larded with my matter,That neither (singly) can be manifestedWithout the shew of both: fat Falstaffe Hath a great Scene; the image of the iestIle show you here at large (harke good mine Host:)To night at Hernes-Oke, iust 'twixt twelue and one,Must my sweet Nan present the Faerie-Queene: The purpose why, is here: in which disguiseWhile other Iests are something ranke on foote,Her father hath commanded her to slipAway with Slender, and with him, at Eaton Immediately to Marry: She hath consented: Now Sir,Her Mother, (euen strong against that matchAnd firme for Doctor Caius) hath appointedThat he shall likewise shuffle her away,While other sports are tasking of their mindes,And at the Deanry, where a Priest attendsStrait marry her: to this her Mothers plotShe seemingly obedient) likewise hathMade promise to the Doctor: Now, thus it rests,Her Father meanes she shall be all in white;And in that habit, when Slender sees his timeTo take her by the hand, and bid her goe,She shall goe with him: her Mother hath intended(The better to deuote her to the Doctor; For they must all be mask'd, and vizarded) That quaint in greene, she shall be loose en-roab'd,With Ribonds-pendant, flaring 'bout her head;And when the Doctor spies his vantage ripe,To pinch her by the hand, and on that token,The maid hath giuen consent to go with him. Host. Which meanes she to deceiue? Father, or Mo-ther. Fen. Both (my good Host) to go along with me:And heere it rests, that you'l procure the VicarTo stay for me at Church, 'twixt twelue, and one,And in the lawfull name of marrying,To giue our hearts vnited ceremony. Host. Well, husband your deuice; Ile to the Vicar,Bring you the Maid, you shall not lacke a Priest. Fen. So shall I euermore be bound to thee;Besides, Ile make a present recompence. Exeunt
Actus Quintus. Scoena Prima. Enter Falstoffe, Quickly, and Ford. Fal. Pre'thee no more pratling: go, Ile hold, this isthe third time: I hope good lucke lies in odde numbers:Away, go, they say there is Diuinity in odde Numbers,either in natiuity, chance, or death: away. Qui. Ile prouide you a chaine, and Ile do what I canto get you a paire of hornes. Fall. Away I say, time weares, hold vp your head &mince. How now M[aster]. Broome? Master Broome, the mat-ter will be knowne to night, or neuer. Bee you in theParke about midnight, at Hernes-Oake, and you shallsee wonders. Ford. Went you not to her yesterday (Sir) as you toldme you had appointed? Fal. I went to her (Master Broome) as you see, like apoore-old-man, but I came from her (Master Broome)like a poore-old-woman; that same knaue (Ford hir hus-band) hath the finest mad diuell of iealousie in him (Ma-ster Broome) that euer gouern'd Frensie. I will tell you,he beate me greeuously, in the shape of a woman: (for inthe shape of Man (Master Broome) I feare not Goliathwith a Weauers beame, because I know also, life is aShuttle) I am in hast, go along with mee, Ile tell you all(Master Broome:) since I pluckt Geese, plaide Trewant,and whipt Top, I knew not what 'twas to be beaten, tilllately. Follow mee, Ile tell you strange things of thisknaue Ford, on whom to night I will be reuenged, and Iwill deliuer his wife into your hand. Follow, straungethings in hand (M[aster]. Broome) follow. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Page, Shallow, Slender. Page. Come, come: wee'll couch i'th Castle-ditch,till we see the light of our Fairies. Remember son Slen-der, my Slen. I forsooth, I haue spoke with her, & we hauea nay-word, how to know one another. I come to herin white, and cry Mum; she cries Budget, and by thatwe know one another. Shal. That's good too: But what needes either yourMum, or her Budget? The white will decipher her wellenough. It hath strooke ten a' clocke. Page. The night is darke, Light and Spirits will be-come it wel: Heauen prosper our sport. No man meanseuill but the deuill, and we shal know him by his hornes.Lets away: follow me. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Mist.Page, Mist.Ford, Caius. Mist.Page. Mr Doctor, my daughter is in green, whenyou see your time, take her by the hand, away with herto the Deanerie, and dispatch it quickly: go before intothe Parke: we two must go together. Cai. I know vat I haue to do, adieu. Mist.Page. Fare you well (Sir:) my husband will notreioyce so much at the abuse of Falstaffe, as he will chafeat the Doctors marrying my daughter: But 'tis no mat-ter; better a little chiding, then a great deale of heart-breake. Mist.Ford. Where is Nan now? and her troop of Fai-ries? and the Welch-deuill Herne? Mist.Page. They are all couch'd in a pit hard by HernesOake, with obscur'd Lights; which at the very instantof Falstaffes and our meeting, they will at once display tothe night. Mist.Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. Mist.Page. If he be not amaz'd he will be mock'd: Ifhe be amaz'd, he will euery way be mock'd. Mist.Ford. Wee'll betray him finely. Mist.Page. Against such Lewdsters, and their lechery,Those that betray them, do no treachery. Mist.Ford. The houre drawes-on: to the Oake, to theOake. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Euans and Fairies. Euans. Trib, trib Fairies: Come, and remember yourparts: be pold (I pray you) follow me into the pit, andwhen I giue the watch-'ords, do as I pid you: Come,come, trib, trib. Exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Falstaffe, Mistris Page, Mistris Ford, Euans,Anne Page, Fairies, Page, Ford, Quickly,Slender, Fenton, Caius, Pistoll. Fal. The Windsor-bell hath stroke twelue: the Mi-nute drawes-on: Now the hot-bloodied-Gods assist me:Remember Ioue, thou was't a Bull for thy Europa, Loueset on thy hornes. O powerfull Loue, that in some re-spects makes a Beast a Man: in som other, a Man a beast.You were also (Iupiter) a Swan, for the loue of Leda: O omnipotent Loue, how nere the God drew to the com-plexion of a Goose: a fault done first in the forme of abeast, (O Ioue, a beastly fault:) and then another fault,in the semblance of a Fowle, thinke on't (Ioue) a fowle-fault.When Gods haue hot backes, what shall pooremen do? For me, I am heere a Windsor Stagge, and thefattest (I thinke) i'th Forrest. Send me a coole rut-time(Ioue) or who can blame me to pisse my Tallow? Whocomes heere? my Doe? M.Ford. Sir Iohn? Art thou there (my Deere?)My male-Deere? Fal. My Doe, with the blacke Scut? Let the skieraine Potatoes: let it thunder, to the tune of Greene-sleeues, haile-kissing Comfits, and snow Eringoes: Letthere come a tempest of prouocation, I will shelter meeheere. M.Ford. Mistris Page is come with me (sweet hart.) Fal. Diuide me like a brib'd-Bucke, each a Haunch:I will keepe my sides to my selfe, my shoulders for thefellow of this walke; and my hornes I bequeath yourhusbands. Am I a Woodman, ha? Speake I like Herne the Hunter? Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience,he makes restitution. As I am a true spirit, welcome. M.Page. Alas, what noise? M.Ford. Heauen forgiue our sinnes. Fal. What should this be? M.Ford. M.Page. Away, away. Fal. I thinke the diuell wil not haue me damn'd,Least the oyle that's in me should set hell on fire;He would neuer else crosse me thus. Enter Fairies. Qui. Fairies blacke, gray, greene, and white,You Moone-shine reuellers, and shades of night.You Orphan heires of fixed destiny,Attend your office, and your quality.Crier Hob-goblyn, make the Fairy Oyes. Pist. Elues, list your names: Silence you aiery toyes.Cricket, to Windsor-chimnies shalt thou leape;Where fires thou find'st vnrak'd, and hearths vnswept,There pinch the Maids as blew as Bill-berry,Our radiant Queene, hates Sluts, and Sluttery. Fal. They are Fairies, he that speaks to them shall die,Ile winke, and couch: No man their workes must eie. Eu. Wher's Bede? Go you, and where you find a maidThat ere she sleepe has thrice her prayers said,Raise vp the Organs of her fantasie,Sleepe she as sound as carelesse infancie,But those as sleepe, and thinke not on their sins,Pinch them armes, legs, backes, shoulders, sides, & shins. Qu. About, about:Search Windsor Castle (Elues) within, and out.Strew good lucke (Ouphes) on euery sacred roome,That it may stand till the perpetuall doome,In state as wholsome, as in state 'tis fit,Worthy the Owner, and the Owner it.The seuerall Chaires of Order, looke you scowreWith iuyce of Balme; and euery precious flowre,Each faire Instalment, Coate, and seu'rall Crest,With loyall Blazon, euermore be blest.And Nightly-meadow-Fairies, looke you singLike to the Garters-Compasse, in a ringTh' expressure that it beares: Greene let it be,More fertile-fresh then all the Field to see:And, Hony Soit Qui Mal-y-Pence, writeIn Emrold-tuffes, Flowres purple, blew, and white,Like Saphire-pearle, and rich embroiderie,Buckled below faire Knight-hoods bending knee;Fairies vse Flowres for their characterie.Away, disperse: But till 'tis one a clocke,Our Dance of Custome, round about the OkeOf Herne the Hunter, let vs not forget. Euan. Pray you lock hand in hand: your selues in order set:And twenty glow-wormes shall our Lanthornes beeTo guide our Measure round about the Tree.But stay, I smell a man of middle earth. Fal. Heauens defend me from that Welsh Fairy,Least he transforme me to a peece of Cheese. Pist. Vilde worme, thou wast ore-look'd euen in thybirth. Qu. With Triall-fire touch me his finger end:If he be chaste, the flame will backe descendAnd turne him to no paine: but if he start,It is the flesh of a corrupted hart. Pist. A triall, come. Eua. Come: will this wood take fire? Fal. Oh, oh, oh. Qui. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire.About him (Fairies) sing a scornfull rime,And as you trip, still pinch him to your time. The Song. Fie on sinnefull phantasie: Fie on Lust, and Luxurie:Lust is but a bloudy fire, kindled with vnchaste desire,Fed in heart whose flames aspire,As thoughts do blow them higher and higher.Pinch him (Fairies) mutually: Pinch him for his villanie.Pinch him, and burne him, and turne him about,Till Candles, & Star-light, & Moone-shine be out. Page. Nay do not flye, I thinke we haue watcht younow: Will none but Herne the Hunter serue yourturne? M.Page. I pray you come, hold vp the iest no higher.Now (good Sir Iohn) how like you Windsor wiues?See you these husband? Do not these faire yoakesBecome the Forrest better then the Towne? Ford. Now Sir, whose a Cuckold now?Mr Broome, Falstaffes a Knaue, a Cuckoldly knaue,Heere are his hornes Master Broome: And Master Broome, he hath enioyed nothing of Fords, but his Buck-basket, his cudgell, and twenty pounds ofmoney, which must be paid to Mr Broome, his horses arearrested for it, Mr Broome. M.Ford. Sir Iohn, we haue had ill lucke: wee couldneuer meete: I will neuer take you for my Loue againe,but I will alwayes count you my Deere. Fal. I do begin to perceiue that I am made an Asse. Ford. I, and an Oxe too: both the proofes are ex-tant. Fal. And these are not Fairies:I was three or foure times in the thought they were notFairies, and yet the guiltinesse of my minde, the sodainesurprize of my powers, droue the grossenesse of the fop-pery into a receiu'd beleefe, in despight of the teeth ofall rime and reason, that they were Fairies. See nowhow wit may be made a Iacke-a-Lent, when 'tis vpon ill imployment. Euans. Sir Iohn Falstaffe, serue Got, and leaue yourdesires, and Fairies will not pinse you. Ford. Well said Fairy Hugh. Euans. And leaue you your iealouzies too, I prayyou. Ford. I will neuer mistrust my wife againe, till thouart able to woo her in good English. Fal. Haue I laid my braine in the Sun, and dri'de it,that it wants matter to preuent so grosse ore-reaching asthis? Am I ridden with a Welch Goate too? Shal I hauea Coxcombe of Frize? Tis time I were choak'd with apeece of toasted Cheese. Eu. Seese is not good to giue putter; your belly is alputter. Fal. Seese, and Putter? Haue I liu'd to stand at thetaunt of one that makes Fritters of English? This is e-nough to be the decay of lust and late-walking throughthe Realme. Mist.Page. Why Sir Iohn, do you thinke though weewould haue thrust vertue out of our hearts by the headand shoulders, and haue giuen our selues without scru-ple to hell, that euer the deuill could haue made you ourdelight? Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? A bag of flax? Mist.Page. A puft man? Page. Old, cold, wither'd, and of intollerable en-trailes? Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Sathan? Page. And as poore as Iob? Ford. And as wicked as his wife? Euan. And giuen to Fornications, and to Tauernes,and Sacke, and Wine, and Metheglins, and to drinkingsand swearings, and starings? Pribles and prables? Fal. Well, I am your Theame: you haue the start ofme, I am deiected: I am not able to answer the WelchFlannell, Ignorance it selfe is a plummet ore me, vse meas you will. Ford. Marry Sir, wee'l bring you to Windsor to oneMr Broome, that you haue cozon'd of money, to whomyou should haue bin a Pander: ouer and aboue that youhaue suffer'd, I thinke, to repay that money will be a bi-ting affliction. Page. Yet be cheerefull Knight: thou shalt eat a pos-set to night at my house, wher I will desire thee to laughat my wife, that now laughes at thee: Tell her Mr Slen-der hath married her daughter. Mist.Page. Doctors doubt that;If Anne Page be my daughter, she is (by this) Doctour Caius wife. Slen. Whoa hoe, hoe, Father Page. Page. Sonne? How now? How now Sonne,Haue you dispatch'd? Slen. Dispatch'd? Ile make the best in Glostershireknow on't: would I were hang'd la, else. Page. Of what sonne? Slen. I came yonder at Eaton to marry Mistris Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy. If it had not benei'th Church, I would haue swing'd him, or hee shouldhaue swing'd me. If I did not thinke it had beene Anne Page, would I might neuer stirre, and 'tis a Post-mastersBoy. Page. Vpon my life then, you tooke the wrong. Slen. What neede you tell me that? I think so, whenI tooke a Boy for a Girle: If I had bene married to him,(for all he was in womans apparrell) I would not hauehad him. Page. Why this is your owne folly,Did not I tell you how you should know my daughter,By her garments? Slen. I went to her in greene, and cried Mum, andshe cride budget, as Anne and I had appointed, and yetit was not Anne, but a Post-masters boy. Mist.Page. Good George be not angry, I knew ofyour purpose: turn'd my daughter into white, and in-deede she is now with the Doctor at the Deanrie, andthere married. Cai. Ver is Mistris Page: by gar I am cozoned, I ha married oon Garsoon, a boy; oon pesant, by gar. A boy,it is not An Page, by gar, I am cozened. M.Page. Why? did you take her in white? Cai. I bee gar, and 'tis a boy: be gar, Ile raise allWindsor. Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right Anne? Page. My heart misgiues me, here comes Mr Fenton. How now Mr Fenton? Anne. Pardon good father, good my mother pardon Page. Now Mistris:How chance you went not with Mr Slender? M.Page. Why went you not with Mr Doctor, maid? Fen. You do amaze her: heare the truth of it,You would haue married her most shamefully,Where there was no proportion held in loue:The truth is, she and I (long since contracted)Are now so sure that nothing can dissolue vs:Th' offence is holy, that she hath committed,And this deceit looses the name of craft,Of disobedience, or vnduteous title,Since therein she doth euitate and shunA thousand irreligious cursed houresWhich forced marriage would haue brought vpon her. Ford. Stand not amaz'd, here is no remedie:In Loue, the heauens themselues do guide the state,Money buyes Lands, and wiues are sold by fate. Fal. I am glad, though you haue tane a special standto strike at me, that your Arrow hath glanc'd. Page. Well, what remedy? Fenton, heauen giue theeioy, what cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd. Fal. When night-dogges run, all sorts of Deere arechac'd. Mist.Page. Well, I will muse no further: Mr Fenton, Heauen giue you many, many merry dayes:Good husband, let vs euery one go home,And laugh this sport ore by a Countrie fire,Sir Iohn and all. Ford. Let it be so (Sir Iohn:)To Master Broome, you yet shall hold your word,For he, to night, shall lye with Mistris Ford: Exeunt
FINIS. MEASVRE, For Measure.
Actus primus, Scena prima. Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords. Duke. Escalus. Esc. My Lord. Duk. Of Gouernment, the properties to vnfold,Would seeme in me t' affect speech & discourse,Since I am put to know, that your owne ScienceExceedes (in that) the lists of all aduiceMy strength can giue you: Then no more remainesBut that, to your sufficiency, as your worth is able,And let them worke: The nature of our People,Our Cities Institutions, and the TermesFor Common Iustice, y'are as pregnant inAs Art, and practise, hath inriched anyThat we remember: There is our Commission,From which, we would not haue you warpe; call hither,I say, bid come before vs Angelo: What figure of vs thinke you, he will beare.For you must know, we haue with speciall souleElected him our absence to supply;Lent him our terror, drest him with our loue,And giuen his Deputation all the OrgansOf our owne powre: What thinke you of it? Esc. If any in Vienna be of worthTo vndergoe such ample grace, and honour,It is Lord Angelo. Enter Angelo. Duk. Looke where he comes. Ang. Alwayes obedient to your Graces will,I come to know your pleasure. Duke. Angelo: There is a kinde of Character in thy life,That to th' obseruer, doth thy historyFully vnfold: Thy selfe, and thy belongingsAre not thine owne so proper, as to wasteThy selfe vpon thy vertues; they on thee:Heauen doth with vs, as we, with Torches doe,Not light them for themselues: For if our vertuesDid not goe forth of vs, 'twere all alikeAs if we had them not: Spirits are not finely touch'd,But to fine issues: nor nature neuer lendsThe smallest scruple of her excellence,But like a thrifty goddesse, she determinesHer selfe the glory of a creditour,Both thanks, and vse; but I do bend my speech To one that can my part in him aduertise;Hold therefore Angelo: In our remoue, be thou at full, our selfe:Mortallitie and Mercie in Vienna Liue in thy tongue, and heart: Old Escalus Though first in question, is thy secondary.Take thy Commission. Ang. Now good my LordLet there be some more test, made of my mettle,Before so noble, and so great a figureBe stamp't vpon it. Duk. No more euasion:We haue with a leauen'd, and prepared choiceProceeded to you; therefore take your honors:Our haste from hence is of so quicke condition,That it prefers it selfe, and leaues vnquestion'dMatters of needfull value: We shall write to youAs time, and our concernings shall importune,How it goes with vs, and doe looke to knowWhat doth befall you here. So fare you well:To th' hopefull execution doe I leaue you,Of your Commissions. Ang. Yet giue leaue (my Lord,)That we may bring you something on the way. Duk. My haste may not admit it,Nor neede you (on mine honor) haue to doeWith any scruple: your scope is as mine owne,So to inforce, or qualifie the LawesAs to your soule seemes good: Giue me your hand,Ile priuily away: I loue the people,But doe not like to stage me to their eyes:Though it doe well, I doe not rellish wellTheir lowd applause, and Aues vehement:Nor doe I thinke the man of safe discretionThat do's affect it. Once more fare you well. Ang. The heauens giue safety to your purposes. Esc. Lead forth, and bring you backe in happi-nesse. Exit. Duk. I thanke you, fare you well. Esc. I shall desire you, Sir, to giue me leaueTo haue free speech with you; and it concernes meTo looke into the bottome of my place:A powre I haue, but of what strength and nature,I am not yet instructed. Ang. 'Tis so with me: Let vs with-draw together,And we may soone our satisfaction haueTouching that point. Esc. Ile wait vpon your honor. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Lucio, and two other Gentlemen. Luc. If the Duke, with the other Dukes, come not tocomposition with the King of Hungary, why then all theDukes fall vpon the King. 1.Gent. Heauen grant vs its peace, but not the Kingof Hungaries. 2.Gent. Amen. Luc. Thou conclud'st like the Sanctimonious Pirat,that went to sea with the ten Commandements, butscrap'd one out of the Table. 2.Gent. Thou shalt not Steale? Luc. I, that he raz'd. 1.Gent. Why? 'twas a commandement, to commandthe Captaine and all the rest from their functions: theyput forth to steale: There's not a Souldier of vs all, thatin the thanks-giuing before meate, do rallish the petitionwell, that praies for peace. 2.Gent. I neuer heard any Souldier dislike it. Luc. I beleeue thee: for I thinke thou neuer was'twhere Grace was said. 2.Gent. No? a dozen times at least. 1.Gent. What? In meeter? Luc. In any proportion: or in any language. 1.Gent. I thinke, or in any Religion. Luc. I, why not? Grace, is Grace, despight of all con-trouersie: as for example; Thou thy selfe art a wickedvillaine, despight of all Grace. 1.Gent. Well: there went but a paire of sheeres be-tweene vs. Luc. I grant: as there may betweene the Lists, andthe Veluet. Thou art the List. 1.Gent. And thou the Veluet; thou art good veluet;thou'rt a three pild-peece I warrant thee: I had as liefebe a Lyst of an English Kersey, as be pil'd, as thou artpil'd, for a French Veluet. Do I speake feelingly now? Luc. I thinke thou do'st: and indeed with most pain-full feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine owne con-fession, learne to begin thy health; but, whilst I liue for-get to drinke after thee. 1.Gen. I think I haue done my selfe wrong, haue I not? 2.Gent. Yes, that thou hast; whether thou art tainted,or free. Enter Bawde. Luc. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation comes.I haue purchas'd as many diseases vnder her Roofe,As come to 2.Gent. To what, I pray? Luc. Iudge. 2.Gent. To three thousand Dollours a yeare. 1.Gent. I, and more. Luc. A French crowne more. 1.Gent. Thou art alwayes figuring diseases in me; butthou art full of error, I am sound. Luc. Nay, not (as one would say) healthy: but sosound, as things that are hollow; thy bones are hollow;Impiety has made a feast of thee. 1.Gent. How now, which of your hips has the mostprofound Ciatica? Bawd. Well, well: there's one yonder arrested, andcarried to prison, was worth fiue thousand of you all. 2.Gent. Who's that I pray'thee? Bawd. Marry Sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. 1.Gent. Claudio to prison? 'tis not so. Bawd. Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested:saw him carried away: and which is more, within thesethree daies his head to be chop'd off. Luc. But, after all this fooling, I would not haue it so:Art thou sure of this? Bawd. I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam Iulietta with childe. Luc. Beleeue me this may be: he promis'd to meeteme two howres since, and he was euer precise in promisekeeping. 2.Gent. Besides you know, it drawes somthing neereto the speech we had to such a purpose. 1.Gent. But most of all agreeing with the proclamatio[n]. Luc. Away: let's goe learne the truth of it. Exit. Bawd. Thus, what with the war; what with the sweat,what with the gallowes, and what with pouerty, I amCustom-shrunke. How now? what's the newes withyou. Enter Clowne. Clo. Yonder man is carried to prison. Baw. Well: what has he done? Clo. A Woman. Baw. But what's his offence? Clo. Groping for Trowts, in a peculiar Riuer. Baw. What? is there a maid with child by him? Clo. No: but there's a woman with maid by him:you haue not heard of the proclamation, haue you? Baw. What proclamation, man? Clow. All howses in the Suburbs of Vienna must beepluck'd downe. Bawd. And what shall become of those in the Citie? Clow. They shall stand for seed: they had gon down to, but that a wise Burger put in for them. Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort in the Sub-urbs be puld downe? Clow. To the ground, Mistris. Bawd. Why heere's a change indeed in the Common-wealth: what shall become of me? Clow. Come: feare not you; good Counsellors lackeno Clients: though you change your place, you needenot change your Trade: Ile bee your Tapster still; cou-rage, there will bee pitty taken on you; you that haueworne your eyes almost out in the seruice, you will beeconsidered. Bawd. What's to doe heere, Thomas Tapster? let'swithdraw? Clo. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the Prouostto prison: and there's Madam Iuliet. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Prouost, Claudio, Iuliet, Officers, Lucio, & 2.Gent. Cla. Fellow, why do'st thou show me thus to th' world?Beare me to prison, where I am committed. Pro. I do it not in euill disposition,But from Lord Angelo by speciall charge. Clau. Thus can the demy-god (Authority)Make vs pay downe, for our offence, by waightThe words of heauen; on whom it will, it will,On whom it will not (soe) yet still 'tis iust. Luc. Why how now Claudio? whence comes this restraint. Cla. From too much liberty, (my Lucio) LibertyAs surfet is the father of much fast,So euery Scope by the immoderate vseTurnes to restraint: Our Natures doe pursue Like Rats that rauyn downe their proper Bane,A thirsty euill, and when we drinke, we die. Luc. If I could speake so wisely vnder an arrest, Iwould send for certaine of my Creditors: and yet, to saythe truth, I had as lief haue the foppery of freedome, asthe mortality of imprisonment: what's thy offence, Claudio? Cla. What (but to speake of) would offend againe. Luc. What, is't murder? Cla. No. Luc. Lecherie? Cla. Call it so. Pro. Away, Sir, you must goe. Cla. One word, good friend: Lucio, a word with you. Luc. A hundred:If they'll doe you any good: Is Lechery so look'd after? Cla. Thus stands it with me: vpon a true contractI got possession of Iulietas bed,You know the Lady, she is fast my wife,Saue that we doe the denunciation lackeOf outward Order. This we came not to,Onely for propogation of a DowreRemaining in the Coffer of her friends,From whom we thought it meet to hide our LoueTill Time had made them for vs. But it chancesThe stealth of our most mutuall entertainmentWith Character too grosse, is writ on Iuliet. Luc. With childe, perhaps? Cla. Vnhappely, euen so.And the new Deputie, now for the Duke,Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newnes,Or whether that the body publique, beA horse whereon the Gouernor doth ride,Who newly in the Seate, that it may knowHe can command; lets it strait feele the spur:Whether the Tirranny be in his place,Or in his Eminence that fills it vpI stagger in: But this new GouernorAwakes me all the inrolled penaltiesWhich haue (like vn-scowr'd Armor) hung by th' wallSo long, that ninteene Zodiacks haue gone round,And none of them beene worne; and for a nameNow puts the drowsie and neglected ActFreshly on me: 'tis surely for a name. Luc. I warrant it is: And thy head stands so tickle onthy shoulders, that a milke-maid, if she be in loue, maysigh it off: Send after the Duke, and appeale to him. Cla. I haue done so, but hee's not to be found.I pre'thee (Lucio) doe me this kinde seruice:This day, my sister should the Cloyster enter,And there receiue her approbation.Acquaint her with the danger of my state,Implore her, in my voice, that she make friendsTo the strict deputie: bid her selfe assay him,I haue great hope in that: for in her youthThere is a prone and speechlesse dialect,Such as moue men: beside, she hath prosperous Art When she will play with reason, and discourse,And well she can perswade. Luc. I pray shee may; aswell for the encouragementof the like, which else would stand vnder greeuous im-position: as for the enioying of thy life, who I would besorry should bee thus foolishly lost, at a game of ticke-tacke: Ile to her. Cla. I thanke you good friend Lucio. Luc. Within two houres. Cla. Come Officer, away. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Duke and Frier Thomas. Duk. No: holy Father, throw away that thought,Beleeue not that the dribling dart of LoueCan pierce a compleat bosome: why, I desire theeTo giue me secret harbour, hath a purposeMore graue, and wrinkled, then the aimes, and endsOf burning youth. Fri. May your Grace speake of it? Duk. My holy Sir, none better knowes then youHow I haue euer lou'd the life remouedAnd held in idle price, to haunt assembliesWhere youth, and cost, witlesse brauery keepes.I haue deliuerd to Lord Angelo (A man of stricture and firme abstinence)My absolute power, and place here in Vienna, And he supposes me trauaild to Poland, (For so I haue strewd it in the common eare)And so it is receiu'd: Now (pious Sir)You will demand of me, why I do this. Fri. Gladly, my Lord. Duk. We haue strict Statutes, and most biting Laws,(The needfull bits and curbes to headstrong weedes,)Which for this foureteene yeares, we haue let slip,Euen like an ore-growne Lyon in a CaueThat goes not out to prey: Now, as fond Fathers,Hauing bound vp the threatning twigs of birch,Onely to sticke it in their childrens sight,For terror, not to vse: in time the rodMore mock'd, then fear'd: so our Decrees,Dead to infliction, to themselues are dead,And libertie, plucks Iustice by the nose;The Baby beates the Nurse, and quite athwartGoes all decorum. Fri. It rested in your GraceTo vnloose this tyde-vp Iustice, when you pleas'd:And it in you more dreadfull would haue seem'dThen in Lord Angelo. Duk. I doe feare: too dreadfull:Sith 'twas my fault, to giue the people scope,'Twould be my tirrany to strike and gall them,For what I bid them doe: For, we bid this be doneWhen euill deedes haue their permissiue passe,And not the punishment: therefore indeede (my father)I haue on Angelo impos'd the office,Who may in th' ambush of my name, strike home,And yet, my nature neuer in the sightTo do in slander: And to behold his swayI will, as 'twere a brother of your Order,Visit both Prince, and People: Therefore I pre'theeSupply me with the habit, and instruct meHow I may formally in person beareLike a true Frier: Moe reasons for this actionAt our more leysure, shall I render you;Onely, this one: Lord Angelo is precise,Stands at a guard with Enuie: scarce confessesThat his blood flowes: or that his appetiteIs more to bread then stone: hence shall we seeIf power change purpose: what our Seemers be. Exit.
Scena Quinta. Enter Isabell and Francisca a Nun. Isa. And haue you Nuns no farther priuiledges? Nun. Are not these large enough? Isa. Yes truely; I speake not as desiring more,But rather wishing a more strict restraintVpon the Sisterhood, the Votarists of Saint Clare. Lucio within. Luc. Hoa? peace be in this place. Isa. Who's that which cals? Nun. It is a mans voice: gentle Isabella Turne you the key, and know his businesse of him;You may; I may not: you are yet vnsworne:When you haue vowd, you must not speake with men,But in the presence of the Prioresse; Then if you speake, you must not show your face;Or if you show your face, you must not speake.He cals againe: I pray you answere him. Isa. Peace and prosperitie: who is't that cals? Luc. Haile Virgin, (if you be) as those cheeke-RosesProclaime you are no lesse: can you so steed me,As bring me to the sight of Isabella, A Nouice of this place, and the faire SisterTo her vnhappie brother Claudio? Isa. Why her vnhappy Brother? Let me aske,The rather for I now must make you knowI am that Isabella, and his Sister. Luc. Gentle & faire: your Brother kindly greets you;Not to be weary with you; he's in prison. Isa. Woe me; for what? Luc. For that, which if my selfe might be his Iudge,He should receiue his punishment, in thankes:He hath got his friend with childe. Isa. Sir, make me not your storie. Luc. 'Tis true; I would not, though 'tis my familiar sin,With Maids to seeme the Lapwing, and to iestTongue, far from heart: play with all Virgins so:I hold you as a thing en-skied, and sainted,By your renouncement, an imortall spiritAnd to be talk'd with in sincerity,As with a Saint. Isa. You doe blaspheme the good, in mocking me. Luc. Doe not beleeue it: fewnes, and truth; tis thus,Your brother, and his louer haue embrac'd;As those that feed, grow full: as blossoming TimeThat from the seednes, the bare fallow bringsTo teeming foyson: euen so her plenteous wombeExpresseth his full Tilth, and husbandry. Isa. Some one with childe by him? my cosen Iuliet? Luc. Is she your cosen? Isa. Adoptedly, as schoole-maids change their namesBy vaine, though apt affection. Luc. She it is. Isa. Oh, let him marry her. Luc. This is the point.The Duke is very strangely gone from hence;Bore many gentlemen (my selfe being one)In hand, and hope of action: but we doe learne,By those that know the very Nerues of State,His giuing-out, were of an infinite distanceFrom his true meant designe: vpon his place,(And with full line of his authority)Gouernes Lord Angelo; A man, whose bloodIs very snow-broth: one, who neuer feelesThe wanton stings, and motions of the sence;But doth rebate, and blunt his naturall edgeWith profits of the minde: Studie, and fastHe (to giue feare to vse, and libertie,Which haue, for long, run-by the hideous law,As Myce, by Lyons) hath pickt out an act,Vnder whose heauy sence, your brothers lifeFals into forfeit: he arrests him on it,And followes close the rigor of the StatuteTo make him an example: all hope is gone,Vnlesse you haue the grace, by your faire praierTo soften Angelo: And that's my pith of businesse'Twixt you, and your poore brother. Isa. Doth he so,Seeke his life? Luc. Has censur'd him already,And as I heare, the Prouost hath a warrantFor's execution. Isa. Alas: what pooreAbilitie's in me, to doe him good. Luc. Assay the powre you haue. Isa. My power? alas, I doubt. Luc. Our doubts are traitorsAnd makes vs loose the good we oft might win,By fearing to attempt: Goe to Lord Angelo And let him learne to know, when Maidens sueMen giue like gods: but when they weepe and kneele,All their petitions, are as freely theirsAs they themselues would owe them. Isa. Ile see what I can doe. Luc. But speedily. Isa. I will about it strait;No longer staying, but to giue the MotherNotice of my affaire: I humbly thanke you:Commend me to my brother: soone at nightIle send him certaine word of my successe. Luc. I take my leaue of you. Isa. Good sir, adieu. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima. Enter Angelo, Escalus, and seruants, Iustice. Ang. We must not make a scar-crow of the Law,Setting it vp to feare the Birds of prey,And let it keepe one shape, till custome make itTheir pearch, and not their terror. Esc. I, but yetLet vs be keene, and rather cut a littleThen fall, and bruise to death: alas, this gentlemanWhom I would saue, had a most noble father,Let but your honour know(Whom I beleeue to be most strait in vertue)That in the working of your owne affections,Had time coheard with Place, or place with wishing,Or that the resolute acting of our bloodCould haue attaind th' effect of your owne purpose,Whether you had not sometime in your lifeEr'd in this point, which now you censure him,And puld the Law vpon you. Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted (Escalus) Another thing to fall: I not denyThe Iury passing on the Prisoners lifeMay in the sworne-twelue haue a thiefe, or twoGuiltier then him they try; what's open made to Iustice,That Iustice ceizes; What knowes the LawesThat theeues do passe on theeues? 'Tis very pregnant,The Iewell that we finde, we stoope, and take't,Because we see it; but what we doe not see,We tread vpon, and neuer thinke of it.You may not so extenuate his offence,For I haue had such faults; but rather tell meWhen I, that censure him, do so offend,Let mine owne Iudgement patterne out my death,And nothing come in partiall. Sir, he must dye. Enter Prouost. Esc. Be it as your wisedome will. Ang. Where is the Prouost? Pro. Here if it like your honour. Ang. See that Claudio Be executed by nine to morrow morning,Bring him his Confessor, let him be prepar'd,For that's the vtmost of his pilgrimage. Esc. Well: heauen forgiue him; and forgiue vs all: Some rise by sinne, and some by vertue fall: Some run from brakes of Ice, and answere none,And some condemned for a fault alone. Enter Elbow, Froth, Clowne, Officers. Elb. Come, bring them away: if these be good peo-ple in a Common-weale, that doe nothing but vse theirabuses in common houses, I know no law: bring themaway. Ang. How now Sir, what's your name? And what'sthe matter? Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poore DukesConstable, and my name is Elbow; I doe leane vpon Iu-stice Sir, and doe bring in here before your good honor,two notorious Benefactors. Ang. Benefactors? Well: What Benefactors are they?Are they not Malefactors? Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well whatthey are: But precise villaines they are, that I am sure of,and void of all prophanation in the world, that goodChristians ought to haue. Esc. This comes off well: here's a wise Officer. Ang. Goe to: What quality are they of? Elbow isyour name?Why do'st thou not speake Elbow? Clo. He cannot Sir: he's out at Elbow. Ang. What are you Sir? Elb. He Sir: a Tapster Sir: parcell Baud: one thatserues a bad woman: whose house Sir was (as they say)pluckt downe in the Suborbs: and now shee professes ahot-house; which, I thinke is a very ill house too. Esc. How know you that? Elb. My wife Sir? whom I detest before heauen, andyour honour. Esc. How? thy wife? Elb. I Sir: whom I thanke heauen is an honest wo-man. Esc. Do'st thou detest her therefore? Elb. I say sir, I will detest my selfe also, as well as she,that this house, if it be not a Bauds house, it is pitty of herlife, for it is a naughty house. Esc. How do'st thou know that, Constable? Elb. Marry sir, by my wife, who, if she had bin a wo-man Cardinally giuen, might haue bin accus'd in forni-cation, adultery, and all vncleanlinesse there. Esc. By the womans meanes? Elb. I sir, by Mistris Ouer-dons meanes: but as she spitin his face, so she defide him. Clo. Sir, if it please your honor, this is not so. Elb. Proue it before these varlets here, thou honora-ble man, proue it. Esc. Doe you heare how he misplaces? Clo. Sir, she came in great with childe: and longing(sauing your honors reuerence) for stewd prewyns; sir,we had but two in the house, which at that very distanttime stood, as it were in a fruit dish (a dish of some threepence; your honours haue seene such dishes) they are notChina-dishes, but very good dishes. Esc. Go too: go too: no matter for the dish sir. Clo. No indeede sir not of a pin; you are therein inthe right: but, to the point: As I say, this Mistris Elbow, being (as I say) with childe, and being great bellied, andlonging (as I said) for prewyns: and hauing but two inthe dish (as I said) Master Froth here, this very man, ha-uing eaten the rest (as I said) & (as I say) paying for themvery honestly: for, as you know Master Froth, I could notgiue you three pence againe. Fro. No indeede. Clo. Very well: you being then (if you be remem-bred) cracking the stones of the foresaid prewyns. Fro. I, so I did indeede. Clo. Why, very well: I telling you then (if you beremembred) that such a one, and such a one, were pastcure of the thing you wot of, vnlesse they kept very gooddiet, as I told you. Fro. All this is true. Clo. Why very well then. Esc. Come: you are a tedious foole: to the purpose:what was done to Elbowes wife, that hee hath cause tocomplaine of? Come me to what was done to her. Clo. Sir, your honor cannot come to that yet. Esc. No sir, nor I meane it not. Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honoursleaue: And I beseech you, looke into Master Froth heresir, a man of foure-score pound a yeare; whose fatherdied at Hallowmas: Was't not at Hallowmas Master Froth? Fro. Allhallond-Eue. Clo. Why very well: I hope here be truthes: he Sir,sitting (as I say) in a lower chaire, Sir, 'twas in the bunchof Grapes, where indeede you haue a delight to sit, haueyou not? Fro. I haue so, because it is an open roome, and goodfor winter. Clo. Why very well then: I hope here be truthes. Ang. This will last out a night in Russia When nights are longest there: Ile take my leaue,And leaue you to the hearing of the cause;Hoping youle finde good cause to whip them all. Exit. Esc. I thinke no lesse: good morrow to your Lord-ship. Now Sir, come on: What was done to Elbowes wife, once more? Clo. Once Sir? there was nothing done to her once. Elb. I beseech you Sir, aske him what this man did tomy wife. Clo. I beseech your honor, aske me. Esc. Well sir, what did this Gentleman to her? Clo. I beseech you sir, looke in this Gentlemans face:good Master Froth looke vpon his honor; 'tis for a goodpurpose: doth your honor marke his face? Esc. I sir, very well. Clo. Nay, I beseech you marke it well. Esc. Well, I doe so. Clo. Doth your honor see any harme in his face? Esc. Why no. Clo. Ile be supposd vpon a booke, his face is the worstthing about him: good then: if his face be the worstthing about him, how could Master Froth doe the Con-stables wife any harme? I would know that of yourhonour. Esc. He's in the right (Constable) what say you to it? Elb. First, and it like you, the house is a respectedhouse; next, this is a respected fellow; and his Mistris isa respected woman. Clo. By this hand Sir, his wife is a more respected per-son then any of vs all. Elb. Varlet, thou lyest; thou lyest wicked varlet: thetime is yet to come that shee was euer respected withman, woman, or childe. Clo. Sir, she was respected with him, before he mar-ried with her. Esc. Which is the wiser here; Iustice or Iniquitie? Isthis true? Elb. O thou caytiffe: O thou varlet: O thou wick-ed Hanniball; I respected with her, before I was marriedto her? If euer I was respected with her, or she with me,let not your worship thinke mee the poore Dukes Offi-cer: proue this, thou wicked Hanniball, or ile hauemine action of battry on thee. Esc. If he tooke you a box o'th' eare, you might haueyour action of slander too. Elb. Marry I thanke your good worship for it: whatis't your Worships pleasure I shall doe with this wick-ed Caitiffe? Esc. Truly Officer, because he hath some offences inhim, that thou wouldst discouer, if thou couldst, let himcontinue in his courses, till thou knowst what they are. Elb. Marry I thanke your worship for it: Thou seestthou wicked varlet now, what's come vpon thee. Thouart to continue now thou Varlet, thou art to continue. Esc. Where were you borne, friend? Froth. Here in Vienna, Sir. Esc. Are you of fourescore pounds a yeere? Froth. Yes, and't please you sir. Esc. So: what trade are you of, sir? Clo. A Tapster, a poore widdowes Tapster. Esc. Your Mistris name? Clo. Mistris Ouer-don. Esc. Hath she had any more then one husband? Clo. Nine, sir: Ouer-don by the last. Esc. Nine? come hether to me, Master Froth; Master Froth, I would not haue you acquainted with Tapsters;they will draw you Master Froth, and you wil hang them:get you gon, and let me heare no more of you. Fro. I thanke your worship: for mine owne part, Ineuer come into any roome in a Tap-house, but I amdrawne in. Esc. Well: no more of it Master Froth: farewell:Come you hether to me, Mr. Tapster: what's your nameMr. Tapster? Clo. Pompey. Esc. What else? Clo. Bum, Sir. Esc. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing aboutyou, so that in the beastliest sence, you are Pompey thegreat; Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey; howso-euer you colour it in being a Tapster, are you not? come,tell me true, it shall be the better for you. Clo. Truly sir, I am a poore fellow that would liue. Esc. How would you liue Pompey? by being a bawd?what doe you thinke of the trade Pompey? is it a lawfulltrade? Clo. If the Law would allow it, sir. Esc. But the Law will not allow it Pompey; nor itshall not be allowed in Vienna. Clo. Do's your Worship meane to geld and splay allthe youth of the City? Esc. No, Pompey. Clo. Truely Sir, in my poore opinion they will too'tthen: if your worship will take order for the drabs andthe knaues, you need not to feare the bawds. Esc. There is pretty orders beginning I can tell you:It is but heading, and hanging. Clo. If you head, and hang all that offend that waybut for ten yeare together; you'll be glad to giue out aCommission for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten yeare, ile rent the fairest house in it after three pencea Bay: if you liue to see this come to passe, say Pompey told you so. Esc. Thanke you good Pompey; and in requitall ofyour prophesie, harke you: I aduise you let me not findeyou before me againe vpon any complaint whatsoeuer;no, not for dwelling where you doe: if I doe Pompey, Ishall beat you to your Tent, and proue a shrewd Caesar to you: in plaine dealing Pompey, I shall haue you whipt;so for this time, Pompey, fare you well. Clo. I thanke your Worship for your good counsell;but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall betterdetermine. Whip me? no, no, let Carman whip his Iade,The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. Exit. Esc. Come hether to me, Master Elbow: come hitherMaster Constable: how long haue you bin in this placeof Constable? Elb. Seuen yeere, and a halfe sir. Esc. I thought by the readinesse in the office, you hadcontinued in it some time: you say seauen yeares toge-ther. Elb. And a halfe sir. Esc. Alas, it hath beene great paines to you: they doyou wrong to put you so oft vpon't. Are there not menin your Ward sufficient to serue it? Elb. 'Faith sir, few of any wit in such matters: as theyare chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do itfor some peece of money, and goe through with all. Esc. Looke you bring mee in the names of some sixeor seuen, the most sufficient of your parish. Elb. To your Worships house sir? Esc. To my house: fare you well: what's a clocke,thinke you? Iust. Eleuen, Sir. Esc. I pray you home to dinner with me. Iust. I humbly thanke you. Esc. It grieues me for the death of Claudio But there's no remedie: Iust. Lord Angelo is seuere. Esc. It is but needfull.Mercy is not it selfe, that oft lookes so,Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:But yet, poore Claudio; there is no remedie.Come Sir. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Prouost, Seruant. Ser. Hee's hearing of a Cause; he will come straight,I'le tell him of you. Pro. 'Pray you doe; Ile knowHis pleasure, may be he will relent; alasHe hath but as offended in a dreame,All Sects, all Ages smack of this vice, and heTo die for't? Enter Angelo. Ang. Now, what's the matter Prouost? Pro. Is it your will Claudio shall die to morrow? Ang. Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order?Why do'st thou aske againe? Pro. Lest I might be too rash:Vnder your good correction I haue seeneWhen after execution, Iudgement hathRepented ore his doome. Ang. Goe to; let that be mine,Doe you your office, or giue vp your Place,And you shall well be spar'd. Pro. I craue your Honours pardon:What shall be done Sir, with the groaning Iuliet?Shee's very neere her howre. Ang. Dispose of herTo some more fitter place; and that with speed. Ser. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd,Desires accesse to you. Ang. Hath he a Sister? Pro. I my good Lord, a very vertuous maid,And to be shortlie of a Sister-hood,If not alreadie. Ang. Well: let her be admitted,See you the Fornicatresse be remou'd,Let her haue needfull, but not lauish meanes,There shall be order for't. Enter Lucio and Isabella. Pro. 'Saue your Honour. Ang. Stay a little while: y'are welcome: what's your will? Isab. I am a wofull Sutor to your Honour,'Please but your Honor heare me. Ang. Well: what's your suite. Isab. There is a vice that most I doe abhorre,And most desire should meet the blow of Iustice;For which I would not plead, but that I must,For which I must not plead, but that I amAt warre, twixt will, and will not. Ang. Well: the matter? Isab. I haue a brother is condemn'd to die,I doe beseech you let it be his fault,And not my brother. Pro. Heauen giue thee mouing graces. Ang. Condemne the fault, and not the actor of it,Why euery fault's condemnd ere it be done:Mine were the verie Cipher of a FunctionTo fine the faults, whose fine stands in record,And let goe by the Actor. Isab. Oh iust, but seuere Law:I had a brother then; heauen keepe your honour. Luc. Giue't not ore so: to him againe, entreat him,Kneele downe before him, hang vpon his gowne,You are too cold: if you should need a pin,You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:To him, I say. Isab. Must he needs die? Ang. Maiden, no remedie. Isab. Yes: I doe thinke that you might pardon him,And neither heauen, nor man grieue at the mercy. Ang. I will not doe't. Isab. But can you if you would? Ang. Looke what I will not, that I cannot doe. Isab. But might you doe't & do the world no wrongIf so your heart were touch'd with that remorse,As mine is to him? Ang. Hee's sentenc'd, tis too late. Luc. You are too cold. Isab. Too late? why no: I that doe speak a wordMay call it againe: well, beleeue thisNo ceremony that to great ones longs,Not the Kings Crowne; nor the deputed sword,The Marshalls Truncheon, nor the Iudges RobeBecome them with one halfe so good a graceAs mercie does: If he had bin as you, and you as he,You would haue slipt like him, but he like youWould not haue beene so sterne. Ang. Pray you be gone. Isab. I would to heauen I had your potencie,And you were Isabell: should it then be thus?No: I would tell what 'twere to be a Iudge,And what a prisoner. Luc. I, touch him: there's the veine. Ang. Your Brother is a forfeit of the Law,And you but waste your words. Isab. Alas, alas:Why all the soules that were, were forfeit once,And he that might the vantage best haue tooke,Found out the remedie: how would you be,If he, which is the top of Iudgement, shouldBut iudge you, as you are? Oh, thinke on that,And mercie then will breathe within your lipsLike man new made. Ang. Be you content, (faire Maid)It is the Law, not I, condemne your brother,Were he my kinsman, brother, or my sonne,It should be thus with him: he must die to morrow. Isab. To morrow? oh, that's sodaine,Spare him, spare him:Hee's not prepar'd for death; euen for our kitchinsWe kill the fowle of season: shall we serue heauenWith lesse respect then we doe ministerTo our grosse-selues? good, good my Lord, bethink you;Who is it that hath di'd for this offence?There's many haue committed it. Luc. I, well said. Ang. The Law hath not bin dead, thogh it hath sleptThose many had not dar'd to doe that euillIf the first, that did th' Edict infringeHad answer'd for his deed. Now 'tis awake,Takes note of what is done, and like a ProphetLookes in a glasse that shewes what future euilsEither now, or by remissenesse, new conceiu'd,And so in progresse to be hatch'd, and borne,Are now to haue no successiue degrees,But here they liue to end. Isab. Yet shew some pittie. Ang. I shew it most of all, when I show Iustice;For then I pittie those I doe not know,Which a dismis'd offence, would after gaule And doe him right, that answering one foule wrongLiues not to act another. Be satisfied;Your Brother dies to morrow; be content. Isab. So you must be the first that giues this sentence,And hee, that suffers: Oh, it is excellentTo haue a Giants strength: but it is tyrannousTo vse it like a Giant. Luc. That's well said. Isab. Could great men thunderAs Ioue himselfe do's, Ioue would neuer be quiet,For euery pelting petty OfficerWould vse his heauen for thunder;Nothing but thunder: Mercifull heauen,Thou rather with thy sharpe and sulpherous boltSplits the vn-wedgable and gnarled Oke,Then the soft Mertill: But man, proud man,Drest in a little briefe authoritie,Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,(His glassie Essence) like an angry ApePlaies such phantastique tricks before high heauen,As makes the Angels weepe: who with our spleenes,Would all themselues laugh mortall. Luc. Oh, to him, to him wench: he will relent,Hee's comming: I perceiue't. Pro. Pray heauen she win him. Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with our selfe,Great men may iest with Saints: tis wit in them,But in the lesse fowle prophanation. Luc. Thou'rt i'th right (Girle) more o'that. Isab. That in the Captaine's but a chollericke word,Which in the Souldier is flat blasphemie. Luc. Art auis'd o'that? more on't. Ang. Why doe you put these sayings vpon me? Isab. Because Authoritie, though it erre like others,Hath yet a kinde of medicine in it selfeThat skins the vice o'th top; goe to your bosome,Knock there, and aske your heart what it doth knowThat's like my brothers fault: if it confesseA naturall guiltinesse, such as is his,Let it not sound a thought vpon your tongueAgainst my brothers life. Ang. Shee speakes, and 'tis such senceThat my Sence breeds with it; fare you well. Isab. Gentle my Lord, turne backe. Ang. I will bethinke me: come againe to morrow. Isa. Hark, how Ile bribe you: good my Lord turn back. Ang. How? bribe me? Is. I, with such gifts that heauen shall share with you. Luc. You had mar'd all else. Isab. Not with fond Sickles of the tested-gold,Or Stones, whose rate are either rich, or pooreAs fancie values them: but with true prayers,That shall be vp at heauen, and enter thereEre Sunne rise: prayers from preserued soules,From fasting Maides, whose mindes are dedicateTo nothing temporall. Ang. Well: come to me to morrow. Luc. Goe to: 'tis well; away. Isab. Heauen keepe your honour safe. Ang. Amen.For I am that way going to temptation,Where prayers crosse. Isab. At what hower to morrow,Shall I attend your Lordship? Ang. At any time 'fore-noone. Isab. 'Saue your Honour. Ang. From thee: euen from thy vertue.What's this? what's this? is this her fault, or mine?The Tempter, or the Tempted, who sins most? ha?Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I,That, lying by the Violet in the Sunne,Doe as the Carrion do's, not as the flowre,Corrupt with vertuous season: Can it be,That Modesty may more betray our SenceThen womans lightnesse? hauing waste ground enough,Shall we desire to raze the SanctuaryAnd pitch our euils there? oh fie, fie, fie:What dost thou? or what art thou Angelo?Dost thou desire her fowly, for those thingsThat make her good? oh, let her brother liue:Theeues for their robbery haue authority,When Iudges steale themselues: what, doe I loue her,That I desire to heare her speake againe?And feast vpon her eyes? what is't I dreame on?Oh cunning enemy, that to catch a Saint,With Saints dost bait thy hooke: most dangerousIs that temptation, that doth goad vs onTo sinne, in louing vertue: neuer could the StrumpetWith all her double vigor, Art, and NatureOnce stir my temper: but this vertuous MaidSubdues me quite: Euer till nowWhen men were fond, I smild, and wondred how. Exit.
Scena Tertia. Enter Duke and Prouost. Duke. Haile to you, Prouost, so I thinke you are. Pro. I am the Prouost: whats your will, good Frier? Duke. Bound by my charity, and my blest order,I come to visite the afflicted spiritsHere in the prison: doe me the common rightTo let me see them: and to make me knowThe nature of their crimes, that I may ministerTo them accordingly. Pro. I would do more then that, if more were needfull Enter Iuliet. Looke here comes one: a Gentlewoman of mine,Who falling in the flawes of her owne youth,Hath blisterd her report: She is with childe,And he that got it, sentenc'd: a yong man,More fit to doe another such offence,Then dye for this. Duk. When must he dye? Pro. As I do thinke to morrow.I haue prouided for you, stay a whileAnd you shall be conducted. Duk. Repent you (faire one) of the sin you carry? Iul. I doe; and beare the shame most patiently. Du. Ile teach you how you shal araign your conscie[n]ceAnd try your penitence, if it be sound,Or hollowly put on. Iul. Ile gladly learne. Duk. Loue you the man that wrong'd you? Iul. Yes, as I loue the woman that wrong'd him. Duk. So then it seemes your most offence full actWas mutually committed. Iul. Mutually. Duk. Then was your sin of heauier kinde then his. Iul. I doe confesse it, and repent it (Father.) Duk. 'Tis meet so (daughter) but least you do repentAs that the sin hath brought you to this shame,Which sorrow is alwaies toward our selues, not heauen,Showing we would not spare heauen, as we loue it,But as we stand in feare. Iul. I doe repent me, as it is an euill,And take the shame with ioy. Duke. There rest:Your partner (as I heare) must die to morrow,And I am going with instruction to him:Grace goe with you, Benedicite. Exit. Iul. Must die to morrow? oh iniurious LoueThat respits me a life, whose very comfortIs still a dying horror. Pro. 'Tis pitty of him. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Angelo. An. When I would pray, & think, I thinke, and prayTo seuerall subiects: heauen hath my empty words,Whilst my Inuention, hearing not my Tongue,Anchors on Isabell: heauen in my mouth,As if I did but onely chew his name,And in my heart the strong and swelling euillOf my conception: the state whereon I studiedIs like a good thing, being often readGrowne feard, and tedious: yea, my GrauitieWherein (let no man heare me) I take pride,Could I, with boote, change for an idle plumeWhich the ayre beats for vaine: oh place, oh forme,How often dost thou with thy case, thy habitWrench awe from fooles, and tye the wiser soulesTo thy false seeming? Blood, thou art blood,Let's write good Angell on the Deuills horne'Tis not the Deuills Crest: how now? who's there? Enter Seruant. Ser. One Isabell, a Sister, desires accesse to you. Ang. Teach her the way: oh, heauensWhy doe's my bloud thus muster to my heart,Making both it vnable for it selfe,And dispossessing all my other partsOf necessary fitnesse?So play the foolish throngs with one that swounds,Come all to help him, and so stop the ayreBy which hee should reuiue: and euen soThe generall subiect to a wel-wisht KingQuit their owne part, and in obsequious fondnesseCrowd to his presence, where their vn-taught loueMust needs appear offence: how now faire Maid. Enter Isabella. Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. An. That you might know it, wold much better please me,Then to demand what 'tis: your Brother cannot liue. Isab. Euen so: heauen keepe your Honor. Ang. Yet may he liue a while: and it may beAs long as you, or I: yet he must die. Isab. Vnder your Sentence? Ang. Yea. Isab. When, I beseech you: that in his Reprieue(Longer, or shorter) he may be so fittedThat his soule sicken not. Ang. Ha? fie, these filthy vices: It were as good To pardon him, that hath from nature stolneA man already made, as to remitTheir sawcie sweetnes, that do coyne heauens ImageIn stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easie,Falsely to take away a life true made,As to put mettle in restrained meanesTo make a false one. Isab. 'Tis set downe so in heauen, but not in earth. Ang. Say you so: then I shall poze you quickly.Which had you rather, that the most iust LawNow tooke your brothers life, and to redeeme himGiue vp your body to such sweet vncleannesseAs she that he hath staind? Isab. Sir, beleeue this.I had rather giue my body, then my soule. Ang. I talke not of your soule: our compel'd sinsStand more for number, then for accompt. Isab. How say you? Ang. Nay Ile not warrant that: for I can speakeAgainst the thing I say: Answere to this,I (now the voyce of the recorded Law)Pronounce a sentence on your Brothers life,Might there not be a charitie in sinne,To saue this Brothers life? Isab. Please you to doo't,Ile take it as a perill to my soule,It is no sinne at all, but charitie. Ang. Pleas'd you to doo't, at perill of your souleWere equall poize of sinne, and charitie. Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sinneHeauen let me beare it: you granting of my suit,If that be sin, Ile make it my Morne-praier,To haue it added to the faults of mine,And nothing of your answere. Ang. Nay, but heare me,Your sence pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,Or seeme so crafty; and that's not good. Isab. Let be ignorant, and in nothing good,But graciously to know I am no better. Ang. Thus wisdome wishes to appeare most bright,When it doth taxe it selfe: As these blacke MasquesProclaime an en-shield beauty ten times louderThen beauty could displaied: But marke me,To be receiued plaine, Ile speake more grosse:Your Brother is to dye. Isab. So. Ang. And his offence is so, as it appeares,Accountant to the Law, vpon that paine. Isab. True. Ang. Admit no other way to saue his life(As I subscribe not that, nor any other,But in the losse of question) that you, his Sister,Finding your selfe desir'd of such a person,Whose creadit with the Iudge, or owne great place,Could fetch your Brother from the ManaclesOf the all-building-Law: and that there wereNo earthly meane to saue him, but that eitherYou must lay downe the treasures of your body,To this supposed, or else to let him suffer:What would you doe? Isab. As much for my poore Brother, as my selfe;That is: were I vnder the tearmes of death,Th' impression of keene whips, I'ld weare as Rubies,And strip my selfe to death, as to a bed,That longing haue bin sicke for, ere I'ld yeeldMy body vp to shame. Ang. Then must your brother die. Isa. And 'twer the cheaper way:Better it were a brother dide at once,Then that a sister, by redeeming himShould die for euer. Ang. Were not you then as cruell as the Sentence,That you haue slander'd so? Isa. Ignomie in ransome, and free pardonAre of two houses: lawfull mercie,Is nothing kin to fowle redemption. Ang. You seem'd of late to make the Law a tirant,And rather prou'd the sliding of your brotherA merriment, then a vice. Isa. Oh pardon me my Lord, it oft fals outTo haue, what we would haue,We speake not what we meane;I something do excuse the thing I hate,For his aduantage that I dearely loue. Ang. We are all fraile. Isa. Else let my brother die,If not a fedarie but onely heOwe, and succeed thy weaknesse. Ang. Nay, women are fraile too. Isa. I, as the glasses where they view themselues,Which are as easie broke as they make formes:Women? Helpe heauen; men their creation marreIn profiting by them: Nay, call vs ten times fraile,For we are soft, as our complexions are,And credulous to false prints. Ang. I thinke it well:And from this testimonie of your owne sex(Since I suppose we are made to be no strongerThen faults may shake our frames) let me be bold;I do arrest your words. Be that you are,That is a woman; if you be more, you'r none.If you be one (as you are well exprestBy all externall warrants) shew it now,By putting on the destin'd Liuerie. Isa. I haue no tongue but one; gentle my Lord,Let me entreate you speake the former language. Ang. Plainlie conceiue I loue you. Isa. My brother did loue Iuliet, And you tell me that he shall die for't. Ang. He shall not Isabell if you giue me loue. Isa. I know your vertue hath a licence in't,Which seemes a little fouler then it is,To plucke on others. Ang. Beleeue me on mine Honor,My words expresse my purpose. Isa. Ha? Little honor, to be much beleeu'd,And most pernitious purpose: Seeming, seeming.I will proclaime thee Angelo, looke for't.Signe me a present pardon for my brother,Or with an out-stretcht throate Ile tell the world aloudWhat man thou art. Ang. Who will beleeue thee Isabell?My vnsoild name, th' austeerenesse of my life,My vouch against you, and my place i'th State,Will so your accusation ouer-weigh,That you shall stifle in your owne report,And smell of calumnie. I haue begun,And now I giue my sensuall race, the reine,Fit thy consent to my sharpe appetite,Lay by all nicetie, and prolixious blushesThat banish what they sue for: Redeeme thy brother,By yeelding vp thy bodie to my will,Or else he must not onelie die the death,But thy vnkindnesse shall his death draw outTo lingring sufferance: Answer me to morrow,Or by the affection that now guides me most,Ile proue a Tirant to him. As for you,Say what you can; my false, ore-weighs your true. Exit Isa. To whom should I complaine? Did I tell this,Who would beleeue me? O perilous mouthesThat beare in them, one and the selfesame tongue,Either of condemnation, or approofe,Bidding the Law make curtsie to their will,Hooking both right and wrong to th' appetite,To follow as it drawes. Ile to my brother,Though he hath falne by prompture of the blood,Yet hath he in him such a minde of Honor,That had he twentie heads to tender downeOn twentie bloodie blockes, hee'ld yeeld them vp,Before his sister should her bodie stoopeTo such abhord pollution.Then Isabell liue chaste, and brother die;"More then our Brother, is our Chastitie.Ile tell him yet of Angelo's request,And fit his minde to death, for his soules rest. Exit.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Duke, Claudio, and Prouost. Du. So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? Cla. The miserable haue no other medicineBut onely hope: I'haue hope to liue, and am prepar'd todie. Duke. Be absolute for death: either death or lifeShall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:If I do loose thee, I do loose a thingThat none but fooles would keepe: a breath thou art,Seruile to all the skyie-influencesThat dost this habitation where thou keepstHourely afflict: Meerely, thou art deaths foole,For him thou labourst by thy flight to shun,And yet runst toward him still. Thou art not noble,For all th' accommodations that thou bearst,Are nurst by basenesse: Thou'rt by no meanes valiant,For thou dost feare the soft and tender forkeOf a poore worme: thy best of rest is sleepe,And that thou oft prouoakst, yet grosselie fearstThy death, which is no more. Thou art not thy selfe,For thou exists on manie a thousand grainesThat issue out of dust. Happie thou art not,For what thou hast not, still thou striu'st to get,And what thou hast forgetst. Thou art not certaine,For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,After the Moone: If thou art rich, thou'rt poore,For like an Asse, whose backe with Ingots bowes;Thou bearst thy heauie riches but a iournie,And death vnloads thee; Friend hast thou none.For thine owne bowels which do call thee, fireThe meere effusion of thy proper loinesDo curse the Gowt, Sapego, and the RheumeFor ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth, nor ageBut as it were an after-dinners sleepeDreaming on both, for all thy blessed youthBecomes as aged, and doth begge the almesOf palsied-Eld: and when thou art old, and rich Thou hast neither heate, affection, limbe, nor beautieTo make thy riches pleasant: what's yet in thisThat beares the name of life? Yet in this lifeLie hid moe thousand deaths; yet death we feareThat makes these oddes, all euen. Cla. I humblie thanke you.To sue to liue, I finde I seeke to die,And seeking death, finde life: Let it come on. Enter Isabella. Isab. What hoa? Peace heere; Grace, and good com-panie. Pro. Who's there? Come in, the wish deserues awelcome. Duke. Deere sir, ere long Ile visit you againe. Cla. Most holie Sir, I thanke you. Isa. My businesse is a word or two with Claudio. Pro. And verie welcom: looke Signior, here's yoursister. Duke. Prouost, a word with you. Pro. As manie as you please. Duke. Bring them to heare me speak, where I may beconceal'd. Cla. Now sister, what's the comfort? Isa. Why,As all comforts are: most good, most good indeede,Lord Angelo hauing affaires to heauenIntends you for his swift Ambassador,Where you shall be an euerlasting Leiger;Therefore your best appointment make with speed,To Morrow you set on. Clau. Is there no remedie? Isa. None, but such remedie, as to saue a headTo cleaue a heart in twaine: Clau. But is there anie? Isa. Yes brother, you may liue;There is a diuellish mercie in the Iudge,If you'l implore it, that will free your life,But fetter you till death. Cla. Perpetuall durance? Isa. I iust, perpetuall durance, a restraintThrough all the worlds vastiditie you hadTo a determin'd scope. Clau. But in what nature? Isa. In such a one, as you consenting too't,Would barke your honor from that trunke you beare,And leaue you naked. Clau. Let me know the point. Isa. Oh, I do feare thee Claudio, and I quake,Least thou a feauorous life shouldst entertaine,And six or seuen winters more respectThen a perpetuall Honor. Dar'st thou die?The sence of death is most in apprehension,And the poore Beetle that we treade vponIn corporall sufferance, finds a pang as great,As when a Giant dies. Cla. Why giue you me this shame?Thinke you I can a resolution fetchFrom flowrie tendernesse? If I must die,I will encounter darknesse as a bride,And hugge it in mine armes. Isa. There spake my brother: there my fathers graueDid vtter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:Thou art too noble, to conserue a lifeIn base appliances. This outward sainted Deputie,Whose setled visage, and deliberate wordNips youth i'th head, and follies doth emmewAs Falcon doth the Fowle, is yet a diuell:His filth within being cast, he would appeareA pond, as deepe as hell. Cla. The prenzie, Angelo? Isa. Oh 'tis the cunning Liuerie of hell,The damnest bodie to inuest, and couerIn prenzie gardes; dost thou thinke Claudio, If I would yeeld him my virginitieThou might'st be freed? Cla. Oh heauens, it cannot be. Isa. Yes, he would giu't thee; from this rank offenceSo to offend him still. This night's the timeThat I should do what I abhorre to name,Or else thou diest to morrow. Clau. Thou shalt not do't. Isa. O, were it but my life,I'de throw it downe for your deliueranceAs frankely as a pin. Clau. Thankes deere Isabell. Isa. Be readie Claudio, for your death to morrow. Clau. Yes. Has he affections in him,That thus can make him bite the Law by th' nose,When he would force it? Sure it is no sinne,Or of the deadly seuen it is the least. Isa. Which is the least? Cla. If it were damnable, he being so wise,Why would he for the momentarie trickeBe perdurablie fin'de? Oh Isabell. Isa. What saies my brother? Cla. Death is a fearefull thing. Isa. And shamed life, a hatefull. Cla. I, but to die, and go we know not where,To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot,This sensible warme motion, to becomeA kneaded clod; And the delighted spiritTo bath in fierie floods, or to recideIn thrilling Region of thicke-ribbed Ice,To be imprison'd in the viewlesse windesAnd blowne with restlesse violence round aboutThe pendant world: or to be worse then worstOf those, that lawlesse and incertaine thought,Imagine howling, 'tis too horrible.The weariest, and most loathed worldly lifeThat Age, Ache, periury, and imprisonmentCan lay on nature, is a ParadiseTo what we feare of death. Isa. Alas, alas. Cla. Sweet Sister, let me liue.What sinne you do, to saue a brothers life,Nature dispenses with the deede so farre,That it becomes a vertue. Isa. Oh you beast,Oh faithlesse Coward, oh dishonest wretch,Wilt thou be made a man, out of my vice?Is't not a kinde of Incest, to take lifeFrom thine owne sisters shame? What should I thinke,Heauen shield my Mother plaid my Father faire:For such a warped slip of wildernesseNere issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance,Die, perish: Might but my bending downeRepreeue thee from thy fate, it should proceede.Ile pray a thousand praiers for thy death,No word to saue thee. Cla. Nay heare me Isabell. Isa. Oh fie, fie, fie:Thy sinn's not accidentall, but a Trade; Mercy to thee would proue it selfe a Bawd,'Tis best that thou diest quickly. Cla. Oh heare me Isabella. Duk. Vouchsafe a word, yong sister, but one word. Isa. What is your Will. Duk. Might you dispense with your leysure, I wouldby and by haue some speech with you: the satisfaction Iwould require, is likewise your owne benefit. Isa. I haue no superfluous leysure, my stay must bestolen out of other affaires: but I will attend you a while. Duke. Son, I haue ouer-heard what hath past betweenyou & your sister. Angelo had neuer the purpose to cor-rupt her; onely he hath made an assay of her vertue, topractise his iudgement with the disposition of natures.She (hauing the truth of honour in her) hath made himthat gracious deniall, which he is most glad to receiue: Iam Confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true, ther-fore prepare your selfe to death: do not satisfie your re-solution with hopes that are fallible, to morrow youmust die, goe to your knees, and make ready. Cla. Let me ask my sister pardon, I am so out of louewith life, that I will sue to be rid of it. Duke. Hold you there: farewell: Prouost, a wordwith you. Pro. What's your will (father?) Duk. That now you are come, you wil be gone: leaueme a while with the Maid, my minde promises with myhabit, no losse shall touch her by my company. Pro. In good time. Exit. Duk. The hand that hath made you faire, hath madeyou good: the goodnes that is cheape in beauty, makesbeauty briefe in goodnes; but grace being the soule ofyour complexion, shall keepe the body of it euer faire:the assault that Angelo hath made to you, Fortune hathconuaid to my vnderstanding; and but that frailty hathexamples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo: howwill you doe to content this Substitute, and to saue yourBrother? Isab. I am now going to resolue him: I had rathermy brother die by the Law, then my sonne should be vn-lawfullie borne. But (oh) how much is the good Dukedeceiu'd in Angelo: if euer he returne, and I can speaketo him, I will open my lips in vaine, or discouer his go-uernment. Duke. That shall not be much amisse: yet, as the mat-ter now stands, he will auoid your accusation: he madetriall of you onelie. Therefore fasten your eare on myaduisings, to the loue I haue in doing good; a remediepresents it selfe. I doe make my selfe beleeue that youmay most vprighteously do a poor wronged Lady a me-rited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry Law;doe no staine to your owne gracious person, and muchplease the absent Duke, if peraduenture he shall euer re-turne to haue hearing of this businesse. Isab. Let me heare you speake farther; I haue spirit todo any thing that appeares not fowle in the truth of myspirit. Duke. Vertue is bold, and goodnes neuer fearefull:Haue you not heard speake of Mariana the sister of Fre-dericke the great Souldier, who miscarried at Sea? Isa. I haue heard of the Lady, and good words wentwith her name. Duke. Shee should this Angelo haue married: was af-fianced to her oath, and the nuptiall appointed: betweenwhich time of the contract, and limit of the solemnitie,her brother Fredericke was wrackt at Sea, hauing in thatperished vessell, the dowry of his sister: but marke howheauily this befell to the poore Gentlewoman, there shelost a noble and renowned brother, in his loue towardher, euer most kinde and naturall: with him the portionand sinew of her fortune, her marriage dowry: withboth, her combynate-husband, this well-seeming Angelo. Isab. Can this be so? did Angelo so leaue her? Duke. Left her in her teares, & dried not one of themwith his comfort: swallowed his vowes whole, preten-ding in her, discoueries of dishonor: in few, bestow'dher on her owne lamentation, which she yet weares forhis sake: and he, a marble to her teares, is washed withthem, but relents not. Isab. What a merit were it in death to take this pooremaid from the world? what corruption in this life, thatit will let this man liue? But how out of this can shee a-uaile? Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heale: and thecure of it not onely saues your brother, but keepes youfrom dishonor in doing it. Isab. Shew me how (good Father.) Duk. This fore-named Maid hath yet in her the con-tinuance of her first affection: his vniust vnkindenesse(that in all reason should haue quenched her loue) hath(like an impediment in the Current) made it more vio-lent and vnruly: Goe you to Angelo, answere his requi-ring with a plausible obedience, agree with his demandsto the point: onely referre your selfe to this aduantage;first, that your stay with him may not be long: that thetime may haue all shadow, and silence in it: and the placeanswere to conuenience: this being granted in course,and now followes all: wee shall aduise this wrongedmaid to steed vp your appointment, goe in your place:if the encounter acknowledge it selfe heereafter, it maycompell him to her recompence; and heere, by this isyour brother saued, your honor vntainted, the poore Mariana aduantaged, and the corrupt Deputy scaled.The Maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt: ifyou thinke well to carry this as you may, the doublenesof the benefit defends the deceit from reproofe. Whatthinke you of it? Isab. The image of it giues me content already, and Itrust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. Duk. It lies much in your holding vp: haste you spee-dily to Angelo, if for this night he intreat you to his bed,giue him promise of satisfaction: I will presently to S[aint]. Lukes, there at the moated-Grange recides this deie-cted Mariana; at that place call vpon me, and dispatchwith Angelo, that it may be quickly. Isab. I thank you for this comfort: fare you well goodfather. Exit. Enter Elbow, Clowne, Officers. Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that youwill needes buy and sell men and women like beasts, weshall haue all the world drinke browne & white bastard. Duk. Oh heauens, what stuffe is heere. Clow. Twas neuer merry world since of two vsuriesthe merriest was put downe, and the worser allow'd byorder of Law; a fur'd gowne to keepe him warme; andfurd with Foxe and Lamb-skins too, to signifie, that craftbeing richer then Innocency, stands for the facing. Elb. Come your way sir: 'blesse you good FatherFrier. Duk. And you good Brother Father; what offencehath this man made you, Sir? Elb. Marry Sir, he hath offended the Law; and Sir,we take him to be a Theefe too Sir: for wee haue foundvpon him Sir, a strange Pick-lock, which we haue sentto the Deputie. Duke. Fie, sirrah, a Bawd, a wicked bawd,The euill that thou causest to be done,That is thy meanes to liue. Do thou but thinkeWhat 'tis to cram a maw, or cloath a backeFrom such a filthie vice: say to thy selfe,From their abhominable and beastly touchesI drinke, I eate away my selfe, and liue:Canst thou beleeue thy liuing is a life,So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. Clo. Indeed, it do's stinke in some sort, Sir:But yet Sir I would proue. Duke. Nay, if the diuell haue giuen thee proofs for sinThou wilt proue his. Take him to prison Officer:Correction, and Instruction must both workeEre this rude beast will profit. Elb. He must before the Deputy Sir, he ha's giuenhim warning: the Deputy cannot abide a Whore-ma-ster: if he be a Whore-monger, and comes before him,he were as good go a mile on his errand. Duke. That we were all, as some would seeme to beeFrom our faults, as faults from seeming free. Enter Lucio. Elb. His necke will come to your wast, a Cord sir. Clo. I spy comfort, I cry baile: Here's a Gentleman,and a friend of mine. Luc. How now noble Pompey? What, at the wheelsof Caesar? Art thou led in triumph? What is there noneof Pigmalions Images newly made woman to bee hadnow, for putting the hand in the pocket, and extractingclutch'd? What reply? Ha? What saist thou to thisTune, Matter, and Method? Is't not drown'd i'th lastraine? Ha? What saist thou Trot? Is the world as it wasMan? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words?Or how? The tricke of it? Duke. Still thus, and thus: still worse? Luc. How doth my deere Morsell, thy Mistris? Pro-cures she still? Ha? Clo. Troth sir, shee hath eaten vp all her beefe, andshe is her selfe in the tub. Luc. Why 'tis good: It is the right of it: it must beso. Euer your fresh Whore, and your pouder'd Baud, anvnshun'd consequence, it must be so. Art going to pri-son Pompey? Clo. Yes faith sir. Luc. Why 'tis not amisse Pompey: farewell: goe sayI sent thee thether: for debt Pompey? Or how? Elb. For being a baud, for being a baud. Luc. Well, then imprison him: If imprisonment bethe due of a baud, why 'tis his right. Baud is he doubt-lesse, and of antiquity too: Baud borne. Farwell good Pompey: Commend me to the prison Pompey, you willturne good husband now Pompey, you will keepe thehouse. Clo. I hope Sir, your good Worship wil be my baile? Luc. No indeed wil I not Pompey, it is not the wear:I will pray (Pompey) to encrease your bondage if youtake it not patiently: Why, your mettle is the more:Adieu trustie Pompey. Blesse you Friar. Duke. And you. Luc. Do's Bridget paint still, Pompey? Ha? Elb. Come your waies sir, come. Clo. You will not baile me then Sir? Luc. Then Pompey, nor now: what newes abroad Fri-er?What newes? Elb. Come your waies sir, come. Luc. Goe to kennell (Pompey) goe:What newes Frier of the Duke? Duke. I know none: can you tell me of any? Luc. Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia: othersome, he is in Rome: but where is he thinke you? Duke. I know not where: but wheresoeuer, I wishhim well. Luc. It was a mad fantasticall tricke of him to stealefrom the State, and vsurpe the beggerie hee was neuerborne to: Lord Angelo Dukes it well in his absence: heputs transgression too't. Duke. He do's well in't. Luc. A little more lenitie to Lecherie would doe noharme in him: Something too crabbed that way, Frier. Duk. It is too general a vice, and seueritie must cure it. Luc. Yes in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred;it is well allied, but it is impossible to extirpe it quite,Frier, till eating and drinking be put downe. They saythis Angelo was not made by Man and Woman, after this downe-right way of Creation: is it true, thinkeyou? Duke. How should he be made then? Luc. Some report, a Sea-maid spawn'd him. Some,that he was begot betweene two Stock-fishes. But itis certaine, that when he makes water, his Vrine is con-geal'dice, that I know to bee true: and he is a motiongeneratiue, that's infallible. Duke. You are pleasant sir, and speake apace. Luc. Why, what a ruthlesse thing is this in him, forthe rebellion of a Cod-peece, to take away the life of aman? Would the Duke that is absent haue done this?Ere he would haue hang'd a man for the getting a hun-dred Bastards, he would haue paide for the Nursing athousand. He had some feeling of the sport, hee knewthe seruice, and that instructed him to mercie. Duke. I neuer heard the absent Duke much detected for Women, he was not enclin'd that way. Luc. Oh Sir, you are deceiu'd. Duke. 'Tis not possible. Luc. Who, not the Duke? Yes, your beggar of fifty:and his vse was, to put a ducket in her Clack-dish; theDuke had Crochets in him. Hee would be drunke too,that let me informe you. Duke. You do him wrong, surely. Luc. Sir, I was an inward of his: a shie fellow wasthe Duke, and I beleeue I know the cause of his with-drawing. Duke. What (I prethee) might be the cause? Luc. No, pardon: 'Tis a secret must bee lockt with-in the teeth and the lippes: but this I can let you vnder-stand, the greater file of the subiect held the Duke to bewise. Duke. Wise? Why no question but he was. Luc. A very superficiall, ignorant, vnweighing fellow Duke. Either this is Enuie in you, Folly, or mista-king: The very streame of his life, and the businesse hehath helmed, must vppon a warranted neede, giue hima better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied inhis owne bringings forth, and hee shall appeare to theenuious, a Scholler, a Statesman, and a Soldier: there-fore you speake vnskilfully: or, if your knowledge beemore, it is much darkned in your malice. Luc. Sir, I know him, and I loue him. Duke. Loue talkes with better knowledge, & know-ledge with deare loue. Luc. Come Sir, I know what I know. Duke. I can hardly beleeue that, since you know notwhat you speake. But if euer the Duke returne (as ourpraiers are he may) let mee desire you to make your an-swer before him: if it bee honest you haue spoke, youhaue courage to maintaine it; I am bound to call vpponyou, and I pray you your name? Luc. Sir my name is Lucio, wel known to the Duke. Duke. He shall know you better Sir, if I may liue toreport you. Luc. I feare you not. Duke. O, you hope the Duke will returne no more:or you imagine me to vnhurtfull an opposite: but indeedI can doe you little harme: You'll for-sweare this a-gaine? Luc. Ile be hang'd first: Thou art deceiu'd in meeFriar. But no more of this: Canst thou tell if Claudio die to morrow, or no? Duke. Why should he die Sir? Luc. Why? For filling a bottle with a Tunne-dish:I would the Duke we talke of were return'd againe: thisvngenitur'd Agent will vn-people the Prouince withContinencie. Sparrowes must not build in his house-eeues,because they are lecherous: The Duke yet wouldhaue darke deeds darkelie answered, hee would neuerbring them to light: would hee were return'd. Marriethis Claudio is condemned for vntrussing. Farwell goodFriar, I prethee pray for me: The Duke (I say to theeagaine) would eate Mutton on Fridaies. He's now pastit, yet (and I say to thee) hee would mouth with a beg-gar, though she smelt browne-bread and Garlicke: saythat I said so: Farewell. Exit. Duke. No might, nor greatnesse in mortalityCan censure scape: Back-wounding calumnieThe whitest vertue strikes. What King so strong,Can tie the gall vp in the slanderous tong?But who comes heere? Enter Escalus, Prouost, and Bawd. Esc. Go, away with her to prison. Bawd. Good my Lord be good to mee, your Honoris accounted a mercifull man: good my Lord. Esc. Double, and trebble admonition, and still for-feite in the same kinde? This would make mercy sweareand play the Tirant. Pro. A Bawd of eleuen yeares continuance, may itplease your Honor. Bawd. My Lord, this is one Lucio's information a-gainst me, Mistris Kate Keepe-downe was with childe byhim in the Dukes time, he promis'd her marriage: hisChilde is a yeere and a quarter olde come Philip and Ia-cob: I haue kept it my selfe; and see how hee goes aboutto abuse me. Esc. That fellow is a fellow of much License: Lethim be call'd before vs, Away with her to prison: Goe too, no more words. Prouost, my Brother Angelo willnot be alter'd, Claudio must die to morrow: Let him befurnish'd with Diuines, and haue all charitable prepara-tion. If my brother wrought by my pitie, it should notbe so with him. Pro. So please you, this Friar hath beene with him,and aduis'd him for th' entertainment of death. Esc. Good' euen, good Father. Duke. Blisse, and goodnesse on you. Esc. Of whence are you? Duke. Not of this Countrie, though my chance is nowTo vse it for my time: I am a brotherOf gracious Order, late come from the Sea,In speciall businesse from his Holinesse. Esc. What newes abroad i'th World? Duke. None, but that there is so great a Feauor ongoodnesse, that the dissolution of it must cure it. No-ueltie is onely in request, and as it is as dangerous to beaged in any kinde of course, as it is vertuous to be con-stant in any vndertaking. There is scarse truth enoughaliue to make Societies secure, but Securitie enough tomake Fellowships accurst: Much vpon this riddle runsthe wisedome of the world: This newes is old enough,yet it is euerie daies newes. I pray you Sir, of what dis-position was the Duke? Esc. One, that aboue all other strifes,Contended especially to know himselfe. Duke. What pleasure was he giuen to? Esc. Rather reioycing to see another merry, thenmerrie at anie thing which profest to make him reioice.A Gentleman of all temperance. But leaue wee him tohis euents, with a praier they may proue prosperous, &let me desire to know, how you finde Claudio prepar'd?I am made to vnderstand, that you haue lent him visita-tion. Duke. He professes to haue receiued no sinister mea-sure from his Iudge, but most willingly humbles him-selfe to the determination of Iustice: yet had he framedto himselfe (by the instruction of his frailty) manie de-ceyuing promises of life, which I (by my good leisure)haue discredited to him, and now is he resolu'd to die. Esc. You haue paid the heauens your Function, andthe prisoner the verie debt of your Calling. I haue la-bour'dfor the poore Gentleman, to the extremest shoreof my modestie, but my brother-Iustice haue I found soseuere, that he hath forc'd me to tell him, hee is indeedeIustice. Duke. If his owne life,Answere the straitnesse of his proceeding,It shall become him well: wherein if he chance to failehe hath sentenc'd himselfe. Esc I am going to visit the prisoner, Fare you well. Duke. Peace be with you.He who the sword of Heauen will beare,Should be as holy, as seueare:Patterne in himselfe to know,Grace to stand, and Vertue go:More, nor lesse to others paying,Then by selfe-offences weighing.Shame to him, whose cruell striking,Kils for faults of his owne liking:Twice trebble shame on Angelo, To weede my vice, and let his grow.Oh, what may Man within him hide,Though Angel on the outward side?How may likenesse made in crimes,Making practise on the Times,To draw with ydle Spiders stringsMost ponderous and substantiall things?Craft against vice, I must applie.With Angelo to night shall lyeHis old betroathed (but despised:)So disguise shall by th' disguisedPay with falshood, false exacting,And performe an olde contracting. Exit
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima. Enter Mariana, and Boy singing. Song. Take, oh take those lips away,that so sweetly were forsworne,And those eyes: the breake of daylights that doe mislead the Morne;But my kisses bring againe, bring againe,Seales of loue, but seal'd in vaine, seal'd in vaine. Enter Duke. Mar. Breake off thy song, and haste thee quick away,Here comes a man of comfort, whose aduiceHath often still'd my brawling discontent.I cry you mercie, Sir, and well could wishYou had not found me here so musicall.Let me excuse me, and beleeue me so,My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. Duk. 'Tis good; though Musick oft hath such a charmeTo make bad, good; and good prouoake to harme.I pray you tell me, hath any body enquir'd for mee hereto day; much vpon this time haue I promis'd here tomeete. Mar. You haue not bin enquir'd after: I haue sathere all day. Enter Isabell. Duk. I doe constantly beleeue you: the time is comeeuen now. I shall craue your forbearance a little, may beI will call vpon you anone for some aduantage to yourselfe. Mar. I am alwayes bound to you. Exit. Duk. Very well met, and well come:What is the newes from this good Deputie? Isab. He hath a Garden circummur'd with Bricke,Whose westerne side is with a Vineyard back't;And to that Vineyard is a planched gate,That makes his opening with this bigger Key:This other doth command a little doore,Which from the Vineyard to the Garden leades,There haue I made my promise, vpon theHeauy midle of the night, to call vpon him. Duk. But shall you on your knowledge find this way? Isab. I haue t'ane a due, and wary note vpon't,With whispering, and most guiltie diligence,In action all of precept, he did show meThe way twice ore. Duk. Are there no other tokensBetweene you 'greed, concerning her obseruance? Isab. No: none but onely a repaire ith' darke, And that I haue possest him, my most stayCan be but briefe: for I haue made him know,I haue a Seruant comes with me alongThat staies vpon me; whose perswasion is,I come about my Brother. Duk. 'Tis well borne vp.I haue not yet made knowne to Mariana Enter Mariana. A word of this: what hoa, within; come forth,I pray you be acquainted with this Maid,She comes to doe you good. Isab. I doe desire the like. Duk. Do you perswade your selfe that I respect you? Mar. Good Frier, I know you do, and haue found it. Duke. Take then this your companion by the handWho hath a storie readie for your eare:I shall attend your leisure, but make hasteThe vaporous night approaches. Mar. Wilt please you walke aside. Exit. Duke. Oh Place, and greatnes: millions of false eiesAre stucke vpon thee: volumes of reportRun with these false, and most contrarious QuestVpon thy doings: thousand escapes of witMake thee the father of their idle dreame,And racke thee in their fancies. Welcome, how agreed? Enter Mariana and Isabella. Isab. Shee'll take the enterprize vpon her father,If you aduise it. Duke. It is not my consent,But my entreaty too. Isa. Little haue you to sayWhen you depart from him, but soft and low,Remember now my brother. Mar. Feare me not. Duk. Nor gentle daughter, feare you not at all:He is your husband on a pre-contract:To bring you thus together 'tis no sinne,Sith that the Iustice of your title to himDoth flourish the deceit. Come, let vs goe,Our Corne's to reape, for yet our Tithes to sow. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Prouost and Clowne. Pro. Come hither sirha; can you cut off a mans head? Clo. If the man be a Bachelor Sir, I can:But if he be a married man, he's his wiues head,And I can neuer cut off a womans head. Pro. Come sir, leaue me your snatches, and yeeld meea direct answere. To morrow morning are to die Clau-dio and Barnardine: heere is in our prison a common exe-cutioner, who in his office lacks a helper, if you will takeit on you to assist him, it shall redeeme you from yourGyues: if not, you shall haue your full time of imprison-ment, and your deliuerance with an vnpittied whipping;for you haue beene a notorious bawd. Clo. Sir, I haue beene an vnlawfull bawd, time out ofminde, but yet I will bee content to be a lawfull hang-man: I would bee glad to receiue some instruction frommy fellow partner. Pro. What hoa, Abhorson: where's Abhorson there? Enter Abhorson. Abh. Doe you call sir? Pro. Sirha, here's a fellow will helpe you to morrowin your execution: if you thinke it meet, compound withhim by the yeere, and let him abide here with you, if not,vse him for the present, and dismisse him, hee cannotplead his estimation with you: he hath beene a Bawd. Abh. A Bawd Sir? fie vpon him, he will discredit ourmysterie. Pro. Goe too Sir, you waigh equallie: a feather willturne the Scale. Exit. Clo. Pray sir, by your good fauor: for surely sir, agood fauor you haue, but that you haue a hanging look:Doe you call sir, your occupation a Mysterie? Abh. I Sir, a Misterie. Clo. Painting Sir, I haue heard say, is a Misterie; andyour Whores sir, being members of my occupation, v-sing painting, do proue my Occupation, a Misterie: butwhat Misterie there should be in hanging, if I shouldbe hang'd, I cannot imagine. Abh. Sir, it is a Misterie. Clo. Proofe. Abh. Euerie true mans apparrell fits your Theefe. Clo. If it be too little for your theefe, your true manthinkes it bigge enough. If it bee too bigge for yourTheefe, your Theefe thinkes it little enough: So euerietrue mans apparrell fits your Theefe. Enter Prouost. Pro. Are you agreed? Clo. Sir, I will serue him: For I do finde your Hang-man is a more penitent Trade then your Bawd: he dothoftner aske forgiuenesse. Pro. You sirrah, prouide your blocke and your Axeto morrow, foure a clocke. Abh. Come on (Bawd) I will instruct thee in myTrade: follow. Clo. I do desire to learne sir: and I hope, if you haueoccasion to vse me for your owne turne, you shall findeme y'are. For truly sir, for your kindnesse, I owe you agood turne. Exit Pro. Call hether Barnardine and Claudio: Th' one has my pitie; not a iot the other,Being a Murtherer, though he were my brother. Enter Claudio. Looke, here's the Warrant Claudio, for thy death,'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to morrowThou must be made immortall. Where's Barnardine? Cla. As fast lock'd vp in sleepe, as guiltlesse labour,When it lies starkely in the Trauellers bones,He will not wake. Pro. Who can do good on him?Well, go, prepare your selfe. But harke, what noise?Heauen giue your spirits comfort: by, and by,I hope it is some pardon, or repreeueFor the most gentle Claudio. Welcome Father. Enter Duke. Duke. The best, and wholsomst spirits of the night,Inuellop you, good Prouost: who call'd heere of late? Pro. None since the Curphew rung. Duke. Not Isabell? Pro. No. Duke. They will then er't be long. Pro. What comfort is for Claudio? Duke. There's some in hope. Pro. It is a bitter Deputie. Duke. Not so, not so: his life is paralel'dEuen with the stroke and line of his great Iustice:He doth with holie abstinence subdueThat in himselfe, which he spurres on his powreTo qualifie in others: were he meal'd with thatWhich he corrects, then were he tirrannous,But this being so, he's iust. Now are they come.This is a gentle Prouost, sildome whenThe steeled Gaoler is the friend of men:How now? what noise? That spirit's possest with hast,That wounds th' vnsisting Posterne with these strokes. Pro. There he must stay vntil the OfficerArise to let him in: he is call'd vp. Duke. Haue you no countermand for Claudio yet?But he must die to morrow? Pro. None Sir, none. Duke. As neere the dawning Prouost, as it is,You shall heare more ere Morning. Pro. HappelyYou something know: yet I beleeue there comesNo countermand: no such example haue we:Besides, vpon the verie siege of Iustice,Lord Angelo hath to the publike eareProfest the contrarie. Enter a Messenger. Duke. This is his Lords man. Pro. And heere comes Claudio's pardon. Mess. My Lord hath sent you this note,And by mee this further charge;That you swerue not from the smallest Article of it,Neither in time, matter, or other circumstance.Good morrow: for as I take it, it is almost day. Pro. I shall obey him. Duke. This is his Pardon purchas'd by such sin,For which the Pardoner himselfe is in:Hence hath offence his quicke celeritie,When it is borne in high Authority.When Vice makes Mercie; Mercie's so extended,That for the faults loue, is th' offender friended.Now Sir, what newes? Pro. I told you:Lord Angelo (be-like) thinking me remisseIn mine Office, awakens meeWith this vnwonted putting on, methinks strangely:For he hath not vs'd it before. Duk. Pray you let's heare. The Letter. Whatsoeuer you may heare to the contrary, let Claudio be ex-ecuted by foure of the clocke, and in the afternoone Bernar-dine: For my better satisfaction, let mee haue Claudios head sent me by fiue. Let this be duely performed with a thought that more depends on it, then we must yet deliuer. Thus faile not to doe your Office, as you will answere it atyour perill. What say you to this Sir? Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be execu-ted in th' afternoone? Pro. A Bohemian borne: But here nurst vp & bred,One that is a prisoner nine yeeres old. Duke. How came it, that the absent Duke had noteither deliuer'd him to his libertie, or executed him? Ihaue heard it was euer his manner to do so. Pro. His friends still wrought Repreeues for him:And indeed his fact till now in the gouernment of Lord Angelo, came not to an vndoubtfull proofe. Duke. It is now apparant? Pro. Most manifest, and not denied by himselfe. Duke. Hath he borne himselfe penitently in prison?How seemes he to be touch'd? Pro. A man that apprehends death no more dread-fully, but as a drunken sleepe, carelesse, wreaklesse, andfearelesse of what's past, present, or to come: insensibleof mortality, and desperately mortall. Duke. He wants aduice. Pro. He wil heare none: he hath euermore had the li-berty of the prison: giue him leaue to escape hence, heewould not. Drunke many times a day, if not many daiesentirely drunke. We haue verie oft awak'd him, as if tocarrie him to execution, and shew'd him a seeming war-rant for it, it hath not moued him at all. Duke. More of him anon: There is written in yourbrow Prouost, honesty and constancie; if I reade it nottruly, my ancient skill beguiles me: but in the boldnesof my cunning, I will lay my selfe in hazard: Claudio, whom heere you haue warrant to execute, is no greaterforfeit to the Law, then Angelo who hath sentenc'd him.To make you vnderstand this in a manifested effect, Icraue but foure daies respit: for the which, you are todo me both a present, and a dangerous courtesie. Pro. Pray Sir, in what? Duke. In the delaying death. Pro. Alacke, how may I do it? Hauing the houre li-mited, and an expresse command, vnder penaltie, to de-liuer his head in the view of Angelo? I may make mycase as Claudio's, to crosse this in the smallest. Duke. By the vow of mine Order, I warrant you,If my instructions may be your guide,Let this Barnardine be this morning executed,And his head borne to Angelo. Pro. Angelo hath seene them both,And will discouer the fauour. Duke. Oh, death's a great disguiser, and you mayadde to it; Shaue the head, and tie the beard, and say itwas the desire of the penitent to be so bar'de before hisdeath: you know the course is common. If any thingfall to you vpon this, more then thankes and good for-tune, by the Saint whom I professe, I will plead againstit with my life. Pro. Pardon me, good Father, it is against my oath. Duke. Were you sworne to the Duke, or to the De-putie? Pro. To him, and to his Substitutes. Duke. You will thinke you haue made no offence, ifthe Duke auouch the iustice of your dealing? Pro. But what likelihood is in that? Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty; yet sinceI see you fearfull, that neither my coate, integrity, norperswasion, can with ease attempt you, I wil go furtherthen I meant, to plucke all feares out of you. Lookeyou Sir, heere is the hand and Seale of the Duke: youknow the Charracter I doubt not, and the Signet is notstrange to you? Pro. I know them both. Duke. The Contents of this, is the returne of theDuke; you shall anon ouer-reade it at your pleasure:where you shall finde within these two daies, he wil beheere. This is a thing that Angelo knowes not, for heethis very day receiues letters of strange tenor, perchanceof the Dukes death, perchance entering into some Mo-nasterie, but by chance nothing of what is writ. Looke,th' vnfolding Starre calles vp the Shepheard; put notyour selfe into amazement, how these things should be;all difficulties are but easie when they are knowne. Callyour executioner, and off with Barnardines head: I willgiue him a present shrift, and aduise him for a betterplace. Yet you are amaz'd, but this shall absolutely re-solue you: Come away, it is almost cleere dawne. Exit.
Scena Tertia. Enter Clowne. Clo. I am as well acquainted heere, as I was in ourhouse of profession: one would thinke it were Mistris Ouer-dons owne house, for heere be manie of her oldeCustomers. First, here's yong Mr Rash, hee's in for acommoditie of browne paper, and olde Ginger, ninescore and seuenteene pounds, of which hee made fiueMarkes readie money: marrie then, Ginger was notmuch in request, for the olde Women were all dead.Then is there heere one Mr Caper, at the suite of Master Three-Pile the Mercer, for some foure suites of Peach-colour'dSatten, which now peaches him a beggar.Then haue we heere, yong Dizie, and yong Mr Deepe-vow, and Mr Copperspurre, and Mr Starue-Lackey the Ra-pier and dagger man, and yong Drop-heire that kild lu-stie Pudding, and Mr Forthlight the Tilter, and braue Mr Shootie the great Traueller, and wilde Halfe-Canne thatstabb'd Pots, and I thinke fortie more, all great doers inour Trade, and are now for the Lords sake. Enter Abhorson. Abh. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hether. Clo. Mr Barnardine, you must rise and be hang'd,Mr Barnardine. Abh. What hoa Barnardine. Barnardine within. Bar. A pox o'your throats: who makes that noysethere? What are you? Clo. Your friends Sir, the Hangman:You must be so good Sir to rise, and be put to death. Bar. Away you Rogue, away, I am sleepie. Abh. Tell him he must awake,And that quickly too. Clo. Pray Master Barnardine, awake till you are ex-ecuted, and sleepe afterwards. Ab. Go in to him, and fetch him out. Clo. He is comming Sir, he is comming: I heare hisStraw russle. Enter Barnardine. Abh. Is the Axe vpon the blocke, sirrah? Clo. Verie readie Sir. Bar. How now Abhorson?What's the newes with you? Abh. Truly Sir, I would desire you to clap into yourprayers: for looke you, the Warrants come. Bar. You Rogue, I haue bin drinking all night,I am not fitted for't. Clo. Oh, the better Sir: for he that drinkes all night,and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleepe thesounder all the next day. Enter Duke. Abh. Looke you Sir, heere comes your ghostly Fa-ther: do we iest now thinke you? Duke. Sir, induced by my charitie, and hearing howhastily you are to depart, I am come to aduise you,Comfort you, and pray with you. Bar. Friar, not I: I haue bin drinking hard all night,and I will haue more time to prepare mee, or they shallbeat out my braines with billets: I will not consent todie this day, that's certaine. Duke. Oh sir, you must: and therefore I beseech youLooke forward on the iournie you shall go. Bar. I sweare I will not die to day for anie mans per-swasion. Duke. But heare you: Bar. Not a word: if you haue anie thing to say to me,come to my Ward: for thence will not I to day. Exit Enter Prouost. Duke. Vnfit to liue, or die: oh grauell heart. After him (Fellowes) bring him to the blocke. Pro. Now Sir, how do you finde the prisoner? Duke. A creature vnpre-par'd, vnmeet for death,And to transport him in the minde he is,Were damnable. Pro. Heere in the prison, Father,There died this morning of a cruell Feauor,One Ragozine, a most notorious Pirate,A man of Claudio's yeares: his beard, and headIust of his colour. What if we do omitThis Reprobate, til he were wel enclin'd,And satisfie the Deputie with the visageOf Ragozine, more like to Claudio? Duke. Oh, 'tis an accident that heauen prouides:Dispatch it presently, the houre drawes onPrefixt by Angelo: See this be done,And sent according to command, whiles IPerswade this rude wretch willingly to die. Pro. This shall be done (good Father) presently:But Barnardine must die this afternoone,And how shall we continue Claudio, To saue me from the danger that might come,If he were knowne aliue? Duke. Let this be done,Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio, Ere twice the Sun hath made his iournall greetingTo yond generation, you shal findeYour safetie manifested. Pro. I am your free dependant. Exit. Duke. Quicke, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo Now wil I write Letters to Angelo, (The Prouost he shal beare them) whose contentsShal witnesse to him I am neere at home:And that by great Iniunctions I am boundTo enter publikely: him Ile desireTo meet me at the consecrated Fount,A League below the Citie: and from thence,By cold gradation, and weale-ballanc'd forme.We shal proceed with Angelo. Enter Prouost. Pro. Heere is the head, Ile carrie it my selfe. Duke. Conuenient is it: Make a swift returne,For I would commune with you of such things,That want no eare but yours. Pro. Ile make all speede. Exit Isabell within. Isa. Peace hoa, be heere. Duke. The tongue of Isabell. She's come to know,If yet her brothers pardon be come hither:But I will keepe her ignorant of her good,To make her heauenly comforts of dispaire,When it is least expected. Enter Isabella. Isa. Hoa, by your leaue. Duke. Good morning to you, faire, and graciousdaughter. Isa. The better giuen me by so holy a man,Hath yet the Deputie sent my brothers pardon? Duke. He hath releasd him, Isabell, from the world,His head is off, and sent to Angelo. Isa. Nay, but it is not so. Duke. It is no other,Shew your wisedome daughter in your close patience. Isa. Oh, I wil to him, and plucke out his eies. Duk. You shal not be admitted to his sight. Isa. Vnhappie Claudio, wretched Isabell, Iniurious world, most damned Angelo. Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a iot,Forbeare it therefore, giue your cause to heauen.Marke what I say, which you shal findeBy euery sillable a faithful veritie.The Duke comes home to morrow: nay drie your eyes,One of our Couent, and his ConfessorGiues me this instance: Already he hath carriedNotice to Escalus and Angelo, Who do prepare to meete him at the gates,There to giue vp their powre: If you can pace your wisdome,In that good path that I would wish it go,And you shal haue your bosome on this wretch,Grace of the Duke, reuenges to your heart,And general Honor. Isa. I am directed by you. Duk. This Letter then to Friar Peter giue,'Tis that he sent me of the Dukes returne:Say, by this token, I desire his companieAt Mariana's house to night. Her cause, and yoursIle perfect him withall, and he shal bring youBefore the Duke; and to the head of Angelo Accuse him home and home. For my poore selfe,I am combined by a sacred Vow,And shall be absent. Wend you with this Letter:Command these fretting waters from your eiesWith a light heart; trust not my holie OrderIf I peruert your course: whose heere? Enter Lucio. Luc. Good' euen;Frier, where's the Prouost? Duke. Not within Sir. Luc. Oh prettie Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, tosee thine eyes so red: thou must be patient; I am faineto dine and sup with water and bran: I dare not for myhead fill my belly. One fruitful Meale would set meetoo't: but they say the Duke will be heere to Morrow.By my troth Isabell I lou'd thy brother, if the olde fan-tastical Duke of darke corners had bene at home, he hadliued. Duke. Sir, the Duke is marueilous little beholdingto your reports, but the best is, he liues not in them. Luc. Friar, thou knowest not the Duke so wel as Ido: he's a better woodman then thou tak'st him for. Duke. Well: you'l answer this one day. Fare ye well. Luc. Nay tarrie, Ile go along with thee,I can tel thee pretty tales of the Duke. Duke. You haue told me too many of him already sirif they be true: if not true, none were enough. Lucio. I was once before him for getting a Wenchwith childe. Duke. Did you such a thing? Luc. Yes marrie did I; but I was faine to forswear it,They would else haue married me to the rotten Medler. Duke. Sir your company is fairer then honest, rest youwell. Lucio. By my troth Ile go with thee to the lanes end:if baudy talke offend you, wee'l haue very litle of it: nayFriar, I am a kind of Burre, I shal sticke. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Angelo & Escalus. Esc. Euery Letter he hath writ, hath disuouch'd other. An. In most vneuen and distracted manner, his actionsshow much like to madnesse, pray heauen his wisedomebee not tainted: and why meet him at the gates and de-liuer our authorities there? Esc. I ghesse not. Ang. And why should wee proclaime it in an howrebefore his entring, that if any craue redresse of iniustice,they should exhibit their petitions in the street? Esc. He showes his reason for that: to haue a dispatchof Complaints, and to deliuer vs from deuices heere-after, which shall then haue no power to stand againstvs. Ang. Well: I beseech you let it bee proclaim'd be-times i'th' morne, Ile call you at your house: giue noticeto such men of sort and suite as are to meete him. Esc. I shall sir: fareyouwell. Exit. Ang. Good night.This deede vnshapes me quite, makes me vnpregnantAnd dull to all proceedings. A deflowred maid,And by an eminent body, that enforc'dThe Law against it? But that her tender shameWill not proclaime against her maiden losse,How might she tongue me? yet reason dares her no,For my Authority beares of a credent bulke,That no particular scandall once can touchBut it confounds the breather. He should haue liu'd,Saue that his riotous youth with dangerous senseMight in the times to come haue ta'ne reuengeBy so receiuing a dishonor'd lifeWith ransome of such shame: would yet he had liued.Alack, when once our grace we haue forgot,Nothing goes right, we would, and we would not. Exit.
Scena Quinta. Enter Duke and Frier Peter. Duke. These Letters at fit time deliuer me,The Prouost knowes our purpose and our plot,The matter being a foote, keepe your instructionAnd hold you euer to our speciall drift,Though sometimes you doe blench from this to thatAs cause doth minister: Goe call at Flauia's house,And tell him where I stay: giue the like noticeTo Valencius, Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the Trumpets to the gate:But send me Flauius first. Peter. It shall be speeded well. Enter Varrius. Duke. I thank thee Varrius, thou hast made good hast,Come, we will walke: There's other of our friendsWill greet vs heere anon: my gentle Varrius. Exeunt.
Scena Sexta. Enter Isabella and Mariana. Isab. To speake so indirectly I am loath,I would say the truth, but to accuse him soThat is your part, yet I am aduis'd to doe it,He saies, to vaile full purpose. Mar. Be rul'd by him. Isab. Besides he tells me, that if peraduentureHe speake against me on the aduerse side,I should not thinke it strange, for 'tis a physickeThat's bitter, to sweet end. Enter Peter. Mar. I would Frier Peter Isab. Oh peace, the Frier is come. Peter. Come I haue found you out a stand most fit,Where you may haue such vantage on the Duke He shall not passe you:Twice haue the Trumpets sounded.The generous, and grauest CitizensHaue hent the gates, and very neere vponThe Duke is entring:Therefore hence away. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scoena Prima. Enter Duke, Varrius, Lords, Angelo, Esculus, Lucio,Citizens at seuerall doores. Duk. My very worthy Cosen, fairely met,Our old, and faithfull friend, we are glad to see you. Ang. Esc. Happy returne be to your royall grace. Duk. Many and harty thankings to you both:We haue made enquiry of you, and we heareSuch goodnesse of your Iustice, that our souleCannot but yeeld you forth to publique thankesForerunning more requitall. Ang. You make my bonds still greater. Duk. Oh your desert speaks loud, & I should wrong itTo locke it in the wards of couert bosomeWhen it deserues with characters of brasseA forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time,And razure of obliuion: Giue we your handAnd let the Subiect see, to make them knowThat outward curtesies would faine proclaimeFauours that keepe within: Come Escalus, You must walke by vs, on our other hand:And good supporters are you. Enter Peter and Isabella. Peter. Now is your timeSpeake loud, and kneele before him. Isab. Iustice, O royall Duke, vaile your regardVpon a wrong'd (I would faine haue said a Maid)Oh worthy Prince, dishonor not your eyeBy throwing it on any other obiect,Till you haue heard me, in my true complaint,And giuen me Iustice, Iustice, Iustice, Iustice. Duk. Relate your wrongs;In what, by whom? be briefe:Here is Lord Angelo shall giue you Iustice,Reueale your selfe to him. Isab. Oh worthy Duke, You bid me seeke redemption of the diuell,Heare me your selfe: for that which I must speakeMust either punish me, not being beleeu'd,Or wring redresse from you:Heare me: oh heare me, heere. Ang. My Lord, her wits I feare me are not firme:She hath bin a suitor to me, for her BrotherCut off by course of Iustice. Isab. By course of Iustice. Ang. And she will speake most bitterly, and strange. Isab. Most strange: but yet most truely wil I speake,That Angelo's forsworne, is it not strange?That Angelo's a murtherer, is't not strange?That Angelo is an adulterous thiefe,An hypocrite, a virgin violator,Is it not strange? and strange? Duke. Nay it is ten times strange? Isa. It is not truer he is Angelo, Then this is all as true, as it is strange;Nay, it is ten times true, for truth is truthTo th' end of reckning. Duke. Away with her: poore souleShe speakes this, in th' infirmity of sence. Isa. Oh Prince, I coniure thee, as thou beleeu'stThere is another comfort, then this world,That thou neglect me not, with that opinionThat I am touch'd with madnesse: make not impossibleThat which but seemes vnlike, 'tis not impossibleBut one, the wickedst caitiffe on the groundMay seeme as shie, as graue, as iust, as absolute:As Angelo, euen so may Angelo In all his dressings, caracts, titles, formes,Be an arch-villaine: Beleeue it, royall PrinceIf he be lesse, he's nothing, but he's more,Had I more name for badnesse. Duke. By mine honestyIf she be mad, as I beleeue no other,Her madnesse hath the oddest frame of sense,Such a dependancy of thing, on thing,As ere I heard in madnesse. Isab. Oh gracious Duke Harpe not on that; nor do not banish reasonFor inequality, but let your reason serueTo make the truth appeare, where it seemes hid,And hide the false seemes true. Duk. Many that are not madHaue sure more lacke of reason:What would you say? Isab. I am the Sister of one Claudio, Condemnd vpon the Act of FornicationTo loose his head, condemn'd by Angelo, I, (in probation of a Sisterhood)Was sent to by my Brother; one Lucio As then the Messenger. Luc. That's I, and't like your Grace:I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her,To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo, For her poore Brothers pardon. Isab. That's he indeede. Duk. You were not bid to speake. Luc. No, my good Lord,Nor wish'd to hold my peace. Duk. I wish you now then,Pray you take note of it: and when you haueA businesse for your selfe: pray heauen you thenBe perfect. Luc. I warrant your honor. Duk. The warrant's for your selfe: take heede to't. Isab. This Gentleman told somewhat of my Tale. Luc. Right. Duk. It may be right, but you are i'the wrongTo speake before your time: proceed, Isab. I wentTo this pernicious Caitiffe Deputie. Duk. That's somewhat madly spoken. Isab. Pardon it, The phrase is to the matter. Duke. Mended againe: the matter: proceed. Isab. In briefe, to set the needlesse processe by:How I perswaded, how I praid, and kneel'd,How he refeld me, and how I replide(For this was of much length) the vild conclusionI now begin with griefe, and shame to vtter.He would not, but by gift of my chaste bodyTo his concupiscible intemperate lustRelease my brother; and after much debatement,My sisterly remorse, confutes mine honour,And I did yeeld to him: But the next morne betimes,His purpose surfetting, he sends a warrantFor my poore brothers head. Duke. This is most likely. Isab. Oh that it were as like as it is true. Duk. By heauen (fond wretch) thou knowst not what thou speak'st, Or else thou art suborn'd against his honorIn hatefull practise: first his IntegritieStands without blemish: next it imports no reason,That with such vehemency he should pursueFaults proper to himselfe: if he had so offendedHe would haue waigh'd thy brother by himselfe,And not haue cut him off: some one hath set you on:Confesse the truth, and say by whose aduiceThou cam'st heere to complaine. Isab. And is this all?Then oh you blessed Ministers aboueKeepe me in patience, and with ripened timeVnfold the euill, which is heere wrapt vpIn countenance: heauen shield your Grace from woe,As I thus wrong'd, hence vnbeleeued goe. Duke. I know you'ld faine be gone: An Officer:To prison with her: Shall we thus permitA blasting and a scandalous breath to fall,On him so neere vs? This needs must be a practise:Who knew of your intent and comming hither? Isa. One that I would were heere, Frier Lodowick. Duk. A ghostly Father, belike:Who knowes that Lodowicke? Luc. My Lord, I know him, 'tis a medling Fryer,I doe not like the man: had he been Lay my Lord,For certaine words he spake against your GraceIn your retirment, I had swing'd him soundly. Duke. Words against mee? this' a good Fryer belikeAnd to set on this wretched woman hereAgainst our Substitute: Let this Fryer be found. Luc. But yesternight my Lord, she and that FryerI saw them at the prison: a sawcy Fryar,A very scuruy fellow. Peter. Blessed be your Royall Grace:I haue stood by my Lord, and I haue heardYour royall eare abus'd: first hath this womanMost wrongfully accus'd your Substitute,Who is as free from touch, or soyle with herAs she from one vngot. Duke. We did beleeue no lesse.Know you that Frier Lodowick that she speakes of? Peter. I know him for a man diuine and holy,Not scuruy, nor a temporary medlerAs he's reported by this Gentleman:And on my trust, a man that neuer yetDid (as he vouches) mis-report your Grace. Luc. My Lord, most villanously, beleeue it. Peter. Well: he in time may come to cleere himselfe;But at this instant he is sicke, my Lord: Of a strange Feauor: vpon his meere requestBeing come to knowledge, that there was complaintIntended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hetherTo speake as from his mouth, what he doth knowIs true, and false: And what he with his oathAnd all probation will make vp full cleareWhensoeuer he's conuented: First for this woman,To iustifie this worthy Noble manSo vulgarly and personally accus'd,Her shall you heare disproued to her eyes,Till she her selfe confesse it. Duk. Good Frier, let's heare it:Doe you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?Oh heauen, the vanity of wretched fooles.Giue vs some seates, Come cosen Angelo, In this I'll be impartiall: be you IudgeOf your owne Cause: Is this the Witnes Frier? Enter Mariana. First, let her shew your face, and after, speake. Mar. Pardon my Lord, I will not shew my faceVntill my husband bid me. Duke. What, are you married? Mar. No my Lord. Duke. Are you a Maid? Mar. No my Lord. Duk. A Widow then? Mar. Neither, my Lord. Duk. Why you are nothing then: neither Maid, Wi-dow, nor Wife? Luc. My Lord, she may be a Puncke: for many ofthem, are neither Maid, Widow, nor Wife. Duk. Silence that fellow: I would he had some causeto prattle for himselfe. Luc. Well my Lord. Mar. My Lord, I doe confesse I nere was married,And I confesse besides, I am no Maid,I haue known my husband, yet my husbandKnowes not, that euer he knew me. Luc. He was drunk then, my Lord, it can be no better. Duk. For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so to. Luc. Well, my Lord. Duk. This is no witnesse for Lord Angelo. Mar. Now I come to't, my Lord.Shee that accuses him of Fornication,In selfe-same manner, doth accuse my husband,And charges him, my Lord, with such a time,When I'le depose I had him in mine ArmesWith all th' effect of Loue. Ang. Charges she moe then me? Mar. Not that I know. Duk. No? you say your husband. Mar. Why iust, my Lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinkes he knowes, that he nere knew my body,But knows, he thinkes, that he knowes Isabels. Ang. This is a strange abuse: Let's see thy face. Mar. My husband bids me, now I will vnmaske.This is that face, thou cruell Angelo Which once thou sworst, was worth the looking on:This is the hand, which with a vowd contractWas fast belockt in thine: This is the bodyThat tooke away the match from Isabell, And did supply thee at thy garden-houseIn her Imagin'd person. Duke. Know you this woman? Luc. Carnallie she saies. Duk. Sirha, no more. Luc. Enough my Lord. Ang. My Lord, I must confesse, I know this woman,And fiue yeres since there was some speech of marriageBetwixt my selfe, and her: which was broke off,Partly for that her promis'd proportionsCame short of Composition: But in chiefeFor that her reputation was dis-valuedIn leuitie: Since which time of fiue yeresI neuer spake with her, saw her, nor heard from herVpon my faith, and honor. Mar. Noble Prince,As there comes light from heauen, and words fro[m] breath,As there is sence in truth, and truth in vertue,I am affianced this mans wife, as stronglyAs words could make vp vowes: And my good Lord,But Tuesday night last gon, in's garden house,He knew me as a wife. As this is true,Let me in safety raise me from my knees,Or else for euer be confixed hereA Marble Monument. Ang. I did but smile till now,Now, good my Lord, giue me the scope of Iustice,My patience here is touch'd: I doe perceiueThese poore informall women, are no moreBut instruments of some more mightier memberThat sets them on. Let me haue way, my LordTo finde this practise out. Duke. I, with my heart,And punish them to your height of pleasure.Thou foolish Frier, and thou pernicious womanCompact with her that's gone: thinkst thou, thy oathes,Though they would swear downe each particular Saint,Were testimonies against his worth, and creditThat's seald in approbation? you, Lord Escalus Sit with my Cozen, lend him your kinde painesTo finde out this abuse, whence 'tis deriu'd.There is another Frier that set them on,Let him be sent for. Peter. Would he were here, my Lord, for he indeedHath set the women on to this Complaint;Your Prouost knowes the place where he abides,And he may fetch him. Duke. Goe, doe it instantly:And you, my noble and well-warranted CosenWhom it concernes to heare this matter forth,Doe with your iniuries as seemes you bestIn any chastisement; I for a whileWill leaue you; but stir not you till you haueWell determin'd vpon these Slanderers. Exit. Esc. My Lord, wee'll doe it throughly: Signior Lu-cio, did not you say you knew that Frier Lodowick to be adishonest person? Luc. Cucullus non facit Monachum, honest in nothingbut in his Clothes, and one that hath spoke most villa-nous speeches of the Duke. Esc. We shall intreat you to abide heere till he come,and inforce them against him: we shall finde this Frier anotable fellow. Luc. As any in Vienna, on my word. Esc. Call that same Isabell here once againe, I wouldspeake with her: pray you, my Lord, giue mee leaue toquestion, you shall see how Ile handle her. Luc. Not better then he, by her owne report. Esc. Say you? Luc. Marry sir, I thinke, if you handled her priuately She would sooner confesse, perchance publikely she'll beasham'd. Enter Duke, Prouost, Isabella. Esc. I will goe darkely to worke with her. Luc. That's the way: for women are light at mid-night. Esc. Come on Mistris, here's a Gentlewoman,Denies all that you haue said. Luc. My Lord, here comes the rascall I spoke of,Here, with the Prouost. Esc. In very good time: speake not you to him, tillwe call vpon you. Luc. Mum. Esc. Come Sir, did you set these women on to slan-der Lord Angelo? they haue confes'd you did. Duk. 'Tis false. Esc. How? Know you where you are? Duk. Respect to your great place; and let the diuellBe sometime honour'd, for his burning throne.Where is the Duke? 'tis he should heare me speake. Esc. The Duke's in vs: and we will heare you speake,Looke you speake iustly. Duk. Boldly, at least. But oh poore soules,Come you to seeke the Lamb here of the Fox;Good night to your redresse: Is the Duke gone?Then is your cause gone too: The Duke's vniust,Thus to retort your manifest Appeale,And put your triall in the villaines mouth,Which here you come to accuse. Luc. This is the rascall: this is he I spoke of. Esc. Why thou vnreuerend, and vnhallowed Fryer:Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women,To accuse this worthy man? but in foule mouth,And in the witnesse of his proper eare,To call him villaine; and then to glance from him,To th' Duke himselfe, to taxe him with Iniustice?Take him hence; to th' racke with him: we'll towze youIoynt by ioynt, but we will know his purpose:What? vniust? Duk. Be not so hot: the Duke dareNo more stretch this finger of mine, then heDare racke his owne: his Subiect am I not,Nor here Prouinciall: My businesse in this StateMade me a looker on here in Vienna, Where I haue seene corruption boyle and bubble,Till it ore-run the Stew: Lawes, for all faults,But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong StatutesStand like the forfeites in a Barbers shop,As much in mocke, as marke. Esc. Slander to th' State:Away with him to prison. Ang. What can you vouch against him Signior Lucio?Is this the man you did tell vs of? Luc. 'Tis he, my Lord: come hither goodman bald-pate,doe you know me? Duk. I remember you Sir, by the sound of your voice,I met you at the Prison, in the absence of the Duke. Luc. Oh, did you so? and do you remember what yousaid of the Duke. Duk. Most notedly Sir. Luc. Do you so Sir: And was the Duke a flesh-mon-ger,a foole, and a coward, as you then reported himto be? Duk. You must (Sir) change persons with me, ere youmake that my report: you indeede spoke so of him, andmuch more, much worse. Luc. Oh thou damnable fellow: did I not plucke theeby the nose, for thy speeches? Duk. I protest, I loue the Duke, as I loue my selfe. Ang. Harke how the villaine would close now, afterhis treasonable abuses. Esc. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withall: Awaywith him to prison: Where is the Prouost? away withhim to prison: lay bolts enough vpon him: let him speakno more: away with those Giglets too, and with the o-ther confederate companion. Duk. Stay Sir, stay a while. Ang. What, resists he? helpe him Lucio. Luc. Come sir, come sir, come sir: foh sir, why youbald-pated lying rascall: you must be hooded must you?show your knaues visage with a poxe to you: show yoursheepe-biting face, and be hang'd an houre: Will'tnot off? Duk. Thou art the first knaue, that ere mad'st a Duke. First Prouost, let me bayle these gentle three:Sneake not away Sir, for the Fryer, and you,Must haue a word anon: lay hold on him. Luc. This may proue worse then hanging. Duk. What you haue spoke, I pardon: sit you downe, We'll borrow place of him; Sir, by your leaue:Ha'st thou or word, or wit, or impudence,That yet can doe thee office? If thou ha'stRely vpon it, till my tale be heard,And hold no longer out. Ang. Oh, my dread Lord,I should be guiltier then my guiltinesse,To thinke I can be vndiscerneable,When I perceiue your grace, like powre diuine,Hath look'd vpon my passes. Then good Prince,No longer Session hold vpon my shame,But let my Triall, be mine owne Confession:Immediate sentence then, and sequent death,Is all the grace I beg. Duk. Come hither Mariana, Say: was't thou ere contracted to this woman? Ang. I was my Lord. Duk. Goe take her hence, and marry her instantly.Doe you the office (Fryer) which consummate,Returne him here againe: goe with him Prouost. Exit. Esc. My Lord, I am more amaz'd at his dishonor,Then at the strangenesse of it. Duk. Come hither Isabell, Your Frier is now your Prince: As I was thenAduertysing, and holy to your businesse,(Not changing heart with habit) I am still,Atturnied at your seruice. Isab. Oh giue me pardonThat I, your vassaile, haue imploid, and pain'dYour vnknowne Soueraigntie. Duk. You are pardon'd Isabell: And now, deere Maide, be you as free to vs.Your Brothers death I know sits at your heart:And you may maruaile, why I obscur'd my selfe,Labouring to saue his life: and would not ratherMake rash remonstrance of my hidden powre,Then let him so be lost: oh most kinde Maid,It was the swift celeritie of his death,Which I did thinke, with slower foot came on,That brain'd my purpose: but peace be with him,That life is better life past fearing death,Then that which liues to feare: make it your comfort, So happy is your Brother. Enter Angelo, Maria, Peter, Prouost. Isab. I doe my Lord. Duk. For this new-maried man, approaching here,Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'dYour well defended honor: you must pardonFor Mariana's sake: But as he adiudg'd your Brother,Being criminall, in double violationOf sacred Chastitie, and of promise-breach,Thereon dependant for your Brothers life,The very mercy of the Law cries outMost audible, euen from his proper tongue.An Angelo for Claudio, death for death:Haste still paies haste, and leasure, answers leasure;Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure: Then Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested;Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee vantage.We doe condemne thee to the very BlockeWhere Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.Away with him. Mar. Oh my most gracious Lord,I hope you will not mocke me with a husband? Duk. It is your husband mock't you with a husband,Consenting to the safe-guard of your honor,I thought your marriage fit: else Imputation,For that he knew you, might reproach your life,And choake your good to come: For his Possessions,Although by confutation they are ours;We doe en-state, and widow you with all,To buy you a better husband. Mar. Oh my deere Lord,I craue no other, nor no better man. Duke. Neuer craue him, we are definitiue. Mar. Gentle my Liege. Duke. You doe but loose your labour.Away with him to death: Now Sir, to you. Mar. Oh my good Lord, sweet Isabell, take my part,Lend me your knees, and all my life to come,I'll lend you all my life to doe you seruice. Duke. Against all sence you doe importune her,Should she kneele downe, in mercie of this fact,Her Brothers ghost, his paued bed would breake,And take her hence in horror. Mar. Isabell: Sweet Isabel, doe yet but kneele by me,Hold vp your hands, say nothing: I'll speake all.They say best men are moulded out of faults,And for the most, become much more the betterFor being a little bad: So may my husband.Oh Isabel: will you not lend a knee? Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. Isab. Most bounteous Sir.Looke if it please you, on this man condemn'd,As if my Brother liu'd: I partly thinke,A due sinceritie gouerned his deedes,Till he did looke on me: Since it is so,Let him not die: my Brother had but Iustice,In that he did the thing for which he dide.For Angelo, his Act did not ore-take his bad intent,And must be buried but as an intentThat perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subiectsIntents, but meerely thoughts. Mar. Meerely my Lord. Duk. Your suite's vnprofitable: stand vp I say:I haue bethought me of another fault. Prouost, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an vnusuall howre? Pro. It was commanded so. Duke. Had you a speciall warrant for the deed? Pro. No my good Lord: it was by priuate message. Duk. For which I doe discharge you of your office,Giue vp your keyes. Pro. Pardon me, noble Lord,I thought it was a fault, but knew it not,Yet did repent me after more aduice,For testimony whereof, one in the prisonThat should by priuate order else haue dide,I haue reseru'd aliue. Duk. What's he? Pro. His name is Barnardine. Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio: Goe fetch him hither, let me looke vpon him. Esc. I am sorry, one so learned, and so wiseAs you, Lord Angelo, haue stil appear'd,Should slip so grosselie, both in the heat of bloudAnd lacke of temper'd iudgement afterward. Ang. I am sorrie, that such sorrow I procure,And so deepe sticks it in my penitent heart,That I craue death more willingly then mercy,'Tis my deseruing, and I doe entreat it. Enter Barnardine and Prouost, Claudio, Iulietta. Duke. Which is that Barnardine? Pro. This my Lord. Duke. There was a Friar told me of this man.Sirha, thou art said to haue a stubborne souleThat apprehends no further then this world,And squar'st thy life according: Thou'rt condemn'd,But for those earthly faults, I quit them all,And pray thee take this mercie to prouideFor better times to come: Frier aduise him,I leaue him to your hand. What muffeld fellow's that? Pro. This is another prisoner that I sau'd,Who should haue di'd when Claudio lost his head,As like almost to Claudio, as himselfe. Duke. If he be like your brother, for his sakeIs he pardon'd, and for your louelie sakeGiue me your hand, and say you will be mine,He is my brother too: But fitter time for that:By this Lord Angelo perceiues he's safe,Methinkes I see a quickning in his eye:Well Angelo, your euill quits you well.Looke that you loue your wife: her worth, worth yoursI finde an apt remission in my selfe:And yet heere's one in place I cannot pardon,You sirha, that knew me for a foole, a Coward,One all of Luxurie, an asse, a mad man:Wherein haue I so deseru'd of youThat you extoll me thus? Luc. 'Faith my Lord, I spoke it but according to thetrick: if you will hang me for it you may: but I had ra-ther it would please you, I might be whipt. Duke. Whipt first, sir, and hang'd after.Proclaime it Prouost round about the Citie,If any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow(As I haue heard him sweare himselfe there's onewhom he begot with childe) let her appeare,And he shall marry her: the nuptiall finish'd,Let him be whipt and hang'd. Luc. I beseech your Highnesse doe not marry me toa Whore: your Highnesse said euen now I made you aDuke, good my Lord do not recompence me, in makingme a Cuckold. Duke. Vpon mine honor thou shalt marrie her.Thy slanders I forgiue, and therewithallRemit thy other forfeits: take him to prison,And see our pleasure herein executed. Luc. Marrying a punke my Lord, is pressing to death,Whipping and hanging. Duke. Slandering a Prince deserues it.She Claudio that you wrong'd, looke you restore.Ioy to you Mariana, loue her Angelo: I haue confes'd her, and I know her vertue.Thanks good friend, Escalus, for thy much goodnesse,There's more behinde that is more gratulate.Thanks Prouost for thy care, and secrecie,We shall imploy thee in a worthier place.Forgiue him Angelo, that brought you homeThe head of Ragozine for Claudio's, Th' offence pardons it selfe. Deere Isabell, I haue a motion much imports your good,Whereto if you'll a willing eare incline;What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.So bring vs to our Pallace, where wee'll showWhat's yet behinde, that meete you all should know.
The Scene Vienna. The names of all the Actors. Vincentio: the Duke.Angelo, the Deputie.Escalus, an ancient Lord.Claudio, a yong Gentleman. Lucio, a fantastique. 2. Other like Gentlemen.Prouost.Thomas. 2. Friers.Peter.Elbow, a simple Constable. Froth, a foolish Gentleman.Clowne.Abhorson, an Executioner.Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner.Isabella, sister to Claudio.Mariana, betrothed to Angelo.Iuliet, beloued of Claudio.Francisca, a Nun.Mistris Ouer-don, a Bawd. FINIS.
The Comedie of Errors.
Actus primus, Scena prima. Enter the Duke of Ephesus, with the Merchant of Siracusa,Iaylor, and other attendants. Marchant. Proceed Solinus to procure my fall,And by the doome of death end woes and all. Duke. Merchant of Siracusa, plead no more.I am not partiall to infringe our Lawes;The enmity and discord which of lateSprung from the rancorous outrage of your Duke,To Merchants our well-dealing Countrimen,Who wanting gilders to redeeme their liues,Haue seal'd his rigorous statutes with their blouds,Excludes all pitty from our threatning lookes:For since the mortall and intestine iarresTwixt thy seditious Countrimen and vs,It hath in solemne Synodes beene decreed,Both by the Siracusians and our selues,To admit no trafficke to our aduerse townes:Nay more, if any borne at Ephesus Be seene at any Siracusian Marts and Fayres:Againe, if any Siracusian borneCome to the Bay of Ephesus, he dies:His goods confiscate to the Dukes dispose,Vnlesse a thousand markes be leuiedTo quit the penalty, and to ransome him:Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,Cannot amount vnto a hundred Markes,Therefore by Law thou art condemn'd to die. Mer. Yet this my comfort, when your words are done,My woes end likewise with the euening Sonne. Duk. Well Siracusian; say in briefe the causeWhy thou departedst from thy natiue home?And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. Mer. A heauier taske could not haue beene impos'd,Then I to speake my griefes vnspeakeable:Yet that the world may witnesse that my endWas wrought by nature, not by vile offence,Ile vtter what my sorrow giues me leaue.In Syracusa was I borne, and weddeVnto a woman, happy but for me,And by me; had not our hap beene bad:With her I liu'd in ioy, our wealth increastBy prosperous voyages I often madeTo Epidamium, till my factors death,And he great care of goods at randone left,Drew me from kinde embracements of my spouse;From whom my absence was not sixe moneths olde,Before her selfe (almost at fainting vnderThe pleasing punishment that women beare)Had made prouision for her following me,And soone, and safe, arriued where I was:There had she not beene long, but she becameA ioyfull mother of two goodly sonnes:And, which was strange, the one so like the other,As could not be distinguish'd but by names.That very howre, and in the selfe-same Inne,A meane woman was deliueredOf such a burthen Male, twins both alike:Those, for their parents were exceeding poore,I bought, and brought vp to attend my sonnes.My wife, not meanely prowd of two such boyes,Made daily motions for our home returne:Vnwilling I agreed, alas, too soone wee came aboord.A league from Epidamium had we saildBefore the alwaies winde-obeying deepeGaue any Tragicke Instance of our harme:But longer did we not retaine much hope;For what obscured light the heauens did grant,Did but conuay vnto our fearefull mindesA doubtfull warrant of immediate death,Which though my selfe would gladly haue imbrac'd,Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,Weeping before for what she saw must come,And pitteous playnings of the prettie babesThat mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to feare,Forst me to seeke delayes for them and me,And this it was: (for other meanes was none)The Sailors sought for safety by our boate,And left the ship then sinking ripe to vs.My wife, more carefull for the latter borne,Had fastned him vnto a small spare Mast,Such as sea-faring men prouide for stormes:To him one of the other twins was bound,Whil'st I had beene like heedfull of the other.The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixt,Fastned our selues at eyther end the mast,And floating straight, obedient to the streame,Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.At length the sonne gazing vpon the earth,Disperst those vapours that offended vs,And by the benefit of his wished lightThe seas waxt calme, and we discoueredTwo shippes from farre, making amaine to vs:Of Corinth that, of Epidarus this,But ere they came, oh let me say no more,Gather the sequell by that went before. Duk. Nay forward old man, doe not breake off so, For we may pitty, though not pardon thee. Merch. Oh had the gods done so, I had not nowWorthily tearm'd them mercilesse to vs:For ere the ships could meet by twice fiue leagues,We were encountred by a mighty rocke,Which being violently borne vp,Our helpefull ship was splitted in the midst;So that in this vniust diuorce of vs,Fortune had left to both of vs alike,What to delight in, what to sorrow for,Her part, poore soule, seeming as burdenedWith lesser waight, but not with lesser woe,Was carried with more speed before the winde,And in our sight they three were taken vpBy Fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.At length another ship had seiz'd on vs,And knowing whom it was their hap to saue,Gaue healthfull welcome to their ship-wrackt guests,And would haue reft the Fishers of their prey,Had not their backe beene very slow of saile;And therefore homeward did they bend their course.Thus haue you heard me seuer'd from my blisse,That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,To tell sad stories of my owne mishaps. Duke. And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,Doe me the fauour to dilate at full,What haue befalne of them and they till now. Merch. My yongest boy, and yet my eldest care,At eighteene yeeres became inquisitiueAfter his brother; and importun'd meThat his attendant, so his case was like,Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,Might beare him company in the quest of him:Whom whil'st I laboured of a loue to see,I hazarded the losse of whom I lou'd.Fiue Sommers haue I spent in farthest Greece, Roming cleane through the bounds of Asia, And coasting homeward, came to Ephesus: Hopelesse to finde, yet loth to leaue vnsoughtOr that, or any place that harbours men:But heere must end the story of my life,And happy were I in my timelie death,Could all my trauells warrant me they liue. Duke. Haplesse Egeon whom the fates haue marktTo beare the extremitie of dire mishap:Now trust me, were it not against our Lawes,Against my Crowne, my oath, my dignity,Which Princes would they may not disanull,My soule should sue as aduocate for thee:But though thou art adiudged to the death,And passed sentence may not be recal'dBut to our honours great disparagement:Yet will I fauour thee in what I can;Therefore Marchant, Ile limit thee this dayTo seeke thy helpe by beneficiall helpe,Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus, Beg thou, or borrow, to make vp the summe,And liue: if no, then thou art doom'd to die:Iaylor, take him to thy custodie. Iaylor. I will my Lord. Merch. Hopelesse and helpelesse doth Egean wend,But to procrastinate his liuelesse end. Exeunt. Enter Antipholis Erotes, a Marchant, and Dromio. Mer. Therefore giue out you are of Epidamium, Lest that your goods too soone be confiscate: This very day a Syracusian MarchantIs apprehended for a riuall here,And not being able to buy out his life,According to the statute of the towne,Dies ere the wearie sunne set in the West:There is your monie that I had to keepe. Ant. Goe beare it to the Centaure, where we host,And stay there Dromio, till I come to thee;Within this houre it will be dinner time,Till that Ile view the manners of the towne,Peruse the traders, gaze vpon the buildings,And then returne and sleepe within mine Inne,For with long trauaile I am stiffe and wearie.Get thee away. Dro. Many a man would take you at your word,And goe indeede, hauing so good a meane. Exit Dromio. Ant. A trustie villaine sir, that very oft,When I am dull with care and melancholly,Lightens my humour with his merry iests:What will you walke with me about the towne,And then goe to my Inne and dine with me? E.Mar. I am inuited sir to certaine Marchants,Of whom I hope to make much benefit:I craue your pardon, soone at fiue a clocke,Please you, Ile meete with you vpon the Mart,And afterward consort you till bed time:My present businesse cals me from you now. Ant. Farewell till then: I will goe loose my selfe,And wander vp and downe to view the Citie. E.Mar. Sir, I commend you to your owne content. Exeunt. Ant. He that commends me to mine owne content,Commends me to the thing I cannot get:I to the world am like a drop of water,That in the Ocean seekes another drop,Who falling there to finde his fellow forth,(Vnseene, inquisitiue) confounds himselfe.So I, to finde a Mother and a Brother,In quest of them (vnhappie a) loose my selfe. Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Here comes the almanacke of my true date:What now? How chance thou art return'd so soone. E.Dro. Return'd so soone, rather approacht too late:The Capon burnes, the Pig fals from the spit;The clocke hath strucken twelue vpon the bell:My Mistris made it one vpon my cheeke:She is so hot because the meate is colde:The meate is colde, because you come not home:You come not home, because you haue no stomacke:You haue no stomacke, hauing broke your fast:But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray,Are penitent for your default to day. Ant. Stop in your winde sir, tell me this I pray?Where haue you left the mony that I gaue you. E.Dro. Oh sixe pence that I had a wensday last,To pay the Sadler for my Mistris crupper:The Sadler had it Sir, I kept it not. Ant. I am not in a sportiue humor now:Tell me, and dally not, where is the monie?We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trustSo great a charge from thine owne custodie. E.Dro. I pray you iest sir as you sit at dinner:I from my Mistris come to you in post:If I returne I shall be post indeede. For she will scoure your fault vpon my pate:Me thinkes your maw, like mine, should be your cooke,And strike you home without a messenger. Ant. Come Dromio, come, these iests are out of season,Reserue them till a merrier houre then this:Where is the gold I gaue in charge to thee? E.Dro. To me sir? why you gaue no gold to me? Ant. Come on sir knaue, haue done your foolishnes,And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. E.Dro. My charge was but to fetch you fro[m] the MartHome to your house, the Phoenix sir, to dinner;My Mistris and her sister staies for you. Ant. Now as I am a Christian answer me,In what safe place you haue bestow'd my monie;Or I shall breake that merrie sconce of yoursThat stands on tricks, when I am vndispos'd:Where is the thousand Markes thou hadst of me? E.Dro. I haue some markes of yours vpon my pate:Some of my Mistris markes vpon my shoulders:But not a thousand markes betweene you both.If I should pay your worship those againe,Perchance you will not beare them patiently. Ant. Thy Mistris markes? what Mistris slaue hast thou? E.Dro. Your worships wife, my Mistris at the Phoenix; She that doth fast till you come home to dinner:And praies that you will hie you home to dinner. Ant. What wilt thou flout me thus vnto my faceBeing forbid? There take you that sir knaue. E.Dro. What meane you sir, for God sake hold your hands:Nay, and you will not sir, Ile take my heeles. Exeunt Dromio Ep. Ant. Vpon my life by some deuise or other,The villaine is ore-wrought of all my monie.They say this towne is full of cosenage:As nimble Iuglers that deceiue the eie:Darke working Sorcerers that change the minde:Soule-killing Witches, that deforme the bodie:Disguised Cheaters, prating Mountebankes;And manie such like liberties of sinne:If it proue so, I will be gone the sooner:Ile to the Centaur to goe seeke this slaue,I greatly feare my monie is not safe. Exit.
Actus Secundus. Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholis Sereptus, withLuciana her Sister. Adr. Neither my husband nor the slaue return'd,That in such haste I sent to seeke his Master?Sure Luciana it is two a clocke. Luc. Perhaps some Merchant hath inuited him,And from the Mart he's somewhere gone to dinner:Good Sister let vs dine, and neuer fret;A man is Master of his libertie:Time is their Master, and when they see time,They'll goe or come; if so, be patient Sister. Adr. Why should their libertie then ours be more? Luc. Because their businesse still lies out a dore. Adr. Looke when I serue him so, he takes it thus. Luc. Oh, know he is the bridle of your will. Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so. Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lasht with woe:There's nothing situate vnder heauens eye,But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in skie.The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowlesAre their males subiects, and at their controules:Man more diuine, the Master of all these,Lord of the wide world, and wilde watry seas,Indued with intellectuall sence and soules,Of more preheminence then fish and fowles,Are masters to their females, and their Lords:Then let your will attend on their accords. Adri. This seruitude makes you to keepe vnwed. Luci. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed. Adr. But were you wedded, you wold bear some sway Luc. Ere I learne loue, Ile practise to obey. Adr. How if your husband start some other where? Luc. Till he come home againe, I would forbeare. Adr. Patience vnmou'd, no maruel though she pause,They can be meeke, that haue no other cause:A wretched soule bruis'd with aduersitie,We bid be quiet when we heare it crie.But were we burdned with like waight of paine,As much, or more, we should our selues complaine:So thou that hast no vnkinde mate to greeue thee,With vrging helpelesse patience would releeue me;But if thou liue to see like right bereft,This foole-beg'd patience in thee will be left. Luci. Well, I will marry one day but to trie:Heere comes your man, now is your husband nie. Enter Dromio Eph. Adr. Say, is your tardie master now at hand? E.Dro. Nay, hee's at too hands with mee, and that mytwo eares can witnesse. Adr. Say, didst thou speake with him? knowst thouhis minde? E.Dro. I, I, he told his minde vpon mine eare,Beshrew his hand, I scarce could vnderstand it. Luc. Spake hee so doubtfully, thou couldst not feelehis meaning. E.Dro. Nay, hee strooke so plainly, I could too wellfeele his blowes; and withall so doubtfully, that I couldscarce vnderstand them. Adri. But say, I prethee, is he comming home?It seemes he hath great care to please his wife. E.Dro. Why Mistresse, sure my Master is horne mad. Adri. Horne mad, thou villaine? E.Dro. I meane not Cuckold mad,But sure he is starke mad:When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,He ask'd me for a hundred markes in gold:'Tis dinner time, quoth I: my gold, quoth he:Your meat doth burne, quoth I: my gold quoth he:Will you come, quoth I: my gold, quoth he;Where is the thousand markes I gaue thee villaine?The Pigge quoth I, is burn'd: my gold, quoth he:My mistresse, sir, quoth I: hang vp thy Mistresse:I know not thy mistresse, out on thy mistresse. Luci. Quoth who? E.Dr. Quoth my Master, I know quoth he, no house,no wife, no mistresse: so that my arrant due vnto mytongue, I thanke him, I bare home vpon my shoulders:for in conclusion, he did beat me there. Adri. Go back againe, thou slaue, & fetch him home. Dro. Goe backe againe, and be new beaten home?For Gods sake send some other messenger. Adri. Backe slaue, or I will breake thy pate a-crosse. Dro. And he will blesse the crosse with other beating:Betweene you, I shall haue a holy head. Adri. Hence prating pesant, fetch thy Master home. Dro. Am I so round with you, as you with me,That like a foot-ball you doe spurne me thus:You spurne me hence, and he will spurne me hither,If I last in this seruice, you must case me in leather. Luci. Fie how impatience lowreth in your face. Adri. His company must do his minions grace,Whil'st I at home starue for a merrie looke:Hath homelie age th' alluring beauty tookeFrom my poore cheeke? then he hath wasted it.Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit,If voluble and sharpe discourse be mar'd,Vnkindnesse blunts it more then marble hard.Doe their gay vestments his affections baite?That's not my fault, hee's master of my state.What ruines are in me that can be found,By him not ruin'd? Then is he the groundOf my defeatures. My decayed faire,A sunnie looke of his, would soone repaire.But, too vnruly Deere, he breakes the pale,And feedes from home; poore I am but his stale. Luci. Selfe-harming Iealousie; fie beat it hence. Ad. Vnfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispence:I know his eye doth homage other-where,Or else, what lets it but he would be here?Sister, you know he promis'd me a chaine,Would that alone, a loue he would detaine,So he would keepe faire quarter with his bed:I see the Iewell best enamaledWill loose his beautie: yet the gold bides stillThat others touch, and often touching will,Where gold and no man that hath a name,By falshood and corruption doth it shame:Since that my beautie cannot please his eie,Ile weepe (what's left away) and weeping die. Luci. How manie fond fooles serue mad Ielousie? Exit. Enter Antipholis Errotis. Ant. The gold I gaue to Dromio is laid vpSafe at the Centaur, and the heedfull slaueIs wandred forth in care to seeke me outBy computation and mine hosts report.I could not speake with Dromio, since at firstI sent him from the Mart? see here he comes. Enter Dromio Siracusia. How now sir, is your merrie humor alter'd?As you loue stroakes, so iest with me againe:You know no Centaur? you receiu'd no gold?Your Mistresse sent to haue me home to dinner?My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,That thus so madlie thou did didst answere me? S.Dro. What answer sir? when spake I such a word? E.Ant. Euen now, euen here, not halfe an howre since. S.Dro. I did not see you since you sent me henceHome to the Centaur with the gold you gaue me. Ant. Villaine, thou didst denie the golds receit,And toldst me of a Mistresse, and a dinner,For which I hope thou feltst I was displeas'd. S.Dro. I am glad to see you in this merrie vaine,What meanes this iest, I pray you Master tell me? Ant. Yea, dost thou ieere & flowt me in the teeth?Thinkst thou I iest? hold, take thou that, & that. Beats Dro. S.Dr. Hold sir, for Gods sake, now your iest is earnest,Vpon what bargaine do you giue it me? Antiph. Because that I familiarlie sometimesDoe vse you for my foole, and chat with you,Your sawcinesse will iest vpon my loue,And make a Common of my serious howres,When the sunne shines, let foolish gnats make sport,But creepe in crannies, when he hides his beames:If you will iest with me, know my aspect,And fashion your demeanor to my lookes,Or I will beat this method in your sconce. S.Dro. Sconce call you it? so you would leaue batte-ring, I had rather haue it a head, and you vse these blowslong, I must get a sconce for my head, and Insconce it to, or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders, but I praysir, why am I beaten? Ant. Dost thou not know? S.Dro. Nothing sir, but that I am beaten. Ant. Shall I tell you why? S.Dro. I sir, and wherefore; for they say, euery why hath a wherefore. Ant. Why first for flowting me, and then wherefore,for vrging it the second time to me. S.Dro. Was there euer anie man thus beaten out ofseason, when in the why and the wherefore, is neitherrime nor reason. Well sir, I thanke you. Ant. Thanke me sir, for what? S.Dro. Marry sir, for this something that you gaue mefor nothing. Ant. Ile make you amends next, to giue you nothingfor something. But say sir, is it dinner time? S.Dro. No sir, I thinke the meat wants that I haue. Ant. In good time sir: what's that? S.Dro. Basting. Ant. Well sir, then 'twill be drie. S.Dro. If it be sir, I pray you eat none of it. Ant. Your reason? S.Dro. Lest it make you chollericke, and purchase meanother drie basting. Ant. Well sir, learne to iest in good time, there's atime for all things. S.Dro. I durst haue denied that before you were sochollericke. Anti. By what rule sir? S.Dro. Marry sir, by a rule as plaine as the plaine baldpate of Father time himselfe. Ant. Let's heare it. S.Dro. There's no time for a man to recouer his hairethat growes bald by nature. Ant. May he not doe it by fine and recouerie? S.Dro. Yes, to pay a fine for a perewig, and recouerthe lost haire of another man. Ant. Why, is Time such a niggard of haire, being (asit is) so plentifull an excrement? S.Dro. Because it is a blessing that hee bestowes onbeasts, and what he hath scanted them in haire, hee hathgiuen them in wit. Ant. Why, but theres manie a man hath more hairethen wit. S.Dro. Not a man of those but he hath the wit to losehis haire. Ant. Why thou didst conclude hairy men plain dea-lers without wit. S.Dro. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost; yet he loo-seth it in a kinde of iollitie. An. For what reason. S.Dro. For two, and sound ones to. An. Nay not sound I pray you. S.Dro. Sure ones then. An. Nay, not sure in a thing falsing. S.Dro. Certaine ones then. An. Name them. S.Dro. The one to saue the money that he spends intrying: the other, that at dinner they should not drop inhis porrage. An. You would all this time haue prou'd, there is notime for all things. S.Dro. Marry and did sir: namely, in no time to re-couer haire lost by Nature. An. But your reason was not substantiall, why thereis no time to recouer. S.Dro. Thus I mend it: Time himselfe is bald, andtherefore to the worlds end, will haue bald followers. An. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion: but soft,who wafts vs yonder. Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adri. I, I, Antipholus, looke strange and frowne,Some other Mistresse hath thy sweet aspects:I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.The time was once, when thou vn-vrg'd wouldst vow,That neuer words were musicke to thine eare,That neuer obiect pleasing in thine eye,That neuer touch well welcome to thy hand,That neuer meat sweet-sauour'd in thy taste,Vnlesse I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or caru'd to thee.How comes it now, my Husband, oh how comes it,That thou art then estranged from thy selfe?Thy selfe I call it, being strange to me:That vndiuidable IncorporateAm better then thy deere selfes better part.Ah doe not teare away thy selfe from me;For know my loue: as easie maist thou fallA drop of water in the breaking gulfe,And take vnmingled thence that drop againeWithout addition or diminishing,As take from me thy selfe, and not me too.How deerely would it touch thee to the quicke,Shouldst thou but heare I were licencious?And that this body consecrate to thee,By Ruffian Lust should be contaminate?Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurne at me,And hurle the name of husband in my face,And teare the stain'd skin of my Harlot brow,And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,And breake it with a deepe-diuorcing vow?I know thou canst, and therefore see thou doe it.I am possest with an adulterate blot,My bloud is mingled with the crime of lust:For if we two be one, and thou play false,I doe digest the poison of thy flesh,Being strumpeted by thy contagion:Keepe then faire league and truce with thy true bed,I liue distain'd, thou vndishonoured. Antip. Plead you to me faire dame? I know you not:In Ephesus I am but two houres old,As strange vnto your towne, as to your talke,Who euery word by all my wit being scan'd,Wants wit in all, one word to vnderstand. Luci. Fie brother, how the world is chang'd with you:When were you wont to vse my sister thus?She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. Ant. By Dromio? Drom. By me. Adr. By thee, and this thou didst returne from him.That he did buffet thee, and in his blowes,Denied my house for his, me for his wife. Ant. Did you conuerse sir with this gentlewoman:What is the course and drift of your compact? S.Dro. I sir? I neuer saw her till this time. Ant. Villaine thou liest, for euen her verie words,Didst thou deliuer to me on the Mart. S.Dro. I neuer spake with her in all my life. Ant. How can she thus then call vs by our names?Vnlesse it be by inspiration. Adri. How ill agrees it with your grauitie,To counterfeit thus grosely with your slaue,Abetting him to thwart me in my moode;Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.Come I will fasten on this sleeue of thine:Thou art an Elme my husband, I a Vine:Whose weaknesse married to thy stranger state,Makes me with thy strength to communicate:If ought possesse thee from me, it is drosse,Vsurping Iuie, Brier, or idle Mosse,Who all for want of pruning, with intrusion,Infect thy sap, and liue on thy confusion. Ant. To mee shee speakes, shee moues mee for hertheame;What, was I married to her in my dreame?Or sleepe I now, and thinke I heare all this?What error driues our eies and eares amisse?Vntill I know this sure vncertaintie,Ile entertaine the free'd fallacie. Luc. Dromio, goe bid the seruants spred for dinner. S.Dro. Oh for my beads, I crosse me for a sinner.This is the Fairie land, oh spight of spights,We talke with Goblins, Owles and Sprights;If we obay them not, this will insue:They'll sucke our breath, or pinch vs blacke and blew. Luc. Why prat'st thou to thy selfe, and answer'st not? Dromio, thou Dromio, thou snaile, thou slug, thou sot. S.Dro. I am transformed Master, am I not? Ant. I thinke thou art in minde, and so am I. S.Dro. Nay Master, both in minde, and in my shape. Ant. Thou hast thine owne forme. S.Dro. No, I am an Ape. Luc. If thou art chang'd to ought, 'tis to an Asse. S.Dro. 'Tis true she rides me, and I long for grasse.'Tis so, I am an Asse, else it could neuer be,But I should know her as well as she knowes me. Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a foole,To put the finger in the eie and weepe;Whil'st man and Master laughes my woes to scorne:Come sir to dinner, Dromio keepe the gate:Husband Ile dine aboue with you to day,And shriue you of a thousand idle prankes:Sirra, if any aske you for your Master,Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter:Come sister, Dromio play the Porter well. Ant. Am I in earth, in heauen, or in hell?Sleeping or waking, mad or well aduisde:Knowne vnto these, and to my selfe disguisde:Ile say as they say, and perseuer so:And in this mist at all aduentures go. S.Dro. Master, shall I be Porter at the gate? Adr. I, and let none enter, least I breake your pate. Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine to late.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, his man Dromio, Angelo theGoldsmith, and Balthaser the Merchant. E.Anti. Good signior Angelo you must excuse vs all,My wife is shrewish when I keepe not howres;Say that I lingerd with you at your shopTo see the making of her Carkanet,And that to morrow you will bring it home.But here's a villaine that would face me downeHe met me on the Mart, and that I beat him,And charg'd him with a thousand markes in gold,And that I did denie my wife and house;Thou drunkard thou, what didst thou meane by this? E.Dro. Say what you wil sir, but I know what I know,That you beat me at the Mart I haue your hand to show;If the skin were parchment, & the blows you gaue were ink,Your owne hand-writing would tell you what I thinke. E.Ant. I thinke thou art an asse. E.Dro. Marry so it doth appeareBy the wrongs I suffer, and the blowes I beare,I should kicke being kickt, and being at that passe,You would keepe from my heeles, and beware of an asse. E.An. Y'are sad signior Balthazar, pray God our cheerMay answer my good will, and your good welcom here. Bal. I hold your dainties cheap sir, & your welcom deer. E.An. Oh signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,A table full of welcome, makes scarce one dainty dish. Bal. Good meat sir is co[m]mon that euery churle affords. Anti. And welcome more common, for thats nothingbut words. Bal. Small cheere and great welcome, makes a mer-rie feast. Anti. I, to a niggardly Host, and more sparing guest:But though my cates be meane, take them in good part,Better cheere may you haue, but not with better hart.But soft, my doore is lockt; goe bid them let vs in. E.Dro. Maud, Briget, Marian, Cisley, Gillian, Ginn. S.Dro. Mome, Malthorse, Capon, Coxcombe, Idi-ot, Patch,Either get thee from the dore, or sit downe at the hatch:Dost thou coniure for wenches, that thou calst for such store,When one is one too many, goe get thee from the dore. E.Dro. What patch is made our Porter? my Masterstayes in the street. S.Dro. Let him walke from whence he came, lest heecatch cold on's feet. E.Ant. Who talks within there? hoa, open the dore. S.Dro. Right sir, Ile tell you when, and you'll tellme wherefore. Ant. Wherefore? for my dinner: I haue not din'd today. S.Dro. Nor to day here you must not come againewhen you may. Anti. What art thou that keep'st mee out from thehowse I owe? S.Dro. The Porter for this time Sir, and my name is Dromio. E.Dro. O villaine, thou hast stolne both mine officeand my name,The one nere got me credit, the other mickle blame:If thou hadst beene Dromio to day in my place,Thou wouldst haue chang'd thy face for a name, or thyname for an asse. Enter Luce. Luce. What a coile is there Dromio? who are thoseat the gate? E.Dro. Let my Master in Luce. Luce. Faith no, hee comes too late, and so tell yourMaster. E.Dro. O Lord I must laugh, haue at you with a Pro-uerbe, Shall I set in my staffe. Luce. Haue at you with another, that's when? canyou tell? S.Dro. If thy name be called Luce, Luce thou hast an-swer'dhim well. Anti. Doe you heare you minion, you'll let vs in Ihope? Luce. I thought to haue askt you. S.Dro. And you said no. E.Dro. So come helpe, well strooke, there was blowfor blow. Anti. Thou baggage let me in. Luce. Can you tell for whose sake? E.Drom. Master, knocke the doore hard. Luce. Let him knocke till it ake. Anti. You'll crie for this minion, if I beat the dooredowne. Luce. What needs all that, and a paire of stocks in thetowne? Enter Adriana. Adr. Who is that at the doore that keeps all this noise? S.Dro. By my troth your towne is troubled with vn-ruly boies. Anti. Are you there Wife? you might haue comebefore. Adri. Your wife sir knaue? go get you from the dore. E.Dro. If you went in paine Master, this knaue woldgoe sore. Angelo. Heere is neither cheere sir, nor welcome, wewould faine haue either. Baltz. In debating which was best, wee shall partwith neither. E.Dro. They stand at the doore, Master, bid themwelcome hither. Anti. There is something in the winde, that we can-not get in. E.Dro. You would say so Master, if your garmentswere thin.Your cake here is warme within: you stand here in thecold.It would make a man mad as a Bucke to be so boughtand sold. Ant. Go fetch me something, Ile break ope the gate. S.Dro. Breake any breaking here, and Ile breake yourknaues pate. E.Dro. A man may breake a word with your sir, andwords are but winde: I and breake it in your face, so he break it not behinde. S.Dro. It seemes thou want'st breaking, out vpon theehinde. E.Dro. Here's too much out vpon thee, I pray thee letme in. S.Dro. I, when fowles haue no feathers, and fish haueno fin. Ant. Well, Ile breake in: go borrow me a crow. E.Dro. A crow without feather, Master meane you so; For a fish without a finne, ther's a fowle without a fether,If a crow help vs in sirra, wee'll plucke a crow together. Ant. Go, get thee gon, fetch me an iron Crow. Balth. Haue patience sir, oh let it not be so,Heerein you warre against your reputation,And draw within the compasse of suspectTh' vnuiolated honor of your wife.Once this your long experience of your wisedome,Her sober vertue, yeares, and modestie,Plead on your part some cause to you vnknowne;And doubt not sir, but she will well excuseWhy at this time the dores are made against you.Be rul'd by me, depart in patience,And let vs to the Tyger all to dinner,And about euening come your selfe alone,To know the reason of this strange restraint:If by strong hand you offer to breake inNow in the stirring passage of the day,A vulgar comment will be made of it;And that supposed by the common rowtAgainst your yet vngalled estimation,That may with foule intrusion enter in,And dwell vpon your graue when you are dead;For slander liues vpon succession:For euer hows'd, where it gets possession. Anti. You haue preuail'd, I will depart in quiet,And in despight of mirth meane to be merrie:I know a wench of excellent discourse,Prettie and wittie; wilde, and yet too gentle;There will we dine: this woman that I meaneMy wife (but I protest without desert)Hath oftentimes vpbraided me withall:To her will we to dinner, get you homeAnd fetch the chaine, by this I know 'tis made,Bring it I pray you to the Porpentine, For there's the house: That chaine will I bestow(Be it for nothing but to spight my wife)Vpon mine hostesse there, good sir make haste:Since mine owne doores refuse to entertaine me,Ile knocke else-where, to see if they'll disdaine me. Ang. Ile meet you at that place some houre hence. Anti. Do so, this iest shall cost me some expence. Exeunt. Enter Iuliana, with Antipholus of Siracusia. Iulia. And may it be that you haue quite forgotA husbands office? shall Antipholus Euen in the spring of Loue, thy Loue-springs rot?Shall loue in buildings grow so ruinate?If you did wed my sister for her wealth,Then for her wealths-sake vse her with more kindnesse:Or if you like else-where doe it by stealth,Muffle your false loue with some shew of blindnesse:Let not my sister read it in your eye:Be not thy tongue thy owne shames Orator:Looke sweet, speake faire, become disloyaltie:Apparell vice like vertues harbenger:Beare a faire presence, though your heart be tainted,Teach sinne the carriage of a holy Saint,Be secret false: what need she be acquainted?What simple thiefe brags of his owne attaine?'Tis double wrong to truant with your bed,And let her read it in thy lookes at boord:Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed, Ill deeds is doubled with an euill word:Alas poore women, make vs not beleeue(Being compact of credit) that you loue vs, Though others haue the arme, shew vs the sleeue:We in your motion turne, and you may moue vs.Then gentle brother get you in againe;Comfort my sister, cheere her, call her wise;'Tis holy sport to be a little vaine,When the sweet breath of flatterie conquers strife. S.Anti. Sweete Mistris, what your name is else Iknow not;Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine:Lesse in your knowledge, and your grace you show not,Then our earths wonder, more then earth diuine.Teach me deere creature how to thinke and speake:Lay open to my earthie grosse conceit:Smothred in errors, feeble, shallow, weake,The foulded meaning of your words deceit:Against my soules pure truth, why labour you,To make it wander in an vnknowne field?Are you a god? would you create me new?Transforme me then, and to your powre Ile yeeld.But if that I am I, then well I know,Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,Nor to her bed no homage doe I owe:Farre more, farre more, to you doe I decline:Oh traine me not sweet Mermaide with thy note,To drowne me in thy sister floud of teares:Sing Siren for thy selfe, and I will dote:Spread ore the siluer waues thy golden haires;And as a bud Ile take thee, and there lie:And in that glorious supposition thinke,He gaines by death, that hath such meanes to die:Let Loue, being light, be drowned if she sinke. Luc. What are you mad, that you doe reason so? Ant. Not mad, but mated, how I doe not know. Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eie. Ant. For gazing on your beames faire sun being by. Luc. Gaze when you should, and that will cleereyour sight. Ant. As good to winke sweet loue, as looke on night. Luc. Why call you me loue? Call my sister so. Ant. Thy sisters sister. Luc. That's my sister. Ant. No: it is thy selfe, mine owne selfes better part:Mine eies cleere eie, my deere hearts deerer heart;My foode, my fortune, and my sweet hopes aime;My sole earths heauen, and my heauens claime. Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. Ant. Call thy selfe sister sweet, for I am thee:Thee will I loue, and with thee lead my life;Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife:Giue me thy hand. Luc. Oh soft sir, hold you still:Ile fetch my sister to get her good will. Exit. Enter Dromio, Siracusia. Ant. Why how now Dromio, where run'st thou sofast? S.Dro. Doe you know me sir? Am I Dromio? Am Iyour man? Am I my selfe? Ant. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou artthy selfe. Dro. I am an asse, I am a womans man, and besidesmy selfe. Ant. What womans man? and how besides thyselfe? Dro. Marrie sir, besides my selfe, I am due to a woman:One that claimes me, one that haunts me, one that willhaue me. Anti. What claime laies she to thee? Dro. Marry sir, such claime as you would lay to yourhorse, and she would haue me as a beast, not that I bee-ing a beast she would haue me, but that she being a ve-rie beastly creature layes claime to me. Anti. What is she? Dro. A very reuerent body: I such a one, as a manmay not speake of, without he say sir reuerence, I hauebut leane lucke in the match, and yet is she a wondrousfat marriage. Anti. How dost thou meane a fat marriage? Dro. Marry sir, she's the Kitchin wench, & al grease,and I know not what vse to put her too, but to make aLampe of her, and run from her by her owne light. Iwarrant, her ragges and the Tallow in them, will burnea Poland Winter: If she liues till doomesday, she'l burnea weeke longer then the whole World. Anti. What complexion is she of? Dro. Swart like my shoo, but her face nothing likeso cleane kept: for why? she sweats a man may goe o-uer-shooesin the grime of it. Anti. That's a fault that water will mend. Dro. No sir, 'tis in graine, Noahs flood could notdo it. Anti. What's her name? Dro. Nell Sir: but her name is three quarters, that'san Ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hipto hip. Anti. Then she beares some bredth? Dro. No longer from head to foot, then from hippeto hippe: she is sphericall, like a globe: I could find outCountries in her. Anti. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. Marry sir in her buttockes, I found it out bythe bogges. Ant. Where Scotland? Dro. I found it by the barrennesse, hard in the palmeof the hand. Ant. Where France? Dro. In her forhead, arm'd and reuerted, makingwarre against her heire. Ant. Where England? Dro. I look'd for the chalkle Cliffes, but I could findno whitenesse in them. But I guesse, it stood in her chinby the salt rheume that ranne betweene France, and it. Ant. Where Spaine? Dro. Faith I saw it not: but I felt it hot in her breth. Ant. Where America, the Indies? Dro. Oh sir, vpon her nose, all ore embellished withRubies, Carbuncles, Saphires, declining their rich As-pect to the hot breath of Spaine, who sent whole Ar-madoes of Carrects to be ballast at her nose. Anti. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? Dro. Oh sir, I did not looke so low. To conclude,this drudge or Diuiner layd claime to mee, call'd mee Dromio, swore I was assur'd to her, told me what priuiemarkes I had about mee, as the marke of my shoulder,the Mole in my necke, the great Wart on my left arme,that I amaz'd ranne from her as a witch. And I thinke, ifmy brest had not beene made of faith, and my heart ofsteele, she had transform'd me to a Curtull dog, & mademe turne i'th wheele. Anti. Go hie thee presently, post to the rode,And if the winde blow any way from shore,I will not harbour in this Towne to night.If any Barke put forth, come to the Mart,Where I will walke till thou returne to me:If euerie one knowes vs, and we know none,'Tis time I thinke to trudge, packe, and be gone. Dro. As from a Beare a man would run for life,So flie I from her that would be my wife. Exit Anti. There's none but Witches do inhabite heere,And therefore 'tis hie time that I were hence:She that doth call me husband, euen my souleDoth for a wife abhorre. But her faire sisterPossest with such a gentle soueraigne grace,Of such inchanting presence and discourse,Hath almost made me Traitor to my selfe:But least my selfe be guilty to selfe wrong,Ile stop mine eares against the Mermaids song. Enter Angelo with the Chaine. Ang. Mr Antipholus. Anti. I that's my name. Ang. I know it well sir, loe here's the chaine,I thought to haue tane you at the Porpentine, The chaine vnfinish'd made me stay thus long. Anti. What is your will that I shal do with this? Ang. What please your selfe sir: I haue made it foryou. Anti. Made it for me sir, I bespoke it not. Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twentie times youhaue:Go home with it, and please your Wife withall,And soone at supper time Ile visit you,And then receiue my money for the chaine. Anti. I pray you sir receiue the money now.For feare you ne're see chaine, nor mony more. Ang. You are a merry man sir, fare you well. Exit. Ant. What I should thinke of this, I cannot tell:But this I thinke, there's no man is so vaine,That would refuse so faire an offer'd Chaine.I see a man heere needs not liue by shifts,When in the streets he meetes such Golden gifts:Ile to the Mart, and there for Dromio stay,If any ship put out, then straight away. Exit.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima. Enter a Merchant, Goldsmith, and an Officer. Mar. You know since Pentecost the sum is due,And since I haue not much importun'd you,Nor now I had not, but that I am boundTo Persia, and want Gilders for my voyage:Therefore make present satisfaction,Or Ile attach you by this Officer. Gold. Euen iust the sum that I do owe to you,Is growing to me by Antipholus, And in the instant that I met with you,He had of me a Chaine, at fiue a clockeI shall receiue the money for the same:Pleaseth you walke with me downe to his house,I will discharge my bond, and thanke you too. Enter Antipholus Ephes.Dromio from the Courtizans. Offi. That labour may you saue: See where he comes. Ant. While I go to the Goldsmiths house, go thou And buy a ropes end, that will I bestowAmong my wife, and their confederates,For locking me out of my doores by day:But soft I see the Goldsmith; get thee gone,Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Dro. I buy a thousand pound a yeare, I buy a rope. Exit Dromio Eph.Ant. A man is well holpe vp that trusts to you,I promised your presence, and the Chaine,But neither Chaine nor Goldsmith came to me:Belike you thought our loue would last too longIf it were chain'd together: and therefore came not. Gold. Sauing your merrie humor: here's the noteHow much your Chaine weighs to the vtmost charect,The finenesse of the Gold, and chargefull fashion,Which doth amount to three odde Duckets moreThen I stand debted to this Gentleman,I pray you see him presently discharg'd,For he is bound to Sea, and stayes but for it. Anti. I am not furnish'd with the present monie:Besides I haue some businesse in the towne,Good Signior take the stranger to my house,And with you take the Chaine, and bid my wifeDisburse the summe, on the receit thereof,Perchance I will be there as soone as you. Gold. Then you will bring the Chaine to her yourselfe. Anti. No beare it with you, least I come not time e-nough. Gold. Well sir, I will? Haue you the Chaine aboutyou? Ant. And if I haue not sir, I hope you haue:Or else you may returne without your money. Gold. Nay come I pray you sir, giue me the Chaine:Both winde and tide stayes for this Gentleman,And I too blame haue held him heere too long. Anti. Good Lord, you vse this dalliance to excuseYour breach of promise to the Porpentine, I should haue chid you for not bringing it,But like a shrew you first begin to brawle. Mar. The houre steales on, I pray you sir dispatch. Gold. You heare how he importunes me, the Chaine. Ant. Why giue it to my wife, and fetch your mony. Gold. Come, come, you know I gaue it you euen now.Either send the Chaine, or send me by some token. Ant. Fie, now you run this humor out of breath,Come where's the Chaine, I pray you let me see it. Mar. My businesse cannot brooke this dalliance,Good sir say, whe'r you'l answer me, or no:If not, Ile leaue him to the Officer. Ant. I answer you? What should I answer you. Gold. The monie that you owe me for the Chaine. Ant. I owe you none, till I receiue the Chaine. Gold. You know I gaue it you halfe an houre since. Ant. You gaue me none, you wrong mee much tosay so. Gold. You wrong me more sir in denying it.Consider how it stands vpon my credit. Mar. Well Officer, arrest him at my suite. Offi. I do, and charge you in the Dukes name to o-bey me. Gold. This touches me in reputation.Either consent to pay this sum for me,Or I attach you by this Officer. Ant. Consent to pay thee that I neuer had:Arrest me foolish fellow if thou dar'st. Gold. Heere is thy fee, arrest him Officer.I would not spare my brother in this case,If he should scorne me so apparantly. Offic. I do arrest you sir, you heare the suite. Ant. I do obey thee, till I giue thee baile.But sirrah, you shall buy this sport as deere,As all the mettall in your shop will answer. Gold. Sir, sir, I shall haue Law in Ephesus, To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Enter Dromio Sira. from the Bay. Dro. Master, there's a Barke of Epidamium, That staies but till her Owner comes aboord,And then sir she beares away. Our fraughtage sir,I haue conuei'd aboord, and I haue boughtThe Oyle, the Balsamum, and Aqua-vitae.The ship is in her trim, the merrie windeBlowes faire from land: they stay for nought at all,But for their Owner, Master, and your selfe. An. How now? a Madman? Why thou peeuish sheepWhat ship of Epidamium staies for me. S.Dro. A ship you sent me too, to hier waftage. Ant. Thou drunken slaue, I sent thee for a rope,And told thee to what purpose, and what end. S.Dro. You sent me for a ropes end as soone,You sent me to the Bay sir, for a Barke. Ant. I will debate this matter at more leisureAnd teach your eares to list me with more heede:To Adriana Villaine hie thee straight:Giue her this key, and tell her in the DeskeThat's couer'd o're with Turkish Tapistrie,There is a purse of Duckets, let her send it:Tell her, I am arrested in the streete,And that shall baile me: hie thee slaue, be gone,On Officer to prison, till it come. Exeunt S.Dromio. To Adriana, that is where we din'd,Where Dowsabell did claime me for her husband,She is too bigge I hope for me to compasse,Thither I must, although against my will:For seruants must their Masters mindes fulfill. Exit Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ah Luciana, did he tempt thee so?Might'st thou perceiue austeerely in his eie,That he did plead in earnest, yea or no:Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?What obseruation mad'st thou in this case?Oh, his hearts Meteors tilting in his face. Luc. First he deni'de you had in him no right. Adr. He meant he did me none: the more my spight Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger heere. Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworne heewere. Luc. Then pleaded I for you. Adr. And what said he? Luc. That loue I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. Adr. With what perswasion did he tempt thy loue? Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might moue.First, he did praise my beautie, then my speech. Adr. Did'st speake him faire? Luc. Haue patience I beseech. Adr. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still.My tongue, though not my heart, shall haue his will.He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapelesse euery where:Vicious, vngentle, foolish, blunt, vnkinde, Stigmaticall in making worse in minde. Luc. Who would be iealous then of such a one?No euill lost is wail'd, when it is gone. Adr. Ah but I thinke him better then I say:And yet would herein others eies were worse:Farre from her nest the Lapwing cries away;My heart praies for him, though my tongue doe curse. Enter S.Dromio. Dro. Here goe: the deske, the purse, sweet now makehaste. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? S.Dro. By running fast. Adr. Where is thy Master Dromio? Is he well? S.Dro. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse then hell:A diuell in an euerlasting garment hath him;On whose hard heart is button'd vp with steele:A Feind, a Fairie, pittilesse and ruffe:A Wolfe, nay worse, a fellow all in buffe:A back friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that counterma[n]dsThe passages of allies, creekes, and narrow lands:A hound that runs Counter, and yet draws drifoot well,One that before the Iudgme[n]t carries poore soules to hel. Adr. Why man, what is the matter? S.Dro. I doe not know the matter, hee is rested onthe case. Adr. What is he arrested? tell me at whose suite? S.Dro. I know not at whose suite he is arested well;but is in a suite of buffe which rested him, that can I tell,will you send him Mistris redemption, the monie inhis deske. Adr. Go fetch it Sister: this I wonder at. Exit Luciana. Thus he vnknowne to me should be in debt:Tell me, was he arested on a band? S.Dro. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing:A chaine, a chaine, doe you not here it ring. Adria. What, the chaine? S.Dro. No, no, the bell, 'tis time that I were gone:It was two ere I left him, and now the clocke strikes one. Adr. The houres come backe, that did I neuer here. S.Dro. Oh yes, if any houre meete a Serieant, a turnesbacke for verie feare. Adri. As if time were in debt: how fondly do'st thoureason? S.Dro. Time is a verie bankerout, and owes more thenhe's worth to season.Nay, he's a theefe too: haue you not heard men say,That time comes stealing on by night and day?If I be in debt and theft, and a Serieant in the way,Hath he not reason to turne backe an houre in a day? Enter Luciana. Adr. Go Dromio, there's the monie, beare it straight,And bring thy Master home imediately.Come sister, I am prest downe with conceit:Conceit, my comfort and my iniurie. Exit. Enter Antipholus Siracusia. There's not a man I meete but doth salute meAs if I were their well acquainted friend,And euerie one doth call me by my name:Some tender monie to me, some inuite me;Some other giue me thankes for kindnesses;Some offer me Commodities to buy.Euen now a tailor cal'd me in his shop,And show'd me Silkes that he had bought for me,And therewithall tooke measure of my body.Sure these are but imaginarie wiles,And lapland Sorcerers inhabite here. Enter Dromio. Sir. S.Dro. Master, here's the gold you sent me for: whathaue you got the picture of old Adam new apparel'd? Ant. What gold is this? What Adam do'st thoumeane? S.Dro. Not that Adam that kept the Paradise: butthat Adam that keepes the prison; hee that goes in thecalues-skin, that was kil'd for the Prodigall: hee thatcame behinde you sir, like an euill angel, and bid you for-sake your libertie. Ant. I vnderstand thee not. S.Dro. No? why 'tis a plaine case: he that went likea Base-Viole in a case of leather; the man sir, that whengentlemen are tired giues them a sob, and rests them:he sir, that takes pittie on decaied men, and giues themsuites of durance: he that sets vp his rest to doe more ex-ploits with his Mace, then a Moris Pike. Ant. What thou mean'st an officer? S.Dro. I sir, the Serieant of the Band: he that bringsany man to answer it that breakes his Band: one thatthinkes a man alwaies going to bed, and saies, God giueyou good rest. Ant. Well sir, there rest in your foolerie:Is there any ships puts forth to night? may we be gone? S.Dro. Why sir, I brought you word an houre since,that the Barke Expedition put forth to night, and thenwere you hindred by the Serieant to tarry for the Hoy Delay: Here are the angels that you sent for to deliueryou. Ant. The fellow is distract, and so am I,And here we wander in illusions:Some blessed power deliuer vs from hence. Enter a Curtizan. Cur. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus: I see sir you haue found the Gold-smith now:Is that the chaine you promis'd me to day. Ant. Sathan auoide, I charge thee tempt me not. S.Dro. Master, is this Mistris Sathan? Ant. It is the diuell. S.Dro. Nay, she is worse, she is the diuels dam: And here she comes in the habit of a light wench, andthereof comes, that the wenches say God dam me, That'sas much to say, God make me a light wench: It is writ-ten, they appeare to men like angels of light, light is aneffect of fire, and fire will burne: ergo, light wenches willburne, come not neere her. Cur. Your man and you are maruailous merrie sir.Will you goe with me, wee'll mend our dinner here? S.Dro. Master, if do expect spoon-meate, or bespeakea long spoone. Ant. Why Dromio? S.Dro. Marrie he must haue a long spoone that musteate with the diuell. Ant. Auoid then fiend, what tel'st thou me of sup-ping? Thou art, as you are all a sorceresse:I coniure thee to leaue me, and be gon. Cur. Giue me the ring of mine you had at dinner,Or for my Diamond the Chaine you promis'd,And Ile be gone sir, and not trouble you. S.Dro. Some diuels aske but the parings of ones naile, a rush, a haire, a drop of blood, a pin, a nut, a cherrie-stone: but she more couetous, wold haue a chaine: Ma-ster be wise, and if you giue it her, the diuell will shakeher Chaine, and fright vs with it. Cur. I pray you sir my Ring, or else the Chaine,I hope you do not meane to cheate me so? Ant. Auant thou witch: Come Dromio let vs go. S.Dro. Flie pride saies the Pea-cocke, Mistris thatyou know. Exit. Cur. Now out of doubt Antipholus is mad,Else would he neuer so demeane himselfe,A Ring he hath of mine worth fortie Duckets,And for the same he promis'd me a Chaine,Both one and other he denies me now:The reason that I gather he is mad,Besides this present instance of his rage,Is a mad tale he told to day at dinner,Of his owne doores being shut against his entrance.Belike his wife acquainted with his fits,On purpose shut the doores against his way:My way is now to hie home to his house,And tell his wife, that being Lunaticke,He rush'd into my house, and tooke perforceMy Ring away. This course I fittest choose,For fortie Duckets is too much to loose. Enter Antipholus Ephes. with a Iailor. An. Feare me not man, I will not breake away,Ile giue thee ere I leaue thee so much moneyTo warrant thee as I am rested for.My wife is in a wayward moode to day,And will not lightly trust the Messenger,That I should be attach'd in Ephesus, I tell you 'twill sound harshly in her eares. Enter Dromio Eph. with a ropes end. Heere comes my Man, I thinke he brings the monie.How now sir? Haue you that I sent you for? E.Dro. Here's that I warrant you will pay them all. Anti. But where's the Money? E.Dro. Why sir, I gaue the Monie for the Rope. Ant. Fiue hundred Duckets villaine for a rope? E.Dro. Ile serue you sir fiue hundred at the rate. Ant. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? E.Dro. To a ropes end sir, and to that end am I re-turn'd. Ant. And to that end sir, I will welcome you. Offi. Good sir be patient. E.Dro. Nay 'tis for me to be patient, I am in aduer-sitie. Offi. Good now hold thy tongue. E.Dro. Nay, rather perswade him to hold his hands. Anti. Thou whoreson senselesse Villaine. E.Dro. I would I were senselesse sir, that I mightnot feele your blowes. Anti. Thou art sensible in nothing but blowes, andso is an Asse. E.Dro. I am an Asse indeede, you may prooue it bymy long eares. I haue serued him from the houre of myNatiuitie to this instant, and haue nothing at his handsfor my seruice but blowes. When I am cold, he heatesme with beating: when I am warme, he cooles me withbeating: I am wak'd with it when I sleepe, rais'd withit when I sit, driuen out of doores with it when I goefrom home, welcom'd home with it when I returne, nayI beare it on my shoulders, as a begger woont her brat:and I thinke when he hath lam'd me, I shall begge withit from doore to doore. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtizan, and a Schoole-master, call'd Pinch. Ant. Come goe along, my wife is comming yon-der. E.Dro. Mistris respice finem, respect your end, or ra-ther the prophesie like the Parrat, beware the ropes end. Anti. Wilt thou still talke? Beats Dro. Curt. How say you now? Is not your husband mad? Adri. His inciuility confirmes no lesse:Good Doctor Pinch, you are a Coniurer,Establish him in his true sence againe,And I will please you what you will demand. Luc. Alas how fiery, and how sharpe he lookes. Cur. Marke, how he trembles in his extasie. Pinch. Giue me your hand, and let mee feele yourpulse. Ant. There is my hand, and let it feele your eare. Pinch. I charge thee Sathan, hous'd within this man,To yeeld possession to my holie praiers,And to thy state of darknesse hie thee straight,I coniure thee by all the Saints in heauen. Anti. Peace doting wizard, peace; I am not mad. Adr. Oh that thou wer't not, poore distressed soule. Anti. You Minion you, are these your Customers?Did this Companion with the saffron faceReuell and feast it at my house to day,Whil'st vpon me the guiltie doores were shut,And I denied to enter in my house. Adr. O husband, God doth know you din'd at homeWhere would you had remain'd vntill this time,Free from these slanders, and this open shame. Anti. Din'd at home? Thou Villaine, what sayestthou? Dro. Sir sooth to say, you did not dine at home. Ant. Were not my doores lockt vp, and I shut out? Dro. Perdie, your doores were lockt, and you shutout. Anti. And did not she her selfe reuile me there? Dro. Sans Fable, she her selfe reuil'd you there. Anti. Did not her Kitchen maide raile, taunt, andscorne me? Dro. Certis she did, the kitchin vestall scorn'd you. Ant. And did not I in rage depart from thence? Dro. In veritie you did, my bones beares witnesse,That since haue felt the vigor of his rage. Adr. Is't good to sooth him in these contraries? Pinch. It is no shame, the fellow finds his vaine,And yeelding to him, humors well his frensie. Ant. Thou hast subborn'd the Goldsmith to arrestmee. Adr. Alas, I sent you Monie to redeeme you,By Dromio heere, who came in hast for it. Dro. Monie by me? Heart and good will you might,But surely Master not a ragge of Monie. Ant. Wentst not thou to her for a purse of Duckets. Adri. He came to me, and I deliuer'd it. Luci. And I am witnesse with her that she did: Dro. God and the Rope-maker beare me witnesse,That I was sent for nothing but a rope. Pinch. Mistris, both Man and Master is possest,I know it by their pale and deadly lookes, They must be bound and laide in some darke roome. Ant. Say wherefore didst thou locke me forth to day,And why dost thou denie the bagge of gold? Adr. I did not gentle husband locke thee forth. Dro. And gentle Mr I receiu'd no gold:But I confesse sir, that we were lock'd out. Adr. Dissembling Villain, thou speak'st false in both Ant. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all,And art confederate with a damned packe,To make a loathsome abiect scorne of me:But with these nailes, Ile plucke out these false eyes,That would behold in me this shamefull sport. Enter three or foure, and offer to binde him:Hee striues. Adr. Oh binde him, binde him, let him not comeneere me. Pinch. More company, the fiend is strong within him Luc. Aye me poore man, how pale and wan he looks. Ant. What will you murther me, thou Iailor thou?I am thy prisoner, wilt thou suffer them to make a res-cue? Offi. Masters let him go: he is my prisoner, and youshall not haue him. Pinch. Go binde this man, for he is franticke too. Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peeuish Officer?Hast thou delight to see a wretched manDo outrage and displeasure to himselfe? Offi. He is my prisoner, if I let him go,The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee,Beare me forthwith vnto his Creditor,And knowing how the debt growes I will pay it.Good Master Doctor see him safe conuey'dHome to my house, oh most vnhappy day. Ant. Oh most vnhappie strumpet. Dro. Master, I am heere entred in bond for you. Ant. Out on thee Villaine, wherefore dost thou madmee? Dro. Will you be bound for nothing, be mad goodMaster, cry the diuell. Luc. God helpe poore soules, how idlely doe theytalke. Adr. Go beare him hence, sister go you with me:Say now, whose suite is he arrested at? Exeunt. Manet Offic. Adri. Luci. Courtizan Off. One Angelo a Goldsmith, do you know him? Adr. I know the man: what is the summe he owes? Off. Two hundred Duckets. Adr. Say, how growes it due. Off. Due for a Chaine your husband had of him. Adr. He did bespeake a Chain for me, but had it not. Cur. When as your husband all in rage to dayCame to my house, and tooke away my Ring,The Ring I saw vpon his finger now,Straight after did I meete him with a Chaine. Adr. It may be so, but I did neuer see it.Come Iailor, bring me where the Goldsmith is,I long to know the truth heereof at large. Enter Antipholus Siracusia with his Rapier drawne,and Dromio Sirac. Luc. God for thy mercy, they are loose againe. Adr. And come with naked swords,Let's call more helpe to haue them bound againe. Runne all out. Off. Away, they'l kill vs. Exeunt omnes, as fast as may be, frighted. S.Ant. I see these Witches are affraid of swords. S.Dro. She that would be your wife, now ran fromyou. Ant. Come to the Centaur, fetch our stuffe fromthence:I long that we were safe and sound aboord. Dro. Faith stay heere this night, they will surely dovs no harme: you saw they speake vs faire, giue vs gold:me thinkes they are such a gentle Nation, that but forthe Mountaine of mad flesh that claimes mariage of me,I could finde in my heart to stay heere still, and turneWitch. Ant. I will not stay to night for all the Towne,Therefore away, to get our stuffe aboord. Exeunt
Actus Quintus. Scoena Prima. Enter the Merchant and the Goldsmith. Gold. I am sorry Sir that I haue hindred you,But I protest he had the Chaine of me,Though most dishonestly he doth denie it. Mar. How is the man esteem'd heere in the Citie? Gold. Of very reuerent reputation sir,Of credit infinite, highly belou'd,Second to none that liues heere in the Citie:His word might beare my wealth at any time. Mar. Speake softly, yonder as I thinke he walkes. Enter Antipholus and Dromio againe. Gold. 'Tis so: and that selfe chaine about his necke,Which he forswore most monstrously to haue.Good sir draw neere to me, Ile speake to him:Signior Antipholus, I wonder muchThat you would put me to this shame and trouble,And not without some scandall to your selfe,With circumstance and oaths, so to denieThis Chaine, which now you weare so openly.Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,You haue done wrong to this my honest friend,Who but for staying on our Controuersie,Had hoisted saile, and put to sea to day:This Chaine you had of me, can you deny it? Ant. I thinke I had, I neuer did deny it. Mar. Yes that you did sir, and forswore it too. Ant. Who heard me to denie it or forsweare it? Mar. These eares of mine thou knowst did hear thee:Fie on thee wretch, 'tis pitty that thou liu'stTo walke where any honest men resort. Ant. Thou art a Villaine to impeach me thus,Ile proue mine honor, and mine honestieAgainst thee presently, if thou dar'st stand: Mar. I dare and do defie thee for a villaine. They draw. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, & others. Adr. Hold, hurt him not for God sake, he is mad,Some get within him, take his sword away:Binde Dromio too, and beare them to my house. S.Dro. Runne master run, for Gods sake take a house,This is some Priorie, in, or we are spoyl'd. Exeunt to the Priorie. Enter Ladie Abbesse. Ab. Be quiet people, wherefore throng you hither? Adr. To fetch my poore distracted husband hence,Let vs come in, that we may binde him fast,And beare him home for his recouerie. Gold. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. Mar. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. Ab. How long hath this possession held the man. Adr. This weeke he hath beene heauie, sower sad,And much different from the man he was:But till this afternoone his passionNe're brake into extremity of rage. Ab. Hath he not lost much wealth by wrack of sea,Buried some deere friend, hath not else his eyeStray'd his affection in vnlawfull loue,A sinne preuailing much in youthfull men,Who giue their eies the liberty of gazing.Which of these sorrowes is he subiect too? Adr. To none of these, except it be the last,Namely, some loue that drew him oft from home. Ab. You should for that haue reprehended him. Adr. Why so I did. Ab. I but not rough enough. Adr. As roughly as my modestie would let me. Ab. Haply in priuate. Adr. And in assemblies too. Ab. I, but not enough. Adr. It was the copie of our Conference.In bed he slept not for my vrging it,At boord he fed not for my vrging it:Alone, it was the subiect of my Theame:In company I often glanced it:Still did I tell him, it was vilde and bad. Ab. And thereof came it, that the man was mad.The venome clamors of a iealous woman,Poisons more deadly then a mad dogges tooth.It seemes his sleepes were hindred by thy railing,And thereof comes it that his head is light.Thou saist his meate was sawc'd with thy vpbraidings,Vnquiet meales make ill digestions,Thereof the raging fire of feauer bred,And what's a Feauer, but a fit of madnesse?Thou sayest his sports were hindred by thy bralles.Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensueBut moodie and dull melancholly,Kinsman to grim and comfortlesse dispaire,And at her heeles a huge infectious troopeOf pale distemperatures, and foes to life?In food, in sport, and life-preseruing restTo be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast:The consequence is then, thy iealous fitsHath scar'd thy husband from the vse of wits. Luc. She neuer reprehended him but mildely,When he demean'd himselfe, rough, rude, and wildly,Why beare you these rebukes, and answer not? Adri. She did betray me to my owne reproofe,Good people enter, and lay hold on him. Ab. No, not a creature enters in my house. Ad. Then let your seruants bring my husband forth Ab. Neither: he tooke this place for sanctuary,And it shall priuiledge him from your hands,Till I haue brought him to his wits againe,Or loose my labour in assaying it. Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,Diet his sicknesse, for it is my Office,And will haue no atturney but my selfe,And therefore let me haue him home with me. Ab. Be patient, for I will not let him stirre,Till I haue vs'd the approoued meanes I haue,With wholsome sirrups, drugges, and holy prayersTo make of him a formall man againe:It is a branch and parcell of mine oath,A charitable dutie of my order,Therefore depart, and leaue him heere with me. Adr. I will not hence, and leaue my husband heere:And ill it doth beseeme your holinesseTo separate the husband and the wife. Ab. Be quiet and depart, thou shalt not haue him. Luc. Complaine vnto the Duke of this indignity. Adr. Come go, I will fall prostrate at his feete,And neuer rise vntill my teares and prayersHaue won his grace to come in person hither,And take perforce my husband from the Abbesse. Mar. By this I thinke the Diall points at fiue:Anon I'me sure the Duke himselfe in personComes this way to the melancholly vale;The place of depth, and sorrie execution,Behinde the ditches of the Abbey heere. Gold. Vpon what cause? Mar. To see a reuerent Siracusian Merchant,Who put vnluckily into this BayAgainst the Lawes and Statutes of this Towne,Beheaded publikely for his offence. Gold. See where they come, we wil behold his death Luc. Kneele to the Duke before he passe the Abbey. Enter the Duke of Ephesus, and the Merchant of Siracusebare head, with the Headsman, & otherOfficers. Duke. Yet once againe proclaime it publikely,If any friend will pay the summe for him,He shall not die, so much we tender him. Adr. Iustice most sacred Duke against the Abbesse. Duke. She is a vertuous and a reuerend Lady,It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. Adr. May it please your Grace, Antipholus my husba[n]d,Who I made Lord of me, and all I had,At your important Letters this ill day,A most outragious fit of madnesse tooke him:That desp'rately he hurried through the streete,With him his bondman, all as mad as he,Doing displeasure to the Citizens,By rushing in their houses: bearing thenceRings, Iewels, any thing his rage did like.Once did I get him bound, and sent him home,Whil'st to take order for the wrongs I went,That heere and there his furie had committed,Anon I wot not, by what strong escapeHe broke from those that had the guard of him,And with his mad attendant and himselfe,Each one with irefull passion, with drawne swordsMet vs againe, and madly bent on vsChac'd vs away: till raising of more aideWe came againe to binde them: then they fledInto this Abbey, whether we pursu'd them,And heere the Abbesse shuts the gates on vs,And will not suffer vs to fetch him out,Nor send him forth, that we may beare him hence. Therefore most gracious Duke with thy command,Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for helpe. Duke. Long since thy husband seru'd me in my warsAnd I to thee ingag'd a Princes word,When thou didst make him Master of thy bed,To do him all the grace and good I could.Go some of you, knocke at the Abbey gate,And bid the Lady Abbesse come to me:I will determine this before I stirre. Enter a Messenger. Oh Mistris, Mistris, shift and saue your selfe,My Master and his man are both broke loose,Beaten the Maids a-row, and bound the Doctor,Whose beard they haue sindg'd off with brands of fire,And euer as it blaz'd, they threw on himGreat pailes of puddled myre to quench the haire;My Mr preaches patience to him, and the whileHis man with Cizers nickes him like a foole:And sure (vnlesse you send some present helpe)Betweene them they will kill the Coniurer. Adr. Peace foole, thy Master and his man are here,And that is false thou dost report to vs. Mess. Mistris, vpon my life I tel you true,I haue not breath'd almost since I did see it.He cries for you, and vowes if he can take you,To scorch your face, and to disfigure you: Cry within. Harke, harke, I heare him Mistris: flie, be gone. Duke. Come stand by me, feare nothing: guard withHalberds. Adr. Ay me, it is my husband: witnesse you,That he is borne about inuisible,Euen now we hous'd him in the Abbey heere.And now he's there, past thought of humane reason. Enter Antipholus, and E.Dromio of Ephesus. E.Ant. Iustice most gracious Duke, oh grant me iustice,Euen for the seruice that long since I did thee,When I bestrid thee in the warres, and tookeDeepe scarres to saue thy life; euen for the bloodThat then I lost for thee, now grant me iustice. Mar.Fat. Vnlesse the feare of death doth make medote, I see my sonne Antipholus and Dromio. E.Ant. Iustice (sweet Prince) against that Woman there:She whom thou gau'st to me to be my wife;That hath abused and dishonored me,Euen in the strength and height of iniurie:Beyond imagination is the wrongThat she this day hath shamelesse throwne on me. Duke. Discouer how, and thou shalt finde me iust. E.Ant. This day (great Duke) she shut the dooresvpon me,While she with Harlots feasted in my house. Duke. A greeuous fault: say woman, didst thou so? Adr. No my good Lord. My selfe, he, and my sister,To day did dine together: so befall my soule,As this is false he burthens me withall. Luc. Nere may I looke on day, nor sleepe on night,But she tels to your Highnesse simple truth. Gold. O periur'd woman! They are both forsworne,In this the Madman iustly chargeth them. E.Ant. My Liege, I am aduised what I say,Neither disturbed with the effect of Wine,Nor headie-rash prouoak'd with raging ire,Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner;That Goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,Could witnesse it: for he was with me then,Who parted with me to go fetch a Chaine,Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,Where Balthasar and I did dine together.Our dinner done, and he not comming thither,I went to seeke him. In the street I met him,And in his companie that Gentleman.There did this periur'd Goldsmith sweare me downe,That I this day of him receiu'd the Chaine,Which God he knowes, I saw not. For the which,He did arrest me with an Officer.I did obey, and sent my Pesant homeFor certaine Duckets: he with none return'd.Then fairely I bespoke the OfficerTo go in person with me to my house.By'th' way, we met my wife, her sister, and a rabble moreOf vilde Confederates: Along with themThey brought one Pinch, a hungry leane-fac'd Villaine;A meere Anatomie, a Mountebanke,A thred-bare Iugler, and a Fortune-teller,A needy-hollow-ey'd-sharpe-looking-wretch;A liuing dead man. This pernicious slaue,Forsooth tooke on him as a Coniurer:And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,And with no-face (as 'twere) out-facing me,Cries out, I was possest. Then altogetherThey fell vpon me, bound me, bore me thence,And in a darke and dankish vault at homeThere left me and my man, both bound together,Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,I gain'd my freedome; and immediatelyRan hether to your Grace, whom I beseechTo giue me ample satisfactionFor these deepe shames, and great indignities. Gold. My Lord, in truth, thus far I witnes with him:That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out. Duke. But had he such a Chaine of thee, or no? Gold. He had my Lord, and when he ran in heere,These people saw the Chaine about his necke. Mar. Besides, I will be sworne these eares of mine,Heard you confesse you had the Chaine of him,After you first forswore it on the Mart,And thereupon I drew my sword on you:And then you fled into this Abbey heere,From whence I thinke you are come by Miracle. E.Ant. I neuer came within these Abbey wals,Nor euer didst thou draw thy sword on me:I neuer saw the Chaine, so helpe me heauen:And this is false you burthen me withall. Duke. Why what an intricate impeach is this?I thinke you all haue drunke of Circes cup:If heere you hous'd him, heere he would haue bin.If he were mad, he would not pleade so coldly:You say he din'd at home, the Goldsmith heereDenies that saying. Sirra, what say you? E.Dro. Sir he din'de with her there, at the Porpen-tine. Cur. He did, and from my finger snacht that Ring. E.Anti. Tis true (my Liege) this Ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the Abbey heere? Curt. As sure (my Liege) as I do see your Grace. Duke. Why this is straunge: Go call the Abbesse hi-ther. I thinke you are all mated, or starke mad. Exit one to the Abbesse. Fa. Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:Haply I see a friend will saue my life,And pay the sum that may deliuer me. Duke. Speake freely Siracusian what thou wilt. Fath. Is not your name sir call'd Antipholus?And is not that your bondman Dromio? E.Dro. Within this houre I was his bondman sir,But he I thanke him gnaw'd in two my cords,Now am I Dromio, and his man, vnbound. Fath. I am sure you both of you remember me. Dro. Our selues we do remember sir by you:For lately we were bound as you are now.You are not Pinches patient, are you sir? Father. Why looke you strange on me? you knowme well. E.Ant. I neuer saw you in my life till now. Fa. Oh! griefe hath chang'd me since you saw me last,And carefull houres with times deformed hand,Haue written strange defeatures in my face:But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? Ant. Neither. Fat. Dromio, nor thou? Dro. No trust me sir, nor I. Fa. I am sure thou dost? E.Dromio. I sir, but I am sure I do not, and whatso-euer a man denies, you are now bound to beleeue him. Fath. Not know my voice, oh times extremityHast thou so crack'd and splitted my poore tongueIn seuen short yeares, that heere my onely sonneKnowes not my feeble key of vntun'd cares?Though now this grained face of mine be hidIn sap-consuming Winters drizled snow,And all the Conduits of my blood froze vp:Yet hath my night of life some memorie:My wasting lampes some fading glimmer left;My dull deafe eares a little vse to heare:All these old witnesses, I cannot erre.Tell me, thou art my sonne Antipholus. Ant. I neuer saw my Father in my life. Fa. But seuen yeares since, in Siracusa boyThou know'st we parted, but perhaps my sonne,Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in miserie. Ant. The Duke, and all that know me in the City,Can witnesse with me that it is not so.I ne're saw Siracusa in my life. Duke. I tell thee Siracusian, twentie yearesHaue I bin Patron to Antipholus, During which time, he ne're saw Siracusa: I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter the Abbesse with Antipholus Siracusa,and Dromio Sir. Abbesse. Most mightie Duke, behold a man muchwrong'd. All gather to see them. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceiue me. Duke. One of these men is genius to the other:And so of these, which is the naturall man,And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? S.Dromio. I Sir am Dromio, command him away. E.Dro. I Sir am Dromio, pray let me stay. S.Ant. Egeon art thou not? or else his ghost. S.Drom. Oh my olde Master, who hath bound himheere? Abb. Who euer bound him, I will lose his bonds,And gaine a husband by his libertie:Speake olde Egeon, if thou bee'st the manThat hadst a wife once call'd Aemilia, That bore thee at a burthen two faire sonnes?Oh if thou bee'st the same Egeon, speake:And speake vnto the same Aemilia. Duke. Why heere begins his Morning storie right:These two Antipholus, these two so like,And these two Dromio's, one in semblance:Besides her vrging of her wracke at sea,These are the parents to these children,Which accidentally are met together. Fa. If I dreame not, thou art Aemilia, If thou art she, tell me, where is that sonneThat floated with thee on the fatall rafte. Abb. By men of Epidamium, he, and I,And the twin Dromio, all were taken vp;But by and by, rude Fishermen of Corinth By force tooke Dromio, and my sonne from them,And me they left with those of Epidamium. What then became of them, I cannot tell:I, to this fortune that you see mee in. Duke. Antipholus thou cam'st from Corinth first. S.Ant. No sir, not I, I came from Siracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart, I know not which is which. E.Ant. I came from Corinth my most gracious Lord E.Dro. And I with him. E.Ant. Brought to this Town by that most famousWarriour,Duke Menaphon your most renowned Vnckle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to day? S.Ant. I, gentle Mistris. Adr. And are not you my husband? E.Ant. No, I say nay to that. S.Ant. And so do I, yet did she call me so:And this faire Gentlewoman her sister heereDid call me brother. What I told you then,I hope I shall haue leisure to make good,If this be not a dreame I see and heare. Goldsmith. That is the Chaine sir, which you had ofmee. S.Ant. I thinke it be sir, I denie it not. E.Ant. And you sir for this Chaine arrested me. Gold. I thinke I did sir, I deny it not. Adr. I sent you monie sir to be your baileBy Dromio, but I thinke he brought it not. E.Dro. No, none by me. S.Ant. This purse of Duckets I receiu'd from you,And Dromio my man did bring them me:I see we still did meete each others man,And I was tane for him, and he for me,And thereupon these errors are arose. E.Ant. These Duckets pawne I for my father heere. Duke. It shall not neede, thy father hath his life. Cur. Sir I must haue that Diamond from you. E.Ant. There take it, and much thanks for my goodcheere. Abb. Renowned Duke, vouchsafe to take the painesTo go with vs into the Abbey heere,And heare at large discoursed all our fortunes,And all that are assembled in this place:That by this simpathized one daies errorHaue suffer'd wrong. Goe, keepe vs companie, And we shall make full satisfaction.Thirtie three yeares haue I but gone in trauaileOf you my sonnes, and till this present houreMy heauie burthen are deliuered:The Duke my husband, and my children both,And you the Kalenders of their Natiuity,Go to a Gossips feast, and go with mee,After so long greefe such Natiuitie. Duke. With all my heart, Ile Gossip at this feast. Exeunt omnes. Manet the two Dromio's andtwo Brothers. S.Dro. Mast[er]. shall I fetch your stuffe from shipbord? E.An. Dromio, what stuffe of mine hast thou imbarkt S.Dro. Your goods that lay at host sir in the Centaur. S.Ant. He speakes to me, I am your master Dromio. Come go with vs, wee'l looke to that anon,Embrace thy brother there, reioyce with him. Exit S.Dro. There is a fat friend at your masters house,That kitchin'd me for you to day at dinner:She now shall be my sister, not my wife, E.D. Me thinks you are my glasse, & not my brother:I see by you, I am a sweet-fac'd youth,Will you walke in to see their gossipping? S.Dro. Not I sir, you are my elder. E.Dro. That's a question, how shall we trie it. S.Dro. Wee'l draw Cuts for the Signior, till then,lead thou first. E.Dro. Nay then thus:We came into the world like brother and brother:And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. Exeunt.
FINIS. Much adoe about Nothing.
Actus primus, Scena prima. Enter Leonato Gouernour of Messina, Innogen his wife, He-ro his daughter, and Beatrice his Neece, with a messenger. Leonato. I learne in this Letter, that Don Peter of Arra-gon, comes this night to Messina. Mess. He is very neere by this: he was notthree Leagues off when I left him. Leon. How many Gentlemen haue you lost in thisaction? Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victorie is twice it selfe, when the atchieuerbrings home full numbers: I finde heere, that Don Pe-ter hath bestowed much honor on a yong Florentine, cal-led Claudio. Mess. Much deseru'd on his part, and equally remem-bred by Don Pedro, he hath borne himselfe beyond thepromise of his age, doing in the figure of a Lambe, thefeats of a Lion, he hath indeede better bettred expecta-tion, then you must expect of me to tell you how. Leo. He hath an Vnckle heere in Messina, wil be verymuch glad of it. Mess. I haue alreadie deliuered him letters, and thereappeares much ioy in him, euen so much, that ioy couldnot shew it selfe modest enough, without a badg of bit-ternesse. Leo. Did he breake out into teares? Mess. In great measure. Leo. A kinde ouerflow of kindnesse, there are no fa-ces truer, then those that are so wash'd, how much bet-ter is it to weepe at ioy, then to ioy at weeping? Bea. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto return'd fromthe warres, or no? Mess. I know none of that name, Lady, there wasnone such in the armie of any sort. Leon. What is he that you aske for Neece? Hero. My cousin meanes Signior Benedick of Padua Mess. O he's return'd, and as pleasant as euer he was. Beat. He set vp his bils here in Messina, & challeng'dCupid at the Flight: and my Vnckles foole reading theChallenge, subscrib'd for Cupid, and challeng'd him atthe Burbolt. I pray you, how many hath hee kil'd andeaten in these warres? But how many hath he kil'd? forindeed, I promis'd to eate all of his killing. Leon. 'Faith Neece, you taxe Signior Benedicke toomuch, but hee'l be meete with you, I doubt it not. Mess. He hath done good seruice Lady in these wars. Beat. You had musty victuall, and he hath holpe toease it: he's a very valiant Trencher-man, hee hath anexcellent stomacke. Mess. And a good souldier too Lady. Beat. And a good souldier to a Lady. But what is heto a Lord? Mess. A Lord to a Lord, a man to a man, stuft withall honourable vertues. Beat. It is so indeed, he is no lesse then a stuft man:but for the stuffing well, we are all mortall. Leon. You must not (sir) mistake my Neece, there isa kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick, & her:they neuer meet, but there's a skirmish of wit betweenthem. Bea. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last con-flict, foure of his fiue wits went halting off, and now isthe whole man gouern'd with one: so that if hee hauewit enough to keepe himselfe warme, let him beare itfor a difference betweene himselfe and his horse: For itis all the wealth that he hath left, to be knowne a reaso-nable creature. Who is his companion now? He hatheuery month a new sworne brother. Mess. Is't possible? Beat. Very easily possible: he weares his faith but asthe fashion of his hat, it euer changes with the next block. Mess. I see (Lady) the Gentleman is not in yourbookes. Bea. No, and he were, I would burne my study. ButI pray you, who is his companion? Is there no youngsquarer now, that will make a voyage with him to thediuell? Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio. Beat. O Lord, he will hang vpon him like a disease:he is sooner caught then the pestilence, and the takerruns presently mad. God helpe the noble Claudio, if heehaue caught the Benedict, it will cost him a thousandpound ere he be cur'd. Mess. I will hold friends with you Lady. Bea. Do good friend. Leo. You'l ne're run mad Neece. Bea. No, not till a hot Ianuary. Mess. Don Pedro is approach'd. Enter don Pedro, Claudio, Benedicke, Balthasar,and Iohn the bastard. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meetyour trouble: the fashion of the world is to auoid cost,and you encounter it. Leon. Neuer came trouble to my house in the likenesof your Grace: for trouble being gone, comfort shouldremaine: but when you depart from me, sorrow abides,and happinesse takes his leaue. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly: Ithinke this is your daughter. Leonato. Her mother hath many times told me so. Bened. Were you in doubt that you askt her? Leonato. Signior Benedicke, no, for then were you achilde. Pedro. You haue it full Benedicke, we may ghesse bythis, what you are, being a man, truely the Lady fathersher selfe: be happie Lady, for you are like an honorablefather. Ben. If Signior Leonato be her father, she would nothaue his head on her shoulders for al Messina, as like himas she is. Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, signiorBenedicke, no body markes you. Ben. What my deere Ladie Disdaine! are you yetliuing? Beat. Is it possible Disdaine should die, while sheehath such meete foode to feede it, as Signior Benedicke?Curtesie it selfe must conuert to Disdaine, if you come inher presence. Bene. Then is curtesie a turne-coate, but it is cer-taine I am loued of all Ladies, onely you excepted: andI would I could finde in my heart that I had not a hardheart, for truely I loue none. Beat. A deere happinesse to women, they would elsehaue beene troubled with a pernitious Suter, I thankeGod and my cold blood, I am of your humour for that, Ihad rather heare my Dog barke at a Crow, than a mansweare he loues me. Bene. God keepe your Ladiship still in that minde,so some Gentleman or other shall scape a predestinatescratcht face. Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, and 'tweresuch a face as yours were. Bene. Well, you are a rare Parrat teacher. Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast of your. Ben. I would my horse had the speed of your tongue,and so good a continuer, but keepe your way a Godsname, I haue done. Beat. You alwaies end with a Iades tricke, I knowyou of old. Pedro. This is the summe of all: Leonato, signior Clau-dio, and signior Benedicke; my deere friend Leonato, hathinuited you all, I tell him we shall stay here, at the leasta moneth, and he heartily praies some occasion may de-taine vs longer: I dare sweare hee is no hypocrite, butpraies from his heart. Leon. If you sweare, my Lord, you shall not be for-sworne, let mee bid you welcome, my Lord, being re-conciled to the Prince your brother: I owe you allduetie. Iohn. I thanke you, I am not of many words, but Ithanke you. Leon. Please it your grace leade on? Pedro. Your hand Leonato, we will goe together. Exeunt. Manet Benedicke and Claudio. Clau. Benedicke, didst thou note the daughter of sig-nior Leonato? Bene. I noted her not, but I lookt on her. Claud. Is she not a modest yong Ladie? Bene. Doe you question me as an honest man shoulddoe, for my simple true iudgement? or would you haueme speake after my custome, as being a professed tyrantto their sexe? Clau. No, I pray thee speake in sober iudgement. Bene. Why yfaith me thinks shee's too low for a hiepraise, too browne for a faire praise, and too little for agreat praise, onely this commendation I can affoord her,that were shee other then she is, she were vnhandsome,and being no other, but as she is, I doe not like her. Clau. Thou think'st I am in sport, I pray thee tell metruely how thou lik'st her. Bene. Would you buie her, that you enquier afterher? Clau. Can the world buie such a iewell? Ben. Yea, and a case to put it into, but speake you thiswith a sad brow? Or doe you play the flowting iacke, totell vs Cupid is a good Hare-finder, and Vulcan a rareCarpenter: Come, in what key shall a man take you togoe in the song? Clau. In mine eie, she is the sweetest Ladie that euerI lookt on. Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see nosuch matter: there's her cosin, and she were not possestwith a furie, exceedes her as much in beautie, as the firstof Maie doth the last of December: but I hope you haueno intent to turne husband, haue you? Clau. I would scarce trust my selfe, though I hadsworne the contrarie, if Hero would be my wife. Bene. Ist come to this? in faith hath not the world oneman but he will weare his cap with suspition? shall I ne-uer see a batcheller of three score againe? goe to yfaith, and thou wilt needes thrust thy necke into a yoke, wearethe print of it, and sigh away sundaies: looke, don Pedro is returned to seeke you. Enter don Pedro, Iohn the bastard. Pedr. What secret hath held you here, that you fol-lowed not to Leonatoes? Bened. I would your Grace would constraine mee totell. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegeance. Ben. You heare, Count Claudio, I can be secret as adumbe man, I would haue you thinke so (but on my al-legiance, marke you this, on my allegiance) hee is inloue, With who? now that is your Graces part: markehow short his answere is, with Hero, Leonatoes shortdaughter. Clau. If this were so, so were it vttred. Bened. Like the old tale, my Lord, it is not so, nor 'twasnot so: but indeede, God forbid it should be so. Clau. If my passion change not shortly, God forbid itshould be otherwise. Pedro. Amen, if you loue her, for the Ladie is veriewell worthie. Clau. You speake this to fetch me in, my Lord. Pedr. By my troth I speake my thought. Clau. And in faith, my Lord, I spoke mine. Bened. And by my two faiths and troths, my Lord, Ispeake mine. Clau. That I loue her, I feele. Pedr. That she is worthie, I know. Bened. That I neither feele how shee should be lo-ued, nor know how shee should be worthie, is theopinion that fire cannot melt out of me, I will die in it atthe stake. Pedr. Thou wast euer an obstinate heretique in the de-spight of Beautie. Clau. And neuer could maintaine his part, but in theforce of his will *Ben. That a woman conceiued me, I thanke her: thatshe brought mee vp, I likewise giue her most humblethankes: but that I will haue a rechate winded in myforehead, or hang my bugle in an inuisible baldricke, allwomen shall pardon me: because I will not do them thewrong to mistrust any, I will doe my selfe the right totrust none: and the fine is, (for the which I may goe thefiner) I will liue a Batchellor. Pedro. I shall see thee ere I die, looke pale with loue. Bene. With anger, with sicknesse, or with hunger,my Lord, not with loue: proue that euer I loose moreblood with loue, then I will get againe with drinking,picke out mine eyes with a Ballet-makers penne, andhang me vp at the doore of a brothel-house for the signeof blinde Cupid. Pedro. Well, if euer thou doost fall from this faith,thou wilt proue a notable argument. Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a Cat, & shootat me, and he that hit's me, let him be clapt on the shoul-der, and cal'd Adam. Pedro. Well, as time shall trie: In time the sauageBull doth beare the yoake. Bene. The sauage bull may, but if euer the sensible Benedicke beare it, plucke off the bulles hornes, and setthem in my forehead, and let me be vildely painted, andin such great Letters as they write, heere is good horseto hire: let them signifie vnder my signe, here you maysee Benedicke the married man. Clau. If this should euer happen, thou wouldst beehorne mad. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid haue not spent all his Quiuer inVenice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Bene. I looke for an earthquake too then. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the houres, inthe meane time, good Signior Benedicke, repaire to Leo-natoes, commend me to him, and tell him I will not failehim at supper, for indeede he hath made great prepara-tion. Bene. I haue almost matter enough in me for such anEmbassage, and so I commit you. Clau. To the tuition of God. From my house, if Ihad it. Pedro. The sixt of Iuly. Your louing friend, Benedick. Bene. Nay mocke not, mocke not; the body of yourdiscourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and theguardes are but slightly basted on neither, ere you floutold ends any further, examine your conscience, and so Ileaue you. Exit. Clau. My Liege, your Highnesse now may doe meegood. Pedro. My loue is thine to teach, teach it but how,And thou shalt see how apt it is to learneAny hard Lesson that may do thee good. Clau. Hath Leonato any sonne my Lord? Pedro. No childe but Hero, she's his onely heire.Dost thou affect her Claudio? Clau. O my Lord,When you went onward on this ended action,I look'd vpon her with a souldiers eie,That lik'd, but had a rougher taske in hand,Than to driue liking to the name of loue:But now I am return'd, and that warre-thoughtsHaue left their places vacant: in their roomes,Come thronging soft and delicate desires,All prompting mee how faire yong Hero is,Saying I lik'd her ere I went to warres. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a louer presently,And tire the hearer with a booke of words:If thou dost loue faire Hero, cherish it,And I will breake with her: wast not to this end,That thou beganst to twist so fine a story? Clau. How sweetly doe you minister to loue,That know loues griefe by his complexion!But lest my liking might too sodaine seeme,I would haue salu'd it with a longer treatise. Ped. What need the bridge much broder then the flood?The fairest graunt is the necessitie:Looke what will serue, is fit: 'tis once, thou louest,And I will fit thee with the remedie,I know we shall haue reuelling to night,I will assume thy part in some disguise,And tell faire Hero I am Claudio, And in her bosome Ile vnclaspe my heart,And take her hearing prisoner with the forceAnd strong incounter of my amorous tale:Then after, to her father will I breake,And the conclusion is, shee shall be thine,In practise let vs put it presently. Exeunt. Enter Leonato and an old man, brother to Leonato. Leo. How now brother, where is my cosen your son:hath he prouided this musicke? Old. He is very busie about it, but brother, I can tellyou newes that you yet dreamt not of. Lo. Are they good? Old. As the euents stamps them, but they haue a goodcouer: they shew well outward, the Prince and Count Claudio walking in a thick pleached alley in my orchard,were thus ouer-heard by a man of mine: the Prince dis-couered to Claudio that hee loued my niece your daugh-ter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance,and if hee found her accordant, hee meant to take thepresent time by the top, and instantly breake with youof it. Leo. Hath the fellow any wit that told you this? Old. A good sharpe fellow, I will send for him, andquestion him your selfe. Leo. No, no; wee will hold it as a dreame, till it ap-peare it selfe: but I will acquaint my daughter withall,that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if per-aduenture this bee true: goe you and tell her of it: coo-sins, you know what you haue to doe, O I crie you mer-cie friend, goe you with mee and I will vse your skill,good cosin haue a care this busie time. Exeunt. Enter Sir Iohn the Bastard, and Conrade his companion. Con. What the good yeere my Lord, why are youthus out of measure sad? Ioh. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds,therefore the sadnesse is without limit. Con. You should heare reason. Iohn. And when I haue heard it, what blessing brin-geth it? Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient sufferance. Ioh. I wonder that thou (being as thou saist thou art,borne vnder Saturne) goest about to apply a morall me-dicine, to a mortifying mischiefe: I cannot hide what Iam: I must bee sad when I haue cause, and smile at nomans iests, eat when I haue stomacke, and wait for nomans leisure: sleepe when I am drowsie, and tend on nomans businesse, laugh when I am merry, and claw no manin his humor. Con. Yea, but you must not make the ful show of this,till you may doe it without controllment, you haue of late stood out against your brother, and hee hath taneyou newly into his grace, where it is impossible youshould take root, but by the faire weather that you makeyour selfe, it is needful that you frame the season for yourowne haruest. Iohn. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, then a rosein his grace, and it better fits my bloud to be disdain'd ofall, then to fashion a carriage to rob loue from any: in this(though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man)it must not be denied but I am a plaine dealing villaine, Iam trusted with a mussell, and enfranchisde with a clog,therefore I haue decreed, not to sing in my cage: if I hadmy mouth, I would bite: if I had my liberty, I would domy liking: in the meane time, let me be that I am, andseeke not to alter me. Con. Can you make no vse of your discontent? Iohn. I will make all vse of it, for I vse it onely.Who comes here? what newes Borachio? Enter Borachio. Bor. I came yonder from a great supper, the Princeyour brother is royally entertained by Leonato, and I cangiue you intelligence of an intended marriage. Iohn. Will it serue for any Modell to build mischiefeon? What is hee for a foole that betrothes himselfe tovnquietnesse? Bor. Mary it is your brothers right hand. Iohn. Who, the most exquisite Claudio? Bor. Euen he. Iohn. A proper squier, and who, and who, which waylookes he? Bor. Mary on Hero, the daughter and Heire of Leo-nato. Iohn. A very forward March-chicke, how came youto this: Bor. Being entertain'd for a perfumer, as I was smoa-king a musty roome, comes me the Prince and Claudio, hand in hand in sad conference: I whipt behind the Ar-ras, and there heard it agreed vpon, that the Prince shouldwooe Hero for himselfe, and hauing obtain'd her, giueher to Count Claudio. Iohn. Come, come, let vs thither, this may proue foodto my displeasure, that young start-vp hath all the glorieof my ouerthrow: if I can crosse him any way, I blessemy selfe euery way, you are both sure, and will assistmee? Conr. To the death my Lord. Iohn. Let vs to the great supper, their cheere is thegreater that I am subdued, would the Cooke were of myminde: shall we goe proue whats to be done? Bor. Wee'll wait vpon your Lordship. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Enter Leonato, his brother, his wife, Hero his daughter, and Beatrice his neece, and a kinsman. Leonato. Was not Count Iohn here at supper? Brother. I saw him not. Beatrice. How tartly that Gentleman lookes, I neuercan see him, but I am heart-burn'd an howre after. Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. Beatrice. Hee were an excellent man that were madeiust in the mid-way betweene him and Benedicke, the oneis too like an image and saies nothing, and the other toolike my Ladies eldest sonne, euermore tatling. Leon. Then halfe signior Benedicks tongue in Count Iohns mouth, and halfe Count Iohns melancholy in Sig-nior Benedicks face. Beat. With a good legge, and a good foot vnckle, andmoney enough in his purse, such a man would winne anywoman in the world, if he could get her good will. Leon. By my troth Neece, thou wilt neuer get thee ahusband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. Brother. Infaith shee's too curst. Beat. Too curst is more then curst, I shall lessen Godssending that way: for it is said, God sends a curst Cowshort hornes, but to a Cow too curst he sends none. Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you nohornes. Beat. Iust, if he send me no husband, for the whichblessing, I am at him vpon my knees euery morning andeuening: Lord, I could not endure a husband with abeard on his face, I had rather lie in the woollen. Leonato. You may light vpon a husband that hath nobeard. Beatrice. What should I doe with him? dresse him inmy apparell, and make him my waiting gentlewoman? hethat hath a beard, is more then a youth: and he that hathno beard, is lesse then a man: and hee that is more then ayouth, is not for mee: and he that is lesse then a man, I amnot for him: therefore I will euen take sixepence in ear-nest of the Berrord, and leade his Apes into hell. Leon. Well then, goe you into hell. Beat. No, but to the gate, and there will the Deuillmeete mee like an old Cuckold with hornes on his head,and say, get you to heauen Beatrice, get you to heauen,heere's no place for you maids, so deliuer I vp my Apes,and away to S[aint]. Peter: for the heauens, hee shewes meewhere the Batchellers sit, and there liue wee as merry asthe day is long. Brother. Well neece, I trust you will be rul'd by yourfather. Beatrice. Yes faith, it is my cosens dutie to make curt-sie, and say, as it please you: but yet for all that cosin, lethim be a handsome fellow, or else make an other cursie,and say, father, as it please me. Leonato. Well neece, I hope to see you one day fittedwith a husband. Beatrice. Not till God make men of some other met-tall then earth, would it not grieue a woman to be ouer-mastred with a peece of valiant dust: to make account ofher life to a clod of waiward marle? no vnckle, ile none: Adams sonnes are my brethren, and truly I hold it a sinneto match in my kinred. Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you, if thePrince doe solicit you in that kinde, you know your an-swere. Beatrice. The fault will be in the musicke cosin, if yoube not woed in good time: if the Prince bee too impor-tant, tell him there is measure in euery thing, & so danceout the answere, for heare me Hero, wooing, wedding, &repenting, is as a Scotch jigge, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suite is hot and hasty like a Scotch jigge(and full as fantasticall) the wedding manerly modest,(as a measure) full of state & aunchentry, and then comesrepentance, and with his bad legs falls into the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sinkes into his graue. Leonato. Cosin you apprehend passing shrewdly. Beatrice. I haue a good eye vnckle, I can see a Churchby daylight. Leon. The reuellers are entring brother, make goodroome. Enter Prince, Pedro, Claudio, and Benedicke, and Balthasar,or dumbe Iohn, Maskers with a drum. Pedro. Lady, will you walke about with your friend? Hero. So you walke softly, and looke sweetly, and saynothing, I am yours for the walke, and especially when Iwalke away. Pedro. With me in your company. Hero. I may say so when I please. Pedro. And when please you to say so? Hero. When I like your fauour, for God defend theLute should be like the case. Pedro. My visor is Philemons roofe, within the houseis Loue. Hero. Why then your visor should be thatcht. Pedro. Speake low if you speake Loue. Bene. Well, I would you did like me. Mar. So would not I for your owne sake, for I hauemanie ill qualities. Bene. Which is one? Mar. I say my prayers alowd. Ben. I loue you the better, the hearers may cry Amen. Mar. God match me with a good dauncer. Balt. Amen. Mar. And God keepe him out of my sight when thedaunce is done: answer Clarke. Balt. No more words, the Clarke is answered. Vrsula. I know you well enough, you are Signior An-thonio. Anth. At a word, I am not. Vrsula. I know you by the wagling of your head. Anth. To tell you true, I counterfet him. Vrsu. You could neuer doe him so ill well, vnlesseyou were the very man: here's his dry hand vp & down,you are he, you are he. Anth. At a word I am not. Vrsula. Come, come, doe you thinke I doe not knowyou by your excellent wit? can vertue hide it selfe? goeto mumme, you are he, graces will appeare, and there'san end. Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so? Bene. No, you shall pardon me. Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are? Bened. Not now. Beat. That I was disdainfull, and that I had my goodwit out of the hundred merry tales: well, this was Signi-or Benedicke that said so. Bene. What's he? Beat. I am sure you know him well enough. Bene. Not I, beleeue me. Beat. Did he neuer make you laugh? Bene. I pray you what is he? Beat. Why he is the Princes ieaster, a very dull foole,onely his gift is, in deuising impossible slanders, nonebut Libertines delight in him, and the commendation isnot in his witte, but in his villanie, for hee both pleasethmen and angers them, and then they laugh at him, andbeat him: I am sure he is in the Fleet, I would he hadboorded me. Bene. When I know the Gentleman, Ile tell him whatyou say. Beat. Do, do, hee'l but breake a comparison or twoon me, which peraduenture (not markt, or not laugh'dat) strikes him into melancholly, and then there's a Par-tridge wing saued, for the foole will eate no supper thatnight. We must follow the Leaders. Ben. In euery good thing. Bea. Nay, if they leade to any ill, I will leaue themat the next turning. Exeunt. Musicke for the dance. Iohn. Sure my brother is amorous on Hero, and hathwithdrawne her father to breake with him about it: theLadies follow her, and but one visor remaines. Borachio. And that is Claudio, I know him by his bea-ring. Iohn. Are not you signior Benedicke? Clau. You know me well, I am hee. Iohn. Signior, you are verie neere my Brother in hisloue, he is enamor'd on Hero, I pray you disswade himfrom her, she is no equall for his birth: you may do thepart of an honest man in it. Claudio. How know you he loues her? Iohn. I heard him sweare his affection. Bor. So did I too, and he swore he would marrie herto night. Iohn. Come, let vs to the banquet. Ex. manet Clau. Clau. Thus answere I in name of Benedicke,But heare these ill newes with the eares of Claudio: 'Tis certaine so, the Prince woes for himselfe:Friendship is constant in all other things,Saue in the Office and affaires of loue:Therefore all hearts in loue vse their owne tongues.Let euerie eye negotiate for it selfe,And trust no Agent: for beautie is a witch,Against whose charmes, faith melteth into blood:This is an accident of hourely proofe,Which I mistrusted not. Farewell therefore Hero. Enter Benedicke. Ben. Count Claudio. Clau. Yea, the same. Ben. Come, will you goe with me? Clau. Whither? Ben. Euen to the next Willow, about your own bu-sinesse, Count. What fashion will you weare the Gar-land off? About your necke, like an Vsurers chaine? Orvnder your arme, like a Lieutenants scarfe? You mustweare it one way, for the Prince hath got your Hero. Clau . I wish him ioy of her. Ben. Why that's spoken like an honest Drouier, sothey sel Bullockes: but did you thinke the Prince woldhaue serued you thus? Clau. I pray you leaue me. Ben. Ho now you strike like the blindman, 'twas theboy that stole your meate, and you'l beat the post. Clau. If it will not be, Ile leaue you. Exit. Ben. Alas poore hurt fowle, now will he creepe intosedges: But that my Ladie Beatrice should know me, &not know me: the Princes foole! Hah? It may be I goevnder that title, because I am merrie: yea but so I amapt to do my selfe wrong: I am not so reputed, it is thebase (though bitter) disposition of Beatrice, that putt'sthe world into her person, and so giues me out: well, Ilebe reuenged as I may. Enter the Prince. Pedro. Now Signior, where's the Count, did yousee him? Bene. Troth my Lord, I haue played the part of LadyFame, I found him heere as melancholy as a Lodge in aWarren, I told him, and I thinke, told him true, that yourgrace had got the will of this young Lady, and I offeredhim my company to a willow tree, either to make him agarland, as being forsaken, or to binde him a rod, as be-ing worthy to be whipt. Pedro. To be whipt, what's his fault? Bene. The flat transgression of a Schoole-boy, whobeing ouer-ioyed with finding a birds nest, shewes it hiscompanion, and he steales it. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust, a transgression? thetransgression is in the stealer. Ben. Yet it had not been amisse the rod had beenemade, and the garland too, for the garland he might haueworne himselfe, and the rod hee might haue bestowed onyou, who (as I take it) haue stolne his birds nest. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and restore themto the owner. Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my faithyou say honestly. Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrell to you, theGentleman that daunst with her, told her shee is muchwrong'd by you. Bene. O she misusde me past the indurance of a block:an oake but with one greene leafe on it, would haue an-swered her: my very visor began to assume life, and scoldwith her: shee told mee, not thinking I had beene myselfe, that I was the Princes Iester, and that I was dullerthen a great thaw, hudling iest vpon iest, with such im-possible conueiance vpon me, that I stood like a man at amarke, with a whole army shooting at me: shee speakespoynyards, and euery word stabbes: if her breath wereas terrible as terminations, there were no liuing neereher, she would infect to the north starre: I would notmarry her, though she were indowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgrest, she would haue made Hercules haue turnd spit, yea, and haue cleft his club tomake the fire too: come, talke not of her, you shall findeher the infernall Ate in good apparell. I would to Godsome scholler would coniure her, for certainely while sheis heere, a man may liue as quiet in hell, as in a sanctuary,and people sinne vpon purpose, because they would goethither, so indeed all disquiet, horror, and perturbationfollowes her. Enter Claudio and Beatrice, Leonato, Hero. Pedro. Looke heere she comes. Bene. Will your Grace command mee any seruice tothe worlds end? I will goe on the slightest arrand nowto the Antypodes that you can deuise to send me on: Iwill fetch you a tooth-picker now from the furthest inchof Asia: bring you the length of Prester Iohns foot: fetchyou a hayre off the great Chams beard: doe you any em-bassage to the Pigmies, rather then hould three wordsconference, with this Harpy: you haue no employmentfor me? Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. Bene. O God sir, heeres a dish I loue not, I cannot in-dure this Lady tongue. Exit. Pedr. Come Lady, come, you haue lost the heart ofSignior Benedicke. Beatr. Indeed my Lord, hee lent it me a while, and Igaue him vse for it, a double heart for a single one, marryonce before he wonne it of mee, with false dice, thereforeyour Grace may well say I haue lost it. Pedro. You haue put him downe Lady, you haue puthim downe. Beat. So I would not he should do me, my Lord, lestI should prooue the mother of fooles: I haue broughtCount Claudio, whom you sent me to seeke. Pedro. Why how now Count, wherfore are you sad? Claud. Not sad my Lord. Pedro. How then? sicke? Claud. Neither, my Lord. Beat. The Count is neither sad, nor sicke, nor merry,nor well: but ciuill Count, ciuill as an Orange, and some-thing of a iealous complexion. Pedro. Ifaith Lady, I thinke your blazon to be true.though Ile be sworne, if hee be so, his conceit is false:heere Claudio, I haue wooed in thy name, and faire Hero is won, I haue broke with her father, and his good will obtained, name the day of marriage, and God giuethee ioy. Leona. Count, take of me my daughter, and with hermy fortunes: his grace hath made the match, & all gracesay, Amen to it. Beatr. Speake Count, tis your Qu. Claud. Silence is the perfectest Herault of ioy, I werebut little happy if I could say, how much? Lady, as youare mine, I am yours, I giue away my selfe for you, anddoat vpon the exchange. Beat. Speake cosin, or (if you cannot) stop his mouthwith a kisse, and let not him speake neither. Pedro. In faith Lady you haue a merry heart. Beatr. Yea my Lord I thanke it, poore foole it keepeson the windy side of Care, my coosin tells him in his earethat he is in my heart. Clau. And so she doth coosin. Beat. Good Lord for alliance: thus goes euery oneto the world but I, and I am sun-burn'd, I may sit in a cor-ner and cry, heigh ho for a husband. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. Beat. I would rather haue one of your fathers getting:hath your Grace ne're a brother like you? your fathergot excellent husbands, if a maid could come by them. Prince. Will you haue me? Lady. Beat. No, my Lord, vnlesse I might haue another forworking-daies, your Grace is too costly to weare euerieday: but I beseech your Grace pardon mee, I was borneto speake all mirth, and no matter. Prince. Your silence most offends me, and to be mer-ry, best becomes you, for out of question, you were bornin a merry howre. Beatr. No sure my Lord, my Mother cried, but thenthere was a starre daunst, and vnder that was I borne: co-sins God giue you ioy. Leonato. Neece, will you looke to those things I toldyou of? Beat. I cry you mercy Vncle, by your Graces pardon. Exit Beatrice. Prince. By my troth a pleasant spirited Lady. Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in hermy Lord, she is neuer sad, but when she sleepes, and noteuer sad then: for I haue heard my daughter say, she hathoften dreamt of vnhappinesse, and wakt her selfe withlaughing. Pedro. Shee cannot indure to heare tell of a husband. Leonato. O, by no meanes, she mocks all her wooersout of suite. Prince. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. Leonato. O Lord, my Lord, if they were but a weeke married, they would talke themselues madde. Prince. Counte Claudio, when meane you to goe toChurch? Clau. To morrow my Lord, Time goes on crutches,till Loue haue all his rites. Leonato. Not till monday, my deare sonne, which ishence a iust seuen night, and a time too briefe too, to haueall things answer minde. Prince. Come, you shake the head at so long a brea-thing, but I warrant thee Claudio, the time shall not goedully by vs, I will in the interim, vndertake one of Her-cules labors, which is, to bring Signior Benedicke and theLady Beatrice into a mountaine of affection, th' one withth' other, I would faine haue it a match, and I doubt notbut to fashion it, if you three will but minister such assi-stance as I shall giue you direction. Leonato. My Lord, I am for you, though it cost meeten nights watchings. Claud. And I my Lord. Prin. And you to gentle Hero? Hero. I will doe any modest office, my Lord, to helpemy cosin to a good husband. Prin. And Benedick is not the vnhopefullest husbandthat I know: thus farre can I praise him, hee is of a noblestraine, of approued valour, and confirm'd honesty, I willteach you how to humour your cosin, that shee shall fallin loue with Benedicke, and I, with your two helpes, willso practise on Benedicke, that in despight of his quickewit, and his queasie stomacke, hee shall fall in loue with Beatrice: if wee can doe this, Cupid is no longer an Ar-cher, his glory shall be ours, for wee are the onely loue-gods, goe in with me, and I will tell you my drift. Exit. Enter Iohn and Borachio. Ioh. It is so, the Count Claudio shal marry the daugh-ter of Leonato. Bora. Yea my Lord, but I can crosse it. Iohn. Any barre, any crosse, any impediment, will bemedicinable to me, I am sicke in displeasure to him, andwhatsoeuer comes athwart his affection, ranges euenlywith mine, how canst thou crosse this marriage? Bor. Not honestly my Lord, but so couertly, that nodishonesty shall appeare in me. Iohn. Shew me breefely how. Bor. I thinke I told your Lordship a yeere since, howmuch I am in the fauour of Margaret, the waiting gentle-woman to Hero. Iohn. I remember. Bor. I can at any vnseasonable instant of the night,appoint her to looke out at her Ladies chamber window. Iohn. What life is in that, to be the death of this mar-riage? Bor. The poyson of that lies in you to temper, goeyou to the Prince your brother, spare not to tell him, thathee hath wronged his Honor in marrying the renowned Claudio, whose estimation do you mightily hold vp, to acontaminated stale, such a one as Hero. Iohn. What proofe shall I make of that? Bor. Proofe enough, to misuse the Prince, to vexe Claudio, to vndoe Hero, and kill Leonato, looke you for a-ny other issue? Iohn. Onely to despight them, I will endeauour anything. Bor. Goe then, finde me a meete howre, to draw on Pedro and the Count Claudio alone, tell them that youknow that Hero loues me, intend a kinde of zeale bothto the Prince and Claudio (as in a loue of your brothershonor who hath made this match) and his friends repu-tation, who is thus like to be cosen'd with the semblanceof a maid, that you haue discouer'd thus: they will scarce-ly beleeue this without triall: offer them instances whichshall beare no lesse likelihood, than to see mee at herchamber window, heare me call Margaret, Hero; heare Margaret terme me Claudio, and bring them to see thisthe very night before the intended wedding, for in themeane time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero shallbe absent, and there shall appeare such seeming truths of Heroes disloyaltie, that iealousie shall be cal'd assurance,and all the preparation ouerthrowne. Iohn. Grow this to what aduerse issue it can, I willput it in practise: be cunning in the working this, andthy fee is a thousand ducates. Bor. Be thou constant in the accusation, and my cun-ning shall not shame me. Iohn. I will presentlie goe learne their day of marri-age. Exit. Enter Benedicke alone. Bene. Boy. Boy. Signior. Bene. In my chamber window lies a booke, bring ithither to me in the orchard. Boy. I am heere already sir. Exit. Bene. I know that, but I would haue thee hence, andheere againe. I doe much wonder, that one man seeinghow much another man is a foole, when he dedicates hisbehauiours to loue, will after hee hath laught at suchshallow follies in others, become the argument of hisowne scorne, by falling in loue, & such a man is Claudio. I haue known when there was no musicke with him butthe drum and the fife, and now had hee rather heare thetaber and the pipe: I haue knowne when he would hauewalkt ten mile afoot, to see a good armor, and now willhe lie ten nights awake caruing the fashion of a new dub-let: he was wont to speake plaine, & to the purpose (likean honest man & a souldier) and now is he turn'd ortho-graphy, his words are a very fantasticall banquet, iust somany strange dishes: may I be so conuerted, & see withthese eyes? I cannot tell, I thinke not: I will not beesworne, but loue may transforme me to an oyster, but Iletake my oath on it, till he haue made an oyster of me, heshall neuer make me such a foole: one woman is faire, yetI am well: another is wise, yet I am well: another vertu-ous, yet I am well: but till all graces be in one woman,one woman shall not come in my grace: rich shee shallbe, that's certaine: wise, or Ile none: vertuous, or Ile ne-uer cheapen her: faire, or Ile neuer looke on her: milde,or come not neere me: Noble, or not for an Angell: ofgood discourse: an excellent Musitian, and her haire shalbe of what colour it please God, hah! the Prince andMonsieur Loue, I will hide me in the Arbor. Enter Prince, Leonato, Claudio, and Iacke Wilson. Prin. Come, shall we heare this musicke? Claud. Yea my good Lord: how still the euening is.As husht on purpose to grace harmonie. Prin. See you where Benedicke hath hid himselfe? Clau. O very well my Lord: the musicke ended,Wee'll fit the kid-foxe with a penny worth. Prince. Come Balthasar, wee'll heare that song again. Balth. O good my Lord, taxe not so bad a voyce,To slander musicke any more then once. Prin. It is the witnesse still of excellency, To slander Musicke any more then once. Prince. It is the witnesse still of excellencie,To put a strange face on his owne perfection,I pray thee sing, and let me woe no more. Balth. Because you talke of wooing, I will sing,Since many a wooer doth commence his suit,To her he thinkes not worthy, yet he wooes,Yet will he sweare he loues. Prince. Nay pray thee come,Or if thou wilt hold longer argument,Doe it in notes. Balth. Note this before my notes,Theres not a note of mine that's worth the noting. Prince. Why these are very crotchets that he speaks,Note notes forsooth, and nothing. Bene. Now diuine aire, now is his soule rauisht, is itnot strange that sheepes guts should hale soules out ofmens bodies? well, a horne for my money when all'sdone. The Song. Sigh no more Ladies, sigh no more,Men were deceiuers euer,One foote in Sea, and one on shore,To one thing constant neuer,Then sigh not so, but let them goe,And be you blithe and bonnie,Conuerting all your sounds of woe,Into hey nony nony.Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,Of dumps so dull and heauy,The fraud of men were euer so,Since summer first was leauy,Then sigh not so, &c. Prince. By my troth a good song. Balth. And an ill singer, my Lord. Prince. Ha, no, no faith, thou singst well enough for ashift. Ben. And he had been a dog that should haue howldthus, they would haue hang'd him, and I pray God hisbad voyce bode no mischiefe, I had as liefe haue heardthe night-rauen, come what plague could haue come af-ter it. Prince. Yea marry, dost thou heare Balthasar? I praythee get vs some excellent musick: for to morrow nightwe would haue it at the Lady Heroes chamber window. Balth. The best I can, my Lord. Exit Balthasar. Prince. Do so, farewell. Come hither Leonato, whatwas it you told me of to day, that your Niece Beatrice was in loue with signior Benedicke? Cla. O I, stalke on, stalke on, the foule sits. I did ne-uer thinke that Lady would haue loued any man. Leon. No, nor I neither, but most wonderful, that sheshould so dote on Signior Benedicke, whom shee hath inall outward behauiours seemed euer to abhorre. Bene. Is't possible? sits the winde in that corner? Leo. By my troth my Lord, I cannot tell what tothinke of it, but that she loues him with an inraged affe-ction, it is past the infinite of thought. Prince. May be she doth but counterfeit. Claud. Faith like enough. Leon. O God! counterfeit? there was neuer counter-feit of passion, came so neere the life of passion as she dis-couers it. Prince. Why what effects of passion shewes she? Claud. Baite the hooke well, this fish will bite. Leon. What effects my Lord? shee will sit you, youheard my daughter tell you how. Clau. She did indeed. Prince. How, how I pray you? you amaze me, I wouldhaue thought her spirit had beene inuincible against allassaults of affection. Leo. I would haue sworne it had, my Lord, especiallyagainst Benedicke. Bene. I should thinke this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speakes it: knauery cannot sure hidehimselfe in such reuerence. Claud. He hath tane th' infection, hold it vp. Prince. Hath shee made her affection known to Bene-dicke: Leonato. No, and sweares she neuer will, that's hertorment. Claud. 'Tis true indeed, so your daughter saies: shallI, saies she, that haue so oft encountred him with scorne,write to him that I loue him? Leo. This saies shee now when shee is beginning towrite to him, for shee'll be vp twenty times a night, andthere will she sit in her smocke, till she haue writ a sheetof paper: my daughter tells vs all. Clau. Now you talke of a sheet of paper, I remembera pretty iest your daughter told vs of. Leon. O when she had writ it, & was reading it ouer,she found Benedicke and Beatrice betweene the sheete. Clau. That. Leon. O she tore the letter into a thousand halfpence,raild at her self, that she should be so immodest to write,to one that shee knew would flout her: I measure him,saies she, by my owne spirit, for I should flout him if heewrit to mee, yea though I loue him, I should. Clau. Then downe vpon her knees she falls, weepes,sobs, beates her heart, teares her hayre, praies, curses, Osweet Benedicke, God giue me patience. Leon. She doth indeed, my daughter saies so, and theextasie hath so much ouerborne her, that my daughter issomtime afeard she will doe a desperate out-rage to herselfe, it is very true. Prince. It were good that Benedicke knew of it by someother, if she will not discouer it. Clau. To what end? he would but make a sport of it,and torment the poore Lady worse. Prin. And he should, it were an almes to hang him,shee's an excellent sweet Lady, and (out of all suspition,)she is vertuous. Claudio. And she is exceeding wise. Prince. In euery thing, but in louing Benedicke. Leon. O my Lord, wisedome and bloud combating inso tender a body, we haue ten proofes to one, that bloudhath the victory, I am sorry for her, as I haue iust cause,being her Vncle, and her Guardian. Prince. I would shee had bestowed this dotage onmee, I would haue daft all other respects, and made herhalfe my selfe: I pray you tell Benedicke of it, and hearewhat he will say. Leon. Were it good thinke you? Clau. Hero thinkes surely she wil die, for she saies shewill die, if hee loue her not, and shee will die ere sheemake her loue knowne, and she will die if hee wooe her,rather than shee will bate one breath of her accustomedcrossenesse. Prince. She doth well, if she should make tender of her loue, 'tis very possible hee'l scorne it, for the man (as youknow all) hath a contemptible spirit. Clau. He is a very proper man. Prin. He hath indeed a good outward happines. Clau. 'Fore God, and in my minde very wise. Prin. He doth indeed shew some sparkes that are likewit. Leon. And I take him to be valiant. Prin. As Hector, I assure you, and in the managing ofquarrels you may see hee is wise, for either hee auoydesthem with great discretion, or vndertakes them with aChristian-like feare. Leon. If hee doe feare God, a must necessarilie keepepeace, if hee breake the peace, hee ought to enter into aquarrell with feare and trembling. Prin. And so will he doe, for the man doth fear God,howsoeuer it seemes not in him, by some large ieasts heewill make: well, I am sorry for your niece, shall we goesee Benedicke, and tell him of her loue. Claud. Neuer tell him, my Lord, let her weare it outwith good counsell. Leon. Nay that's impossible, she may weare her heartout first. Prin. Well, we will heare further of it by your daugh-ter, let it coole the while, I loue Benedicke well, and Icould wish he would modestly examine himselfe, to seehow much he is vnworthy to haue so good a Lady. Leon. My Lord, will you walke? dinner is ready. Clau. If he do not doat on her vpon this, I wil neuertrust my expectation. Prin. Let there be the same Net spread for her, andthat must your daughter and her gentlewoman carry:the sport will be, when they hold one an opinion of ano-thers dotage, and no such matter, that's the Scene that Iwould see, which will be meerely a dumbe shew: let vssend her to call him into dinner. Exeunt. Bene. This can be no tricke, the conference was sadlyborne, they haue the truth of this from Hero, they seemeto pittie the Lady: it seemes her affections haue the fullbent: loue me? why it must be requited: I heare how Iam censur'd, they say I will beare my selfe proudly, if Iperceiue the loue come from her: they say too, that shewill rather die than giue any signe of affection: I did ne-uer thinke to marry, I must not seeme proud, happy arethey that heare their detractions, and can put them tomending: they say the Lady is faire, 'tis a truth, I canbeare them witnesse: and vertuous, tis so, I cannot re-prooue it, and wise, but for louing me, by my troth it isno addition to her witte, nor no great argument of herfolly; for I wil be horribly in loue with her, I may chancehaue some odde quirkes and remnants of witte brokenon mee, because I haue rail'd so long against marriage:but doth not the appetite alter? a man loues the meat inhis youth, that he cannot indure in his age. Shall quipsand sentences, and these paper bullets of the braine awea man from the careere of his humour? No, the worldmust be peopled. When I said I would die a batcheler, Idid not think I should liue till I were maried, here comes Beatrice: by this day, shee's a faire Lady, I doe spie somemarkes of loue in her. Enter Beatrice. Beat. Against my wil I am sent to bid you come in todinner. Bene. Faire Beatrice, I thanke you for your paines. Beat. I tooke no more paines for those thankes, thenyou take paines to thanke me, if it had been painefull, Iwould not haue come. Bene. You take pleasure then in the message. Beat. Yea iust so much as you may take vpon a kniuespoint, and choake a daw withall: you haue no stomackesignior, fare you well. Exit. Bene. Ha, against my will I am sent to bid you comeinto dinner: there's a double meaning in that: I tookeno more paines for those thankes then you took painesto thanke me, that's as much as to say, any paines that Itake for you is as easie as thankes: if I do not take pittyof her I am a villaine, if I doe not loue her I am a Iew, Iwill goe get her picture. Exit.
Actus Tertius. Enter Hero and two Gentlemen, Margaret, and Vrsula. Hero. Good Margaret runne thee to the parlour,There shalt thou finde my Cosin Beatrice, Proposing with the Prince and Claudio, Whisper her eare, and tell her I and Vrsula, Walke in the Orchard, and our whole discourseIs all of her, say that thou ouer-heardst vs,And bid her steale into the pleached bower,Where hony-suckles ripened by the sunne,Forbid the sunne to enter: like fauourites,Made proud by Princes, that aduance their pride,Against that power that bred it, there will she hide her,To listen our purpose, this is thy office,Beare thee well in it, and leaue vs alone. Marg. Ile make her come I warrant you presently. Hero. Now Vrsula, when Beatrice doth come,As we do trace this alley vp and downe,Our talke must onely be of Benedicke, When I doe name him, let it be thy part,To praise him more then euer man did merit,My talke to thee must be how Benedicke Is sicke in loue with Beatrice; of this matter,Is little Cupids crafty arrow made,That onely wounds by heare-say: now begin, Enter Beatrice. For looke where Beatrice like a Lapwing runsClose by the ground, to heare our conference. Vrs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fishCut with her golden ores the siluer streame,And greedily deuoure the treacherous baite:So angle we for Beatrice, who euen now,Is couched in the wood-bine couerture,Feare you not my part of the Dialogue. Her. Then go we neare her that her eare loose nothing,Of the false sweete baite that we lay for it:No truely Vrsula, she is too disdainfull,I know her spirits are as coy and wilde,As Haggerds of the rocke. Vrsula. But are you sure,That Benedicke loues Beatrice so intirely? Her. So saies the Prince, and my new trothed Lord. Vrs. And did they bid you tell her of it, Madam? Her. They did intreate me to acquaint her of it,But I perswaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke, To wish him wrastle with affection,And neuer to let Beatrice know of it. Vrsula. Why did you so, doth not the GentlemanDeserue as full as fortunate a bed,As euer Beatrice shall couch vpon? Hero. O God of loue! I know he doth deserue,As much as may be yeelded to a man:But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart,Of prowder stuffe then that of Beatrice: Disdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes,Mis-prizing what they looke on, and her witValues it selfe so highly, that to herAll matter else seemes weake: she cannot loue,Nor take no shape nor proiect of affection,Shee is so selfe indeared. Vrsula. Sure I thinke so,And therefore certainely it were not goodShe knew his loue, lest she make sport at it. Hero. Why you speake truth, I neuer yet saw man,How wise, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd.But she would spell him backward: if faire fac'd,She would sweare the gentleman should be her sister:If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke,Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed:If low, an agot very vildlie cut:If speaking, why a vane blowne with all windes:If silent, why a blocke moued with none.So turnes she euery man the wrong side out,And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, thatWhich simplenesse and merit purchaseth. Vrsu. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. Hero. No, not to be so odde, and from all fashions,As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable,But who dare tell her so? if I should speake,She would mocke me into ayre, O she would laugh meOut of my selfe, presse me to death with wit,Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire,Consume away in sighes, waste inwardly:It were a better death, to die with mockes,Which is as bad as die with tickling. Vrsu. Yet tell her of it, heare what shee will say. Hero. No, rather I will goe to Benedicke, And counsaile him to fight against his passion,And truly Ile deuise some honest slanders,To staine my cosin with, one doth not know,How much an ill word may impoison liking. Vrsu. O doe not doe your cosin such a wrong,She cannot be so much without true iudgement,Hauing so swift and excellent a witAs she is prisde to haue, as to refuseSo rare a Gentleman as signior Benedicke. Hero. He is the onely man of Italy,Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudio. Vrsu. I pray you be not angry with me, Madame,Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedicke, For shape, for bearing argument and valour,Goes formost in report through Italy. Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name. Vrsu. His excellence did earne it ere he had it:When are you married Madame? Hero. Why euerie day to morrow, come goe in,Ile shew thee some attires, and haue thy counsell,Which is the best to furnish me to morrow. Vrsu. Shee's tane I warrant you,We haue caught her Madame? Hero. If it proue so, then louing goes by haps,Some Cupid kills with arrowes, some with traps. Exit. Beat. What fire is in mine eares? can this be true?Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorne so much?Contempt, farewell, and maiden pride, adew,No glory liues behinde the backe of such.And Benedicke, loue on, I will requite thee,Taming my wilde heart to thy louing hand:If thou dost loue, my kindnesse shall incite theeTo binde our loues vp in a holy band.For others say thou dost deserue, and IBeleeue it better then reportingly. Exit. Enter Prince, Claudio, Benedicke, and Leonato. Prince. I doe but stay till your marriage be consum-mate, and then go I toward Arragon. Clau. Ile bring you thither my Lord, if you'l vouch-safe me. Prin. Nay, that would be as great a soyle in the newglosse of your marriage, as to shew a childe his new coatand forbid him to weare it, I will onely bee bold with Benedicke for his companie, for from the crowne of hishead, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth, he hath twiceor thrice cut Cupids bow-string, and the little hang-mandare not shoot at him, he hath a heart as sound as a bell,and his tongue is the clapper, for what his heart thinkes,his tongue speakes. Bene. Gallants, I am not as I haue bin. Leo. So say I, methinkes you are sadder. Claud. I hope he be in loue. Prin. Hang him truant, there's no true drop of bloudin him to be truly toucht with loue, if he be sad, he wantsmoney. Bene. I haue the tooth-ach. Prin. Draw it. Bene. Hang it. Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it afterwards. Prin. What? sigh for the tooth-ach. Leon. Where is but a humour or a worme. Bene. Well, euery one cannot master a griefe, but heethat has it. Clau. Yet say I, he is in loue. Prin. There is no appearance of fancie in him, vnlesseit be a fancy that he hath to strange disguises, as to bee aDutchman to day, a Frenchman to morrow: vnlesse heehaue a fancy to this foolery, as it appeares hee hath, heeis no foole for fancy, as you would haue it to appearehe is. Clau. If he be not in loue with some woman, thereis no beleeuing old signes, a brushes his hat a mornings,What should that bode? Prin. Hath any man seene him at the Barbers? Clau. No, but the Barbers man hath beene seen withhim, and the olde ornament of his cheeke hath alreadiestuft tennis balls. Leon. Indeed he lookes yonger than hee did, by thelosse of a beard. Prin. Nay a rubs himselfe with Ciuit, can you smellhim out by that? Clau. That's as much as to say, the sweet youth's inloue. Prin. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. Clau. And when was he wont to wash his face? Prin. Yea, or to paint himselfe? for the which I hearewhat they say of him. Clau. Nay, but his iesting spirit, which is now creptinto a lute-string, and now gouern'd by stops. Prin. Indeed that tels a heauy tale for him: conclude,he is in loue. Clau. Nay, but I know who loues him. Prince. That would I know too, I warrant one thatknowes him not. Cla. Yes, and his ill conditions, and in despight of all,dies for him. Prin. Shee shall be buried with her face vpwards. Bene. Yet is this no charme for the tooth-ake, old sig-nior, walke aside with mee, I haue studied eight or ninewise words to speake to you, which these hobby-horsesmust not heare. Prin. For my life to breake with him about Beatrice. Clau. 'Tis euen so, Hero and Margaret haue by thisplayed their parts with Beatrice, and then the two Beareswill not bite one another when they meete. Enter Iohn the Bastard. Bast. My Lord and brother, God saue you. Prin. Good den brother. Bast. If your leisure seru'd, I would speake with you. Prince. In priuate? Bast. If it please you, yet Count Claudio may heare,for what I would speake of, concernes him. Prin. What's the matter? Basta. Meanes your Lordship to be married to mor-row? Prin. You know he does. Bast. I know not that when he knowes what I know. Clau. If there be any impediment, I pray you disco-uer it. Bast. You may thinke I loue you not, let that appearehereafter, and ayme better at me by that I now will ma-nifest, for my brother (I thinke, he holds you well, and indearenesse of heart) hath holpe to effect your ensuingmarriage: surely sute ill spent, and labour ill bestowed. Prin. Why, what's the matter? Bastard. I came hither to tell you, and circumstancesshortned, (for she hath beene too long a talking of) theLady is disloyall. Clau. Who Hero? Bast. Euen shee, Leonatoes Hero, your Hero, euerymans Hero. Clau. Disloyall? Bast. The word is too good to paint out her wicked-nesse, I could say she were worse, thinke you of a worsetitle, and I will fit her to it: wonder not till further war-rant: goe but with mee to night, you shal see her cham-ber window entred, euen the night before her weddingday, if you loue her, then to morrow wed her: But itwould better fit your honour to change your minde. Claud. May this be so? Princ. I will not thinke it. Bast. If you dare not trust that you see, confesse notthat you know: if you will follow mee, I will shew youenough, and when you haue seene more, & heard more,proceed accordingly. Clau. If I see any thing to night, why I should notmarry her to morrow in the congregation, where I sholdwedde, there will I shame her. Prin. And as I wooed for thee to obtaine her, I willioyne with thee to disgrace her. Bast. I will disparage her no farther, till you are mywitnesses, beare it coldly but till night, and let the issueshew it selfe. Prin. O day vntowardly turned! Claud. O mischiefe strangelie thwarting! Bastard. O plague right well preuented! so will yousay, when you haue seene the sequele. Exit. Enter Dogbery and his compartner with the watch. Dog. Are you good men and true? Verg. Yea, or else it were pitty but they should suffersaluation body and soule. Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good forthem, if they should haue any allegiance in them, beingchosen for the Princes watch. Verges. Well, giue them their charge, neighbour Dogbery. Dog. First, who thinke you the most desartlesse manto be Constable. Watch.1. Hugh Ote-cake sir, or George Sea-coale, forthey can write and reade. Dogb. Come hither neighbour Sea-coale, God hathblest you with a good name: to be a wel-fauoured man,is the gift of Fortune, but to write and reade, comes byNature. Watch 2. Both which Master Constable Dogb. You haue: I knew it would be your answere:well, for your fauour sir, why giue God thankes, & makeno boast of it, and for your writing and reading, let thatappeare when there is no need of such vanity, you arethought heere to be the most senslesse and fit man for theConstable of the watch: therefore beare you the lan-thorne: this is your charge: You shall comprehend allvagrom men, you are to bid any man stand in the Prin-ces name. Watch 2. How if a will not stand? Dogb. Why then take no note of him, but let him go,and presently call the rest of the Watch together, andthanke God you are ridde of a knaue. Verges. If he will not stand when he is bidden, hee isnone of the Princes subiects. Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none butthe Princes subiects: you shall also make no noise in thestreetes: for, for the Watch to babble and talke, is mosttollerable, and not to be indured. Watch. We will rather sleepe than talke, wee knowwhat belongs to a Watch. Dog. Why you speake like an ancient and most quietwatchman, for I cannot see how sleeping should offend:only haue a care that your bills be not stolne: well, youare to call at all the Alehouses, and bid them that aredrunke get them to bed. Watch. How if they will not? Dogb. Why then let them alone till they are sober, ifthey make you not then the better answere, you may say,they are not the men you tooke them for. Watch. Well sir, Dogb. If you meet a theefe, you may suspect him, byvertue of your office, to be no true man: and for suchkinde of men, the lesse you meddle or make with them,why the more is for your honesty. Watch. If wee know him to be a thiefe, shall wee notlay hands on him. Dogb. Truly by your office you may, but I think theythat touch pitch will be defil'd: the most peaceable wayfor you, if you doe take a theefe, is, to let him shew him-selfe what he is, and steale out of your company. Ver. You haue bin alwaies cal'd a merciful ma[n] partner. Dog. Truely I would not hang a dog by my will, muchmore a man who hath anie honestie in him. Verges. If you heare a child crie in the night you mustcall to the nurse, and bid her still it. Watch. How if the nurse be asleepe and will notheare vs? Dog. Why then depart in peace, and let the childewake her with crying, for the ewe that will not heareher Lambe when it baes, will neuer answere a calfe whenhe bleates. Verges. 'Tis verie true. Dog. This is the end of the charge: you constableare to present the Princes owne person, if you meete thePrince in the night, you may staie him. Verges. Nay birladie that I thinke a cannot. Dog. Fiue shillings to one on't with anie man thatknowes the Statutes, he may staie him, marrie not with-out the prince be willing, for indeed the watch ought tooffend no man, and it is an offence to stay a man againsthis will. Verges. Birladie I thinke it be so. Dog. Ha, ah ha, well masters good night, and there beanie matter of weight chances, call vp me, keepe yourfellowes counsailes, and your owne, and good night,come neighbour. Watch. Well masters, we heare our charge, let vs gosit here vpon the Church bench till two, and then all tobed. Dog. One word more, honest neighbors. I pray youwatch about signior Leonatoes doore, for the wedding be-ing there to morrow, there is a great coyle to night,adiew, be vigitant I beseech you. Exeunt. Enter Borachio and Conrade. Bor. What, Conrade? Watch. Peace, stir not. Bor. Conrade I say. Con. Here man, I am at thy elbow. Bor. Mas and my elbow itcht, I thought there woulda scabbe follow. Con. I will owe thee an answere for that, and nowforward with thy tale. Bor. Stand thee close then vnder this penthouse, for itdrissels raine, and I will, like a true drunkard, vtter all tothee. Watch. Some treason masters, yet stand close. Bor. Therefore know, I haue earned of Don Iohn athousand Ducates. Con. Is it possible that anie villanie should be so deare? Bor. Thou should'st rather aske if it were possible a-nie villanie should be so rich? for when rich villains haueneede of poore ones, poore ones may make what pricethey will. Con. I wonder at it. Bor. That shewes thou art vnconfirm'd, thou knowestthat the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a cloake, is no-thing to a man. Con. Yes, it is apparell. Bor. I meane the fashion. Con. Yes the fashion is the fashion. Bor. Tush, I may as well say the foole's the foole, butseest thou not what a deformed theefe this fashion is? Watch. I know that deformed, a has bin a vile theefe,this vii. yeares, a goes vp and downe like a gentle man:I remember his name. Bor. Did'st thou not heare some bodie? Con. No, 'twas the vaine on the house. Bor. Seest thou not (I say) what a deformed thiefethis fashion is, how giddily a turnes about all the Hot-blouds, betweene, foureteene & fiue & thirtie, sometimesfashioning them like Pharaoes souldiours in the rechiepainting, sometime like god Bels priests in the oldChurch window, sometime like the shauen Hercules inthe smircht worm-eaten tapestrie, where his cod-peeceseemes as massie as his club. Con. All this I see, and see that the fashion weares outmore apparrell then the man; but art not thou thy selfegiddie with the fashion too that thou hast shifted out ofthy tale into telling me of the fashion? Bor. Not so neither, but know that I haue to nightwooed Margaret the Lady Heroes gentle-woman, by thename of Hero, she leanes me out at her mistris chamber-window, bids me a thousand times good night: I tellthis tale vildly. I should first tell thee how the Prince Claudio and my Master planted, and placed, and possessedby my Master Don Iohn, saw a far off in the Orchard thisamiable incounter. Con. And thought thy Margaret was Hero? Bor. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio, but thediuell my Master knew she was Margaret and partly byhis oathes, which first possest them, partly by the darkenight which did deceiue them, but chiefely, by my villa-nie, which did confirme any slander that Don Iohn hadmade, away went Claudio enraged, swore hee wouldmeete her as he was apointed next morning at the Tem-ple, and there, before the whole congregation shame herwith what he saw o're night, and send her home againewithout a husband. Watch.1. We charge you in the Princes name stand. Watch.2. Call vp the right master Constable, we hauehere recouered the most dangerous peece of lechery, thateuer was knowne in the Common-wealth. Watch.1. And one Deformed is one of them, I knowhim, a weares a locke. Conr. Masters, masters. Watch.2. Youle be made bring deformed forth I war-rant you, Conr. Masters, neuer speake, we charge you, let vs o-bey you to goe with vs. Bor. We are like to proue a goodly commoditie, be-ing taken vp of these mens bils. Conr. A commoditie in question I warrant you, comeweele obey you. Exeunt. Enter Hero, and Margaret, and Vrsula. Hero. Good Vrsula wake my cosin Beatrice, and de-sire her to rise. Vrsu. I will Lady. Her. And bid her come hither. Vrs. Well. Mar. Troth I thinke your other rebato were better. Hero. No pray thee good Meg, Ile weare this. Marg. By my troth's not so good, and I warrant yourcosin will say so. Hero. My cosin's a foole, and thou art another, ileweare none but this. Mar. I like the new tire within excellently, if thehaire were a thought browner: and your gown's a mostrare fashion yfaith, I saw the Dutchesse of Millaines gowne that they praise so. Hero. O that exceedes they say. Mar. By my troth's but a night-gowne in respect ofyours, cloth a gold and cuts, and lac'd with siluer, set withpearles, downe sleeues, side sleeues, and skirts, round vn-derborn with a blewish tinsel, but for a fine queint grace-full and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Hero. God giue mee ioy to weare it, for my heart isexceeding heauy. Marga. 'Twill be heauier soone, by the waight of aman. Hero. Fie vpon thee, art not asham'd? Marg. Of what Lady? of speaking honourably? isnot marriage honourable in a beggar? is not your Lordhonourable without marriage? I thinke you would haueme say, sauing your reuerence a husband: and bad thin-king doe not wrest true speaking, Ile offend no body, isthere any harme in the heauier for a husband? none Ithinke, and it be the right husband, and the right wife,otherwise 'tis light and not heauy, aske my Lady Beatrice else, here she comes. Enter Beatrice. Hero. Good morrow Coze. Beat. Good morrow sweet Hero. Hero. Why how now? do you speake in the sick tune? Beat. I am out of all other tune, me thinkes. Mar. Claps into Light a loue, (that goes without aburden,) do you sing it and Ile dance it. Beat. Ye Light aloue with your heeles, then if yourhusband haue stables enough, you'll looke he shall lackeno barnes. Mar. O illegitimate construction! I scorne that withmy heeles. Beat. 'Tis almost fiue a clocke cosin, 'tis time youwere ready, by my troth I am exceeding ill, hey ho. Mar. For a hauke, a horse, or a husband? Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. Mar. Well, and you be not turn'd Turke, there's nomore sayling by the starre. Beat. What meanes the foole trow? Mar. Nothing I, but God send euery one their hartsdesire. Hero. These gloues the Count sent mee, they are anexcellent perfume. Beat. I am stuft cosin, I cannot smell. Mar. A maid and stuft! there's goodly catching ofcolde. Beat. O God helpe me, God help me, how long haueyou profest apprehension? Mar. Euer since you left it, doth not my wit becomeme rarely? Beat. It is not seene enough, you should weare it inyour cap, by my troth I am sicke. Mar. Get you some of this distill'd carduus benedictus and lay it to your heart, it is the onely thing for a qualm. Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thissell. Beat. Benedictus, why benedictus? you haue some mo-rall in this benedictus. Mar. Morall? no by my troth, I haue no morall mea-ning, I meant plaine holy thissell, you may thinke per-chance that I thinke you are in loue, nay birlady I am notsuch a foole to thinke what I list, nor I list not to thinkewhat I can, nor indeed, I cannot thinke, if I would thinkemy hart out of thinking, that you are in loue, or that youwill be in loue, or that you can be in loue: yet Benedicke was such another, and now is he become a man, he sworehee would neuer marry, and yet now in despight of hisheart he eates his meat without grudging, and how youmay be conuerted I know not, but me thinkes you lookewith your eies as other women doe. Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keepes. Mar. Not a false gallop. Enter Vrsula. Vrsula. Madam, withdraw, the Prince, the Count, sig-nior Benedicke, Don Iohn, and all the gallants of thetowne are come to fetch you to Church. Hero. Helpe me to dresse mee good coze, good Meg, good Vrsula. Enter Leonato, and the Constable, and the Headborough. Leonato. What would you with mee, honest neigh-bour? Const.Dog. Mary sir I would haue some confidencewith you, that decernes you nearely. Leon. Briefe I pray you, for you see it is a busie timewith me. Const.Dog. Mary this it is sir. Headb. Yes in truth it is sir. Leon. What is it my good friends? Con.Do. Goodman Verges sir speakes a little of thematter, an old man sir, and his wits are not so blunt, asGod helpe I would desire they were, but infaith honestas the skin betweene his browes. Head. Yes I thank God, I am as honest as any man li-uing, that is an old man, and no honester then I. Con.Dog. Comparisons are odorous, palabras, neigh-bour Verges. Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious. Con.Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but we arethe poore Dukes officers, but truely for mine owne part,if I were as tedious as a King I could finde in my heart tobestow it all of your worship. Leon. All thy tediousnesse on me, ah? Const.Dog. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times morethan 'tis, for I heare as good exclamation on your Wor-ship as of any man in the Citie, and though I bee but apoore man, I am glad to heare it. Head. And so am I. Leon. I would faine know what you haue to say. Head. Marry sir our watch to night, excepting yourworships presence, haue tane a couple of as arrantknaues as any in Messina. Con.Dog. A good old man sir, hee will be talking asthey say, when the age is in, the wit is out, God helpe vs,it is a world to see: well said yfaith neighbour Verges, well, God's a good man, and two men ride of a horse,one must ride behinde, an honest soule yfaith sir, by mytroth he is, as euer broke bread, but God is to bee wor-shipt, all men are not alike, alas good neighbour. Leon. Indeed neighbour he comes too short of you. Con.Do. Gifts that God giues. Leon. I must leaue you. Con.Dog. One word sir, our watch sir haue indeedecomprehended two aspitious persons, & we would hauethem this morning examined before your worship. Leon. Take their examination your selfe, and bring itme, I am now in great haste, as may appeare vnto you. Const. It shall be suffigance. Leon. Drinke some wine ere you goe: fare you well. Exit. Messenger. My Lord, they stay for you to giue yourdaughter to her husband. Leon. Ile wait vpon them, I am ready. Dogb. Goe good partner, goe get you to Francis Sea-coale, bid him bring his pen and inkehorne to the Gaole:we are now to examine those men. Verges. And we must doe it wisely. Dogb. Wee will spare for no witte I warrant you: heere's that shall driue some to a non-come, on-ly get the learned writer to set downe our excommuni-cation, and meet me at the Iaile. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Enter Prince, Bastard, Leonato, Frier, Claudio, Benedicke, Hero, and Beatrice. Leonato. Come Frier Francis, be briefe, onely to theplaine forme of marriage, and you shal recount their par-ticular duties afterwards. Fran. You come hither, my Lord, to marry this Lady. Clau. No. Leo. To be married to her: Frier, you come to mar-rie her. Frier. Lady, you come hither to be married to thisCount. Hero. I doe. Frier. If either of you know any inward impedimentwhy you should not be conioyned, I charge you on yoursoules to vtter it. Claud. Know you anie, Hero? Hero. None my Lord. Frier. Know you anie, Count? Leon. I dare make his answer, None. Clau. O what men dare do! what men may do! whatmen daily do! Bene. How now! interiections? why then, some beof laughing, as ha, ha, he. Clau. Stand thee by Frier, father, by your leaue,Will you with free and vnconstrained souleGiue me this maid your daughter? Leon. As freely sonne as God did giue her me. Cla. And what haue I to giue you back, whose worthMay counterpoise this rich and precious gift? Prin. Nothing, vnlesse you render her againe. Clau. Sweet Prince, you learn me noble thankfulnes:There Leonato, take her backe againe,Giue not this rotten Orenge to your friend,Shee's but the signe and semblance of her honour:Behold how like a maid she blushes heere!O what authoritie and shew of truthCan cunning sinne couer it selfe withall!Comes not that bloud, as modest euidence,To witnesse simple Vertue? would you not sweareAll you that see her, that she were a maide,By these exterior shewes? But she is none:She knowes the heat of a luxurious bed:Her blush is guiltinesse, not modestie. Leonato. What doe you meane, my Lord? Clau. Not to be married,Not to knit my soule to an approued wanton. Leon. Deere my Lord, if you in your owne proofe,Haue vanquisht the resistance of her youth,And made defeat of her virginitie. Clau. I know what you would say: if I haue knowne(her,You will say, she did imbrace me as a husband,And so extenuate the forehand sinne: No Leonato, I neuer tempted her with word too large,But as a brother to his sister, shewedBashfull sinceritie and comely loue. Hero. And seem'd I euer otherwise to you? Clau. Out on thee seeming, I will write against it,You seeme to me as Diane in her Orbe,As chaste as is the budde ere it be blowne:But you are more intemperate in your blood,Than Venus, or those pampred animalls,That rage in sauage sensualitie. Hero. Is my Lord well, that he doth speake so wide? Leon. Sweete Prince, why speake not you? Prin. What should I speake?I stand dishonour'd that haue gone about,To linke my deare friend to a common stale. Leon. Are these things spoken, or doe I but dreame? Bast. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are true. Bene. This lookes not like a nuptiall. Hero. True, O God! Clau. Leonato, stand I here?Is this the Prince? is this the Princes brother?Is this face Heroes? are our eies our owne? Leon. All this is so, but what of this my Lord? Clau. Let me but moue one question to your daughter,And by that fatherly and kindly power,That you haue in her, bid her answer truly. Leo. I charge thee doe, as thou art my childe. Hero. O God defend me how am I beset,What kinde of catechizing call you this? Clau. To make you answer truly to your name. Hero. Is it not Hero? who can blot that nameWith any iust reproach? Claud. Marry that can Hero, Hero it selfe can blot out Heroes vertue.What man was he, talkt with you yesternight,Out at your window betwixt twelue and one?Now if you are a maid, answer to this. Hero. I talkt with no man at that howre my Lord. Prince. Why then you are no maiden. Leonato, I am sorry you must heare: vpon mine honor,My selfe, my brother, and this grieued CountDid see her, heare her, at that howre last night,Talke with a ruffian at her chamber window,Who hath indeed most like a liberall villaine,Confest the vile encounters they haue hadA thousand times in secret. Iohn. Fie, fie, they are not to be named my Lord,Not to be spoken of,There is not chastitie enough in language,Without offence to vtter them: thus pretty LadyI am sorry for thy much misgouernment. Claud. O Hero! what a Hero hadst thou beeneIf halfe thy outward graces had beene placedAbout thy thoughts and counsailes of thy heart?But fare thee well, most foule, most faire, farewellThou pure impiety, and impious puritie,For thee Ile locke vp all the gates of Loue,And on my eie-lids shall Coniecture hang,To turne all beauty into thoughts of harme,And neuer shall it more be gracious. Leon. Hath no mans dagger here a point for me? Beat. Why how now cosin, wherfore sink you down? Bast. Come, let vs go: these things come thus to light,Smother her spirits vp. Bene. How doth the Lady? Beat. Dead I thinke, helpe vncle, Hero, why Hero, Vncle, Signor Benedicke, Frier. Leonato. O Fate! take not away thy heauy hand,Death is the fairest couer for her shameThat may be wisht for. Beatr. How now cosin Hero? Fri. Haue comfort Ladie. Leon. Dost thou looke vp? Frier. Yea, wherefore should she not? Leon. Wherfore? Why doth not euery earthly thingCry shame vpon her? Could she heere denieThe storie that is printed in her blood?Do not liue Hero, do not ope thine eyes:For did I thinke thou wouldst not quickly die,Thought I thy spirits were stronger then thy shames,My selfe would on the reward of reproachesStrike at thy life. Grieu'd I, I had but one?Chid I, for that at frugal Natures frame?O one too much by thee: why had I one?Why euer was't thou louelie in my eies?Why had I not with charitable handTooke vp a beggars issue at my gates,Who smeered thus, and mir'd with infamie,I might haue said, no part of it is mine:This shame deriues it selfe from vnknowne loines,But mine, and mine I lou'd, and mine I prais'd,And mine that I was proud on mine so much,That I my selfe, was to my selfe not mine:Valewing of her, why she, O she is falneInto a pit of Inke, that the wide seaHath drops too few to wash her cleane againe,And salt too little, which may season giueTo her foule tainted flesh. Ben. Sir, sir, be patient: for my part, I am so attiredin wonder, I know not what to say. Bea. O on my soule my cosin is belied. Ben. Ladie, were you her bedfellow last night? Bea. No, truly: not although vntill last night,I haue this tweluemonth bin her bedfellow. Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd, O that is stronger madeWhich was before barr'd vp with ribs of iron.Would the Princes lie, and Claudio lie,Who lou'd her so, that speaking of her foulnesse,Wash'd it with teares? Hence from her, let her die. Fri. Heare me a little, for I haue onely bene silent solong, and giuen way vnto this course of fortune, by no-ting of the Ladie, I haue markt.A thousand blushing apparitions,To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames,In Angel whitenesse beare away those blushes,And in her eie there hath appear'd a fireTo burne the errors that these Princes holdAgainst her maiden truth. Call me a foole,Trust not my reading, nor my obseruations,Which with experimental seale doth warrantThe tenure of my booke: trust not my age,My reuerence, calling, nor diuinitie,If this sweet Ladie lye not guiltlesse heere,Vnder some biting error. Leo. Friar, it cannot be:Thou seest that all the Grace that she hath left,Is, that she wil not adde to her damnation,A sinne of periury, she not denies it:Why seek'st thou then to couer with excuse,That which appeares in proper nakednesse? Fri. Ladie, what man is he you are accus'd of? Hero. They know that do accuse me, I know none:If I know more of any man aliueThen that which maiden modestie doth warrant,Let all my sinnes lacke mercy. O my Father,Proue you that any man with me conuerst,At houres vnmeete, or that I yesternightMaintain'd the change of words with any creature,Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. Fri. There is some strange misprision in the Princes. Ben. Two of them haue the verie bent of honor,And if their wisedomes be misled in this:The practise of it liues in Iohn the bastard,Whose spirits toile in frame of villanies. Leo. I know not: if they speake but truth of her,These hands shall teare her: If they wrong her honour,The proudest of them shall wel heare of it.Time hath not yet so dried this bloud of mine,Nor age so eate vp my inuention,Nor Fortune made such hauocke of my meanes,Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends,But they shall finde, awak'd in such a kinde,Both strength of limbe, and policie of minde,Ability in meanes, and choise of friends,To quit me of them throughly. Fri. Pause awhile:And let my counsell sway you in this case,Your daughter heere the Princesse (left for dead)Let her awhile be secretly kept in,And publish it, that she is dead indeed:Maintaine a mourning ostentation,And on your Families old monument,Hang mournfull Epitaphes, and do all rites,That appertaine vnto a buriall. Leon. What shall become of this? What wil this do? Fri. Marry this wel carried, shall on her behalfe,Change slander to remorse, that is some good,But not for that dreame I on this strange course,But on this trauaile looke for greater birth:She dying, as it must be so maintain'd,Vpon the instant that she was accus'd,Shal be lamented, pittied, and excus'dOf euery hearer: for it so fals out,That what we haue, we prize not to the worth,Whiles we enioy it; but being lack'd and lost,Why then we racke the value, then we findeThe vertue that possession would not shew vsWhiles it was ours, so will it fare with Claudio: When he shal heare she dyed vpon his words,Th' Idea of her life shal sweetly creepeInto his study of imagination.And euery louely Organ of her life,Shall come apparel'd in more precious habite:More mouing delicate, and ful of life,Into the eye and prospect of his souleThen when she liu'd indeed: then shal he mourne,If euer Loue had interest in his Liuer,And wish he had not so accused her:No, though he thought his accusation true:Let this be so, and doubt not but successeWil fashion the euent in better shape,Then I can lay it downe in likelihood.But if all ayme but this be leuelld false,The supposition of the Ladies death,Will quench the wonder of her infamie.And if it sort not well, you may conceale herAs best befits her wounded reputation,In some reclusiue and religious life,Out of all eyes, tongues, mindes and iniuries. Bene. Signior Leonato, let the Frier aduise you,And though you know my inwardnesse and loueIs very much vnto the Prince and Claudio. Yet, by mine honor, I will deale in this,As secretly and iustlie, as your souleShould with your bodie. Leon. Being that I flow in greefe,The smallest twine may lead me. Frier. 'Tis well consented, presently away,For to strange sores, strangely they straine the cure,Come Lady, die to liue, this wedding dayPerhaps is but prolong'd, haue patience & endure. Exit. Bene. Lady Beatrice, haue you wept all this while? Beat. Yea, and I will weepe a while longer. Bene. I will not desire that. Beat. You haue no reason, I doe it freely. Bene. Surelie I do beleeue your fair cosin is wrong'd. Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserue of meethat would right her! Bene. Is there any way to shew such friendship? Beat. A verie euen way, but no such friend. Bene. May a man doe it? Beat. It is a mans office, but not yours. Bene. I doe loue nothing in the world so well as you,is not that strange? Beat. As strange as the thing I know not, it were aspossible for me to say, I loued nothing so well as you, butbeleeue me not, and yet I lie not, I confesse nothing, norI deny nothing, I am sorry for my cousin. Bene. By my sword Beatrice thou lou'st me. Beat. Doe not sweare by it and eat it. Bene. I will sweare by it that you loue mee, and I willmake him eat it that sayes I loue not you. Beat. Will you not eat your word? Bene. With no sawce that can be deuised to it, I pro-test I loue thee. Beat. Why then God forgiue me. Bene. What offence sweet Beatrice? Beat. You haue stayed me in a happy howre, I was a-bout to protest I loued you. Bene. And doe it with all thy heart. Beat. I loue you with so much of my heart, that noneis left to protest. Bened. Come, bid me doe any thing for thee. Beat. Kill Claudio. Bene. Ha, not for the wide world. Beat. You kill me to denie, farewell. Bene. Tarrie sweet Beatrice. Beat. I am gone, though I am heere, there is no louein you, nay I pray you let me goe. Bene. Beatrice. Beat. Infaith I will goe. Bene. Wee'll be friends first. Beat. You dare easier be friends with mee, than fightwith mine enemy. Bene. Is Claudio thine enemie? Beat. Is a not approued in the height a villaine, thathath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? Othat I were a man! what, beare her in hand vntill theycome to take hands, and then with publike accusationvncouered slander, vnmittigated rancour? O God that Iwere a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Bene. Heare me Beatrice. Beat. Talke with a man out at a window, a propersaying. Bene. Nay but Beatrice. Beat. Sweet Hero, she is wrong'd, shee is slandered,she is vndone. Bene. Beat? Beat. Princes and Counties! surelie a Princely testi-monie, a goodly Count, Comfect, a sweet Gallant sure-lie, O that I were a man for his sake! or that I had anyfriend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is mel-ted into cursies, valour into complement, and men areonelie turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is nowas valiant as Hercules, that only tells a lie, and sweares it:I cannot be a man with wishing, therfore I will die a wo-man with grieuing. Bene. Tarry good Beatrice, by this hand I loue thee. Beat. Vse it for my loue some other way then swea-ring by it. Bened. Thinke you in your soule the Count Claudio hath wrong'd Hero? Beat. Yea, as sure as I haue a thought, or a soule. Bene. Enough, I am engagde, I will challenge him, Iwill kisse your hand, and so leaue you: by this hand Clau-dio shall render me a deere account: as you heare of me,so thinke of me: goe comfort your coosin, I must say sheis dead, and so farewell. Enter the Constables, Borachio, and the Towne Clerkein gownes. Keeper. Is our whole dissembly appeard? Cowley. O a stoole and a cushion for the Sexton. Sexton. Which be the malefactors? Andrew. Marry that am I, and my partner. Cowley. Nay that's certaine, wee haue the exhibitionto examine. Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be ex-amined, let them come before master Constable. Kemp. Yea marry, let them come before mee, what isyour name, friend? Bor. Borachio. Kem. Pray write downe Borachio. Yours sirra. Con. I am a Gentleman sir, and my name is Conrade. Kee. Write downe Master gentleman Conrade: mai-sters, doe you serue God: maisters, it is proued alreadiethat you are little better than false knaues, and it will goeneere to be thought so shortly, how answer you for yourselues? Con. Marry sir, we say we are none. Kemp. A maruellous witty fellow I assure you, but Iwill goe about with him: come you hither sirra, a wordin your eare sir, I say to you, it is thought you are falseknaues. Bor. Sir, I say to you, we are none. Kemp. Well, stand aside, 'fore God they are both ina tale: haue you writ downe that they are none? Sext. Master Constable, you goe not the way to ex-amine, you must call forth the watch that are their ac-cusers. Kemp. Yea marry, that's the eftest way, let the watchcome forth: masters, I charge you in the Princes name,accuse these men. Watch 1. This man said sir, that Don Iohn the Princesbrother was a villaine. Kemp. Write down, Prince Iohn a villaine: why thisis flat periurie, to call a Princes brother villaine. Bora. Master Constable. Kemp. Pray thee fellow peace, I do not like thy lookeI promise thee. Sexton. What heard you him say else? Watch 2. Mary that he had receiued a thousand Du-kates of Don Iohn, for accusing the Lady Hero wrong-fully. Kemp. Flat Burglarie as euer was committed. Const. Yea by th' masse that it is. Sexton. What else fellow? Watch 1. And that Count Claudio did meane vpon hiswords, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, andnot marry her. Kemp. O villaine! thou wilt be condemn'd into euer-lasting redemption for this. Sexton. What else? Watch. This is all. Sexton. And this is more masters then you can deny,Prince Iohn is this morning secretly stolne away: Hero was in this manner accus'd, in this very manner refus'd,and vpon the griefe of this sodainely died: Master Con-stable, let these men be bound, and brought to Leonato, I will goe before, and shew him their examination. Const. Come, let them be opinion'd. Sex. Let them be in the hands of Coxcombe. Kem. Gods my life, where's the Sexton? let him writedowne the Princes Officer Coxcombe: come, binde themthou naughty varlet. Couley. Away, you are an asse, you are an asse. Kemp. Dost thou not suspect my place? dost thou notsuspect my yeeres? O that hee were heere to write meedowne an asse! but masters, remember that I am an asse:though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am anasse: No thou villaine, thou art full of piety as shall be prou'dvpon thee by good witnesse, I am a wise fellow, andwhich is more, an officer, and which is more, a houshoul-der, and which is more, as pretty a peece of flesh as any inMessina, and one that knowes the Law, goe to, & a richfellow enough, goe to, and a fellow that hath had losses,and one that hath two gownes, and euery thing hand-some about him: bring him away: O that I had been writdowne an asse! Exit.
Actus Quintus. Enter Leonato and his brother. Brother. If you goe on thus, you will kill your selfe,And 'tis not wisedome thus to second griefe,Against your selfe. Leon. I pray thee cease thy counsaile,Which falls into mine eares as profitlesse,As water in a siue: giue not me counsaile,Nor let no comfort delight mine eare,But such a one whose wrongs doth sute with mine.Bring me a father that so lou'd his childe,Whose ioy of her is ouer-whelmed like mine,And bid him speake of patience,Measure his woe the length and bredth of mine,And let it answere euery straine for straine,As thus for thus, and such a griefe for such,In euery lineament, branch, shape, and forme:If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,And sorrow, wagge, crie hem, when he should grone,Patch griefe with prouerbs, make misfortune drunke,With candle-wasters: bring him yet to me,And I of him will gather patience:But there is no such man, for brother, menCan counsaile, and speake comfort to that griefe,Which they themselues not feele, but tasting it,Their counsaile turnes to passion, which before,Would giue preceptiall medicine to rage,Fetter strong madnesse in a silken thred,Charme ache with ayre, and agony with words,No, no, 'tis all mens office, to speake patienceTo those that wring vnder the load of sorrow:But no mans vertue nor sufficiencieTo be so morall, when he shall endureThe like himselfe: therefore giue me no counsaile,My griefs cry lowder then aduertisement. Broth. Therein do men from children nothing differ. Leonato. I pray thee peace, I will be flesh and bloud,For there was neuer yet Philosopher,That could endure the tooth-ake patiently,How euer they haue writ the stile of gods,And made a push at chance and sufferance. Brother. Yet bend not all the harme vpon your selfe,Make those that doe offend you, suffer too. Leon. There thou speak'st reason, nay I will doe so,My soule doth tell me, Hero is belied,And that shall Claudio know, so shall the Prince,And all of them that thus dishonour her. Enter Prince and Claudio. Brot. Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily. Prin. Good den, good den. Clau. Good day to both of you. Leon. Heare you my Lords? Prin. We haue some haste Leonato. Leo. Some haste my Lord! wel, fareyouwel my Lord,Are you so hasty now? well, all is one. Prin. Nay, do not quarrel with vs, good old man. Brot. If he could rite himselfe with quarrelling,Some of vs would lie low. Claud. Who wrongs him? Leon. Marry thou dost wrong me, thou dissembler, thou:Nay, neuer lay thy hand vpon thy sword,I feare thee not. Claud. Marry beshrew my hand,If it should giue your age such cause of feare,Infaith my hand meant nothing to my sword. Leonato. Tush, tush, man, neuer fleere and iest at me,I speake not like a dotard, nor a foole,As vnder priuiledge of age to bragge,What I haue done being yong, or what would doe,Were I not old, know Claudio to thy head,Thou hast so wrong'd my innocent childe and me,That I am forc'd to lay my reuerence by,And with grey haires and bruise of many daies,Doe challenge thee to triall of a man,I say thou hast belied mine innocent childe.Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart,And she lies buried with her ancestors:O in a tombe where neuer scandall slept,Saue this of hers, fram'd by thy villanie. Claud. My villany? Leonato. Thine Claudio, thine I say. Prin. You say not right old man. Leon. My Lord, my Lord,Ile proue it on his body if he dare,Despight his nice fence, and his actiue practise,His Maie of youth, and bloome of lustihood. Claud. Away, I will not haue to do with you. Leo. Canst thou so daffe me? thou hast kild my child,If thou kilst me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. Bro. He shall kill two of vs, and men indeed,But that's no matter, let him kill one first: Win me and weare me, let him answere me,Come follow me boy, come sir boy, come follow meSir boy, ile whip you from your foyning fence,Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. Leon. Brother. Brot. Content your self, God knows I lou'd my neece,And she is dead, slander'd to death by villaines,That dare as well answer a man indeede,As I dare take a serpent by the tongue.Boyes, apes, braggarts, Iackes, milke-sops. Leon. Brother Anthony. Brot. Hold you content, what man? I know them, yeaAnd what they weigh, euen to the vtmost scruple,Scambling, out-facing, fashion-monging boyes,That lye, and cog, and flout, depraue, and slander,Goe antiquely, and show outward hidiousnesse,And speake of halfe a dozen dang'rous words,How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst.And this is all. Leon. But brother Anthonie. Ant. Come, 'tis no matter,Do not you meddle, let me deale in this. Pri. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your patienceMy heart is sorry for your daughters death:But on my honour she was charg'd with nothingBut what was true, and very full of proofe. Leon. My Lord, my Lord. Prin. I will not heare you. Enter Benedicke. Leo. No come brother, away, I will be heard. Exeunt ambo. Bro. And shall, or some of vs will smart for it. Prin. See, see, here comes the man we went to seeke. Clau. Now signior, what newes? Ben. Good day my Lord. Prin. Welcome signior, you are almost come to partalmost a fray. Clau. Wee had likt to haue had our two noses snaptoff with two old men without teeth. Prin. Leonato and his brother, what think'st thou? hadwee fought, I doubt we should haue beene too yong forthem. Ben. In a false quarrell there is no true valour, I cameto seeke you both. Clau. We haue beene vp and downe to seeke thee, forwe are high proofe melancholly, and would faine haue itbeaten away, wilt thou vse thy wit? Ben. It is in my scabberd, shall I draw it? Prin. Doest thou weare thy wit by thy side? Clau. Neuer any did so, though verie many haue beenbeside their wit, I will bid thee drawe, as we do the min-strels, draw to pleasure vs. Prin. As I am an honest man he lookes pale, art thousicke, or angrie? Clau. What, courage man: what though care kil'd acat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care. Ben. Sir, I shall meete your wit in the careere, and you charge it against me, I pray you chuse another sub-iect. Clau. Nay then giue him another staffe, this last wasbroke crosse. Prin. By this light, he changes more and more, I thinkehe be angrie indeede. Clau. If he be, he knowes how to turne his girdle. Ben. Shall I speake a word in your eare? Clau. God blesse me from a challenge. Ben. You are a villaine, I iest not, I will make it goodhow you dare, with what you dare, and when you dare:do me right, or I will protest your cowardise: you hauekill'd a sweete Ladie, and her death shall fall heauie onyou, let me heare from you. Clau. Well, I will meete you, so I may haue goodcheare. Prin. What, a feast, a feast? Clau. I faith I thanke him, he hath bid me to a calueshead and a Capon, the which if I doe not carue most cu-riously, say my knife's naught, shall I not finde a wood-cocke too? Ben. Sir, your wit ambles well, it goes easily. Prin. Ile tell thee how Beatrice prais'd thy wit the o-ther day: I said thou hadst a fine wit: true saies she, a finelittle one: no said I, a great wit: right saies shee, a greatgrosse one: nay said I, a good wit: iust said she, it hurtsno body: nay said I, the gentleman is wise: certaine saidshe, a wise gentleman: nay said I, he hath the tongues:that I beleeue said shee, for hee swore a thing to me onmunday night, which he forswore on tuesday morning:there's a double tongue, there's two tongues: thus didshee an howre together trans-shape thy particular ver-tues, yet at last she concluded with a sigh, thou wast theproprest man in Italie. Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said sheecar'd not. Prin. Yea that she did, but yet for all that, and if sheedid not hate him deadlie, shee would loue him dearely,the old mans daughter told vs all. Clau. All, all, and moreouer, God saw him when hewas hid in the garden. Prin. But when shall we set the sauage Bulls horneson the sensible Benedicks head? Clau. Yea and text vnder-neath, heere dwells Bene-dicke the married man. Ben. Fare you well, Boy, you know my minde, I willleaue you now to your gossep-like humor, you breakeiests as braggards do their blades, which God be thank-ed hurt not: my Lord, for your manie courtesies I thankyou, I must discontinue your companie, your brotherthe Bastard is fled from Messina: you haue among you,kill'd a sweet and innocent Ladie: for my Lord Lacke-beard there, he and I shall meete, and till then peace bewith him. Prin. He is in earnest. Clau. In most profound earnest, and Ile warrant you,for the loue of Beatrice. Prin. And hath challeng'd thee. Clau. Most sincerely. Prin. What a prettie thing man is, when he goes in hisdoublet and hose, and leaues off his wit. Enter Constable, Conrade, and Borachio. Clau. He is then a Giant to an Ape, but then is an Apea Doctor to such a man. Prin. But soft you, let me be, plucke vp my heart, andbe sad, did he not say my brother was fled? Const. Come you sir, if iustice cannot tame you, sheeshall nere weigh more reasons in her ballance, nay, and you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must be lookt to. Prin. How now, two of my brothers men bound? Bo-rachio one. Clau. Harken after their offence my Lord. Prin. Officers, what offence haue these men done? Const. Marrie sir, they haue committed false report,moreouer they haue spoken vntruths, secondarily theyare slanders, sixt and lastly, they haue belyed a Ladie,thirdly, they haue verified vniust things, and to concludethey are lying knaues. Prin. First I aske thee what they haue done, thirdlieI aske thee what's their offence, sixt and lastlie why theyare committed, and to conclude, what you lay to theircharge. Clau. Rightlie reasoned, and in his owne diuision, andby my troth there's one meaning well suted. Prin. Who haue you offended masters, that you arethus bound to your answer? this learned Constable is toocunning to be vnderstood, what's your offence? Bor. Sweete Prince, let me go no farther to mine an-swere: do you heare me, and let this Count kill mee: Ihaue deceiued euen your verie eies: what your wise-domes could not discouer, these shallow fooles hauebrought to light, who in the night ouerheard me con-fessing to this man, how Don Iohn your brother incensedme to slander the Ladie Hero, how you were broughtinto the Orchard, and saw me court Margaret in Heroes garments, how you disgrac'd her when you shouldmarrie her: my villanie they haue vpon record, whichI had rather seale with my death, then repeate ouer tomy shame: the Ladie is dead vpon mine and my mastersfalse accusation: and briefelie, I desire nothing but thereward of a villaine. Prin. Runs not this speech like yron through yourbloud? Clau. I haue drunke poison whiles he vtter'd it. Prin. But did my Brother set thee on to this? Bor. Yea, and paid me richly for the practise of it. Prin. He is compos'd and fram'd of treacherie,And fled he is vpon this villanie. Clau. Sweet Hero, now thy image doth appeareIn the rare semblance that I lou'd it first. Const. Come, bring away the plaintiffes, by this timeour Sexton hath reformed Signior Leonato of the matter:and masters, do not forget to specifie when time & placeshall serue, that I am an Asse. Con.2. Here, here comes master Signior Leonato, andthe Sexton too. Enter Leonato. Leon. Which is the villaine? let me see his eies,That when I note another man like him,I may auoide him: which of these is he? Bor. If you would know your wronger, looke on me. Leon. Art thou the slaue that with thy breathhast kild mine innocent childe? Bor. Yea, euen I alone. Leo. No, not so villaine, thou beliest thy selfe,Here stand a paire of honourable men,A third is fled that had a hand in it:I thanke you Princes for my daughters death,Record it with your high and worthie deedes,'Twas brauely done, if you bethinke you of it. Clau. I know not how to pray your patience,Yet I must speake, choose your reuenge your selfe,Impose me to what penance your inuentionCan lay vpon my sinne, yet sinn'd I not,But in mistaking. Prin. By my soule nor I,And yet to satisfie this good old man,I would bend vnder anie heauie waight,That heele enioyne me to. Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter liue,That were impossible, but I praie you both,Possesse the people in Messina here,How innocent she died, and if your loueCan labour aught in sad inuention,Hang her an epitaph vpon her toomb,And sing it to her bones, sing it to night:To morrow morning come you to my house,And since you could not be my sonne in law,Be yet my Nephew: my brother hath a daughter,Almost the copie of my childe that's dead,And she alone is heire to both of vs,Giue her the right you should haue giu'n her cosin,And so dies my reuenge. Clau. O noble sir!Your ouerkindnesse doth wring teares from me,I do embrace your offer, and disposeFor henceforth of poore Claudio. Leon. To morrow then I will expect your comming,To night I take my leaue, this naughtie manShall face to face be brought to Margaret, Who I beleeue was packt in all this wrong,Hired to it by your brother. Bor. No, by my soule she was not,Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to me,But alwaies hath bin iust and vertuous,In anie thing that I do know by her. Const. Moreouer sir, which indeede is not vnder whiteand black, this plaintiffe here, the offendour did call meeasse, I beseech you let it be remembred in his punish-ment, and also the watch heard them talke of one Defor-med, they say he weares a key in his eare and a lock hang-ing by it, and borrowes monie in Gods name, the whichhe hath vs'd so long, and neuer paied, that now men growhard-harted and will lend nothing for Gods sake: praieyou examine him vpon that point. Leon. I thanke thee for thy care and honest paines. Const. Your worship speakes like a most thankefulland reuerend youth, and I praise God for you. Leon. There's for thy paines. Const. God saue the foundation. Leon. Goe, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and Ithanke thee. Const. I leaue an arrant knaue with your worship,which I beseech your worship to correct your selfe, forthe example of others: God keepe your worship, Iwish your worship well, God restore you to health,I humblie giue you leaue to depart, and if a mer-rie meeting may be wisht, God prohibite it: comeneighbour. Leon. Vntill to morrow morning, Lords, farewell. Exeunt. Brot. Farewell my Lords, we looke for you to mor-row. Prin. We will not faile. Clau. To night ile mourne with Hero. Leon. Bring you these fellowes on, weel talke with Margaret, How her acquaintance grew with this lewdfellow. Exeunt. Enter Benedicke and Margaret. Ben. Praie thee sweete Mistris Margaret, deseruewell at my hands, by helping mee to the speech of Bea-trice. Mar. Will you then write me a Sonnet in praise ofmy beautie? Bene. In so high a stile Margaret, that no man liuingshall come ouer it, for in most comely truth thou deser-uest it. Mar. To haue no man come ouer me, why, shall I al-waies keepe below staires? Bene. Thy wit is as quicke as the grey-hounds mouth,it catches. Mar. And yours, as blunt as the Fencers foiles, whichhit, but hurt not. Bene. A most manly wit Margaret, it will not hurt awoman: and so I pray thee call Beatrice, I giue thee thebucklers. Mar. Giue vs the swords, wee haue bucklers of ourowne. Bene. If you vse them Margaret, you must put in thepikes with a vice, and they are dangerous weapons forMaides. Mar. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I thinkehath legges. Exit Margarite. Ben. And therefore will come. The God of loue thatsits aboue, and knowes me, and knowes me, how pitti-full I deserue. I meane in singing, but in louing, Lean-der the good swimmer, Troilous the first imploier ofpandars, and a whole booke full of these quondam car-pet-mongers,whose name yet runne smoothly in the e-uen rode of a blanke verse, why they were neuer so true-ly turned ouer and ouer as my poore selfe in loue: mar-rie I cannot shew it rime, I haue tried, I can finde out norime to Ladie but babie, an innocent rime: for scorne,horne, a hard rime: for schoole foole, a babling rime:verie ominous endings, no, I was not borne vnder a ri-ming Plannet, for I cannot wooe in festiuall tearmes: Enter Beatrice. sweete Beatrice would'st thou come when I cal'dthee? Beat. Yea Signior, and depart when you bid me. Bene. O stay but till then. Beat. Then, is spoken: fare you well now, and yet ereI goe, let me goe with that I came, which is, with know-ing what hath past betweene you and Claudio. Bene. Onely foule words, and thereupon I will kissethee. Beat. Foule words is but foule wind, and foule windis but foule breath, and foule breath is noisome, there-fore I will depart vnkist. Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his rightsence, so forcible is thy wit, but I must tell thee plainely, Claudio vndergoes my challenge, and either I must short-ly heare from him, or I will subscribe him a coward, andI pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didstthou first fall in loue with me? Beat. For them all together, which maintain'd sopolitique a state of euill, that they will not admit anygood part to intermingle with them: but for which ofmy good parts did you first suffer loue for me? Bene. Suffer loue! a good epithite, I do suffer loue in-deede, for I loue thee against my will, Beat. In spight of your heart I think, alas poore heart,if you spight it for my sake, I will spight it for yours, forI will neuer loue that which my friend hates. Bened. Thou and I are too wise to wooe peacea-blie. Bea. It appeares not in this confession, there's not onewise man among twentie that will praise himselfe. Bene. An old, an old instance Beatrice, that liu'd inthe time of good neighbours, if a man doe not erect inthis age his owne tombe ere he dies, hee shall liue nolonger in monuments, then the Bels ring, & the Widdowweepes. Beat. And how long is that thinke you? Ben. Question, why an hower in clamour and a quar-ter in rhewme, therfore is it most expedient for the wise,if Don worme (his conscience) finde no impediment tothe contrarie, to be the trumpet of his owne vertues, asI am to my selfe so much for praising my selfe, who I myselfe will beare witnesse is praise worthie, and now tellme, how doth your cosin? Beat. Verie ill. Bene. And how doe you? Beat. Verie ill too. Enter Vrsula. Bene. Serue God, loue me, and mend, there will I leaueyou too, for here comes one in haste. Vrs. Madam, you must come to your Vncle, yon-ders old coile at home, it is prooued my Ladie He-ro hath bin falselie accusde, the Prince and Claudio mightilie abusde, and Don Iohn is the author of all, whois fled and gone: will you come presentlie? Beat. Will you go heare this newes Signior? Bene. I will liue in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be bu-ried in thy eies: and moreouer, I will goe with thee tothy Vncles. Exeunt. Enter Claudio, Prince, and three or foure with Tapers. Clau. Is this the monument of Leonato? Lord. It is my Lord. Epitaph. Done to death by slanderous tongues,Was the Hero that here lies:Death in guerdon of her wrongs,Giues her fame which neuer dies:So the life that dyed with shame,Liues in death with glorious fame.Hang thou there vpon the tombe,Praising her when I am dombe. Clau. Now musick sound & sing your solemn hymne Song. Pardon goddesse of the night,Those that slew thy virgin knight,For the which with songs of woe,Round about her tombe they goe:Midnight assist our mone, helpe vs to sigh and grone.Heauily, heauily.Graues yawne and yeelde your dead,Till death be vttered,Heauenly, heauenly. Lo. Now vnto thy bones good night, yeerely will I do this right. Prin. Good morrow masters, put your Torches out,The wolues haue preied, and looke, the gentle dayBefore the wheeles of Phoebus, round aboutDapples the drowsie East with spots of grey:Thanks to you all, and leaue vs, fare you well. Clau. Good morrow masters, each his seuerall way. Prin. Come let vs hence, and put on other weedes,And then to Leonatoes we will goe. Clau. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds, Then this for whom we rendred vp this woe. Exeunt. Enter Leonato, Bene. Marg. Vrsula, old man, Frier, Hero. Frier. Did I not tell you she was innocent? Leo. So are the Prince and Claudio who accus'd her,Vpon the errour that you heard debated:But Margaret was in some fault for this,Although against her will as it appeares,In the true course of all the question. Old. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'dTo call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. Leo. Well daughter, and you gentlewomen all,Withdraw into a chamber by your selues,And when I send for you, come hither mask'd:The Prince and Claudio promis'd by this howreTo visit me, you know your office Brother,You must be father to your brothers daughter,And giue her to young Claudio. Exeunt Ladies. Old. Which I will doe with confirm'd countenance. Bene. Frier, I must intreat your paines, I thinke. Frier. To doe what Signior? Bene. To binde me, or vndoe me, one of them:Signior Leonato, truth it is good Signior,Your neece regards me with an eye of fauour. Leo. That eye my daughter lent her, 'tis most true. Bene. And I doe with an eye of loue requite her. Leo. The sight whereof I thinke you had from me,From Claudio, and the Prince, but what's your will? Bened. Your answer sir is Enigmaticall,But for my will, my will is, your good will May stand with ours, this day to be conioyn'd,In the state of honourable marriage,In which (good Frier) I shall desire your helpe. Leon. My heart is with your liking. Frier. And my helpe. Enter Prince and Claudio, with attendants. Prin. Good morrow to this faire assembly. Leo. Good morrow Prince, good morrow Claudio: We heere attend you, are you yet determin'd,To day to marry with my brothers daughter? Claud. Ile hold my minde were she an Ethiope. Leo. Call her forth brother, heres the Frier ready. Prin. Good morrow Benedicke, why what's the matter?That you haue such a Februarie face,So full of frost, of storme, and clowdinesse. Claud. I thinke he thinkes vpon the sauage bull:Tush, feare not man, wee'll tip thy hornes with gold,And all Europa shall reioyce at thee,As once Europa did at lusty Ioue, When he would play the noble beast in loue. Ben. Bull Ioue sir, had an amiable low,And some such strange bull leapt your fathers Cow, A got a Calfe in that same noble feat,Much like to you, for you haue iust his bleat. Enter brother, Hero, Beatrice, Margaret, Vrsula. Cla. For this I owe you: here comes other recknings.Which is the Lady I must seize vpon? Leo. This same is she, and I doe giue you her. Cla. Why then she's mine, sweet let me see your face. Leon. No that you shal not, till you take her hand,Before this Frier, and sweare to marry her. Clau. Giue me your hand before this holy Frier,I am your husband if you like of me. Hero. And when I liu'd I was your other wife,And when you lou'd, you were my other husband. Clau. Another Hero? Hero. Nothing certainer.One Hero died, but I doe liue,And surely as I liue, I am a maid. Prin. The former Hero, Hero that is dead. Leon. Shee died my Lord, but whiles her slander liu'd. Frier. All this amazement can I qualifie,When after that the holy rites are ended,Ile tell you largely of faire Heroes death:Meane time let wonder seeme familiar,And to the chappell let vs presently. Ben. Soft and faire Frier, which is Beatrice? Beat. I answer to that name, what is your will? Bene. Doe not you loue me? Beat. Why no, no more then reason. Bene. Why then your Vncle, and the Prince, & Clau-dio, haue beene deceiued, they swore you did. Beat. Doe not you loue mee? Bene. Troth no, no more then reason. Beat. Why then my Cosin Margaret and Vrsula Are much deceiu'd, for they did sweare you did. Bene. They swore you were almost sicke for me. Beat. They swore you were wel-nye dead for me. Bene. 'Tis no matter, then you doe not loue me? Beat. No truly, but in friendly recompence. Leon. Come Cosin, I am sure you loue the gentlema[n]. Clau. And Ile be sworne vpon't, that he loues her,For heres a paper written in his hand,A halting sonnet of his owne pure braine,Fashioned to Beatrice. Hero. And heeres another,Writ in my cosins hand, stolne from her pocket,Containing her affection vnto Benedicke. Bene. A miracle, here's our owne hands against ourhearts: come I will haue thee, but by this light I takethee for pittie. Beat. I would not denie you, but by this good day, Iyeeld vpon great perswasion, & partly to saue your life,for I was told, you were in a consumption. Leon. Peace I will stop your mouth. Prin. How dost thou Benedicke the married man? Bene. Ile tell thee what Prince: a Colledge of witte-crackerscannot flout mee out of my humour, dost thouthink I care for a Satyre or an Epigram? no, if a man willbe beaten with braines, a shall weare nothing handsomeabout him: in briefe, since I do purpose to marry, I willthinke nothing to any purpose that the world can say a-gainst it, and therefore neuer flout at me, for I haue saidagainst it: for man is a giddy thing, and this is my con-clusion: for thy part Claudio, I did thinke to haue beatenthee, but in that thou art like to be my kinsman, liue vn-bruis'd,and loue my cousin. Cla. I had well hop'd thou wouldst haue denied Beatrice,  that I might haue cudgel'd thee out of thy single life, to makethee a double dealer, which out of questio[n] thou wilt be,if my Cousin do not looke exceeding narrowly to thee. Bene. Come, come, we are friends, let's haue a danceere we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts,and our wiues heeles. Leon. Wee'll haue dancing afterward. Bene. First, of my word, therfore play musick. Prince, thou art sad, get thee a wife, get thee a wife, there is nostaff more reuerend then one tipt with horn. Enter. Mes. Messen. My Lord, your brother Iohn is tane in flight,And brought with armed men backe to Messina. Bene. Thinke not on him till to morrow, ile deuisethee braue punishments for him: strike vp Pipers. Dance.
FINIS. Loues Labour's lost.
Actus primus. Enter Ferdinand King of Nauarre, Berowne, Longauill, andDumane. Ferdinand. Let Fame, that all hunt after in their liues,Liue registred vpon our brazen Tombes,And then grace vs in the disgrace of death:when spight of cormorant deuouring Time,Th' endeuour of this present breath may buy:That honour which shall bate his sythes keene edge,And make vs heyres of all eternitie.Therefore braue Conquerours, for so you are,That warre against your owne affections,And the huge Armie of the worlds desires.Our late edict shall strongly stand in force, Nauar shall be the wonder of the world.Our Court shall be a little Achademe,Still and contemplatiue in liuing Art.You three, Berowne, Dumaine, and Longauill, Haue sworne for three yeeres terme, to liue with me:My fellow Schollers, and to keepe those statutesThat are recorded in this scedule heere.Your oathes are past, and now subscribe your names:That his owne hand may strike his honour downe,That violates the smallest branch heerein:If you are arm'd to doe, as sworne to do,Subscribe to your deepe oathes, and keepe it to. Longauill. I am resolu'd, 'tis but a three yeeres fast:The minde shall banquet, though the body pine,Fat paunches haue leane pates: and dainty bits,Make rich the ribs, but bankerout the wits. Dumane. My louing Lord, Dumane is mortified,The grosser manner of these worlds delights,He throwes vpon the grosse worlds baser slaues:To loue, to wealth, to pompe, I pine and die,With all these liuing in Philosophie. Berowne. I can but say their protestation ouer,So much, deare Liege, I haue already sworne,That is, to liue and study heere three yeeres.But there are other strict obseruances:As not to see a woman in that terme,Which I hope well is not enrolled there.And one day in a weeke to touch no foode:And but one meale on euery day beside:The which I hope is not enrolled there.And then to sleepe but three houres in the night,And not be seene to winke of all the day.When I was wont to thinke no harme all night,And make a darke night too of halfe the day:Which I hope well is not enrolled there.O, these are barren taskes, too hard to keepe,Not to see Ladies, study, fast, not sleepe. Ferd. Your oath is past, to passe away from these. Berow. Let me say no my Liedge, and if you please,I onely swore to study with your grace,And stay heere in your Court for three yeeres space. Longa. You swore to that Berowne, and to the rest. Berow. By yea and nay sir, than I swore in iest.What is the end of study, let me know? Fer. Why that to know which else wee should notknow. Ber. Things hid & bard (you meane) fro[m] co[m]mon sense. Ferd. I, that is studies god-like recompence. Bero. Come on then, I will sweare to studie so,To know the thing I am forbid to know:As thus, to study where I well may dine,When I to fast expressely am forbid.Or studie where to meete some Mistresse fine,When Mistresses from common sense are hid.Or hauing sworne too hard a keeping oath,Studie to breake it, and not breake my troth.If studies gaine be thus, and this be so,Studie knowes that which yet it doth not know,Sweare me to this, and I will nere say no. Ferd. These be the stops that hinder studie quite,And traine our intellects to vaine delight. Ber. Why? all delights are vaine, and that most vaineWhich with paine purchas'd, doth inherit paine,As painefully to poare vpon a Booke,To seeke the light of truth, while truth the whileDoth falsely blinde the eye-sight of his looke:Light seeking light, doth light of light beguile:So ere you finde where light in darkenesse lies,Your light growes darke by losing of your eyes.Studie me how to please the eye indeede,By fixing it vpon a fairer eye,Who dazling so, that eye shall be his heed,And giue him light that it was blinded by.Studie is like the heauens glorious Sunne,That will not be deepe search'd with sawcy lookes:Small haue continuall plodders euer wonne,Saue base authoritie from others Bookes.These earthly Godfathers of heauens lights,That giue a name to euery fixed Starre,Haue no more profit of their shining nights,Then those that walke and wot not what they are.Too much to know, is to know nought but fame:And euery Godfather can giue a name. Fer. How well hee's read, to reason against reading. Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding. Lon. Hee weedes the corne, and still lets grow theweeding. Ber. The Spring is neare when greene geesse are a breeding. Dum. How followes that? Ber. Fit in his place and time. Dum. In reason nothing. Ber. Something then in rime. Ferd. Berowne is like an enuious sneaping Frost,That bites the first borne infants of the Spring. Ber. Wel, say I am, why should proud Summer boast,Before the Birds haue any cause to sing?Why should I ioy in any abortiue birth?At Christmas I no more desire a Rose,Then wish a Snow in Mayes new fangled showes:But like of each thing that in season growes.So you to studie now it is too late,That were to clymbe ore the house to vnlocke the gate. Fer. Well, sit you out: go home Berowne: adue. Ber. No my good Lord, I haue sworn to stay with you.And though I haue for barbarisme spoke more,Then for that Angell knowledge you can say,Yet confident Ile keepe what I haue sworne,And bide the pennance of each three yeares day.Giue me the paper, let me reade the same,And to the strictest decrees Ile write my name. Fer. How well this yeelding rescues thee from shame. Ber. Item. That no woman shall come within a mileof my Court.Hath this bin proclaimed? Lon. Foure dayes agoe. Ber. Let's see the penaltie.On paine of loosing her tongue.Who deuis'd this penaltie? Lon. Marry that did I. Ber. Sweete Lord, and why? Lon. To fright them hence with that dread penaltie,A dangerous law against gentilitie. Item, If any man be seene to talke with a woman with-in the tearme of three yeares, hee shall indure suchpublique shame as the rest of the Court shall possiblydeuise. Ber. This Article my Liedge your selfe must breake,For well you know here comes in EmbassieThe French Kings daughter, with your selfe to speake:A Maide of grace and compleate maiestie,About surrender vp of Aquitaine: To her decrepit, sicke, and bed-rid Father.Therefore this Article is made in vaine,Or vainly comes th' admired Princesse hither. Fer. What say you Lords?Why, this was quite forgot. Ber. So Studie euermore is ouershot,While it doth study to haue what it would,It doth forget to doe the thing it should:And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,'Tis won as townes with fire, so won, so lost. Fer. We must of force dispence with this Decree,She must lye here on meere necessitie. Ber. Necessity will make vs all forsworneThree thousand times within this three yeeres space:For euery man with his affects is borne,Not by might mastred, but by speciall grace.If I breake faith, this word shall breake for me,I am forsworne on meere necessitie.So to the Lawes at large I write my name,And he that breakes them in the least degree,Stands in attainder of eternall shame.Suggestions are to others as to me:But I beleeue although I seeme so loth,I am the last that will last keepe his oth.But is there no quicke recreation granted? Fer. I that there is, our Court you know is hantedWith a refined trauailer of Spaine, A man in all the worlds new fashion planted,That hath a mint of phrases in his braine:One, who the musicke of his owne vaine tongue,Doth rauish like inchanting harmonie:A man of complements whom right and wrongHaue chose as vmpire of their mutinie.This childe of fancie that Armado hight,For interim to our studies shall relate,In high-borne words the worth of many a Knight:From tawnie Spaine lost in the worlds debate.How you delight my Lords, I know not I,But I protest I loue to heare him lie,And I will vse him for my Minstrelsie. Bero. Armado is a most illustrious wight,A man of fire, new words, fashions owne Knight. Lon. Costard the swaine and he, shall be our sport,And so to studie, three yeeres is but short. Enter a Constable with Costard with a Letter. Const. Which is the Dukes owne person. Ber. This fellow, What would'st? Con. I my selfe reprehend his owne person, for I amhis graces Tharborough: But I would see his own personin flesh and blood. Ber. This is he. Con. Signeor Arme, Arme commends you:Ther's villanie abroad, this letter will tell you more. Clow. Sir the Contempts thereof are as touchingmee. Fer. A letter from the magnificent Armado. Ber. How low soeuer the matter, I hope in God forhigh words. Lon. A high hope for a low heauen, God grant vs pa-tience. Ber. To heare, or forbeare hearing. Lon. To heare meekely sir, and to laugh moderately,or to forbeare both. Ber. Well sir, be it as the stile shall giue vs cause toclime in the merrinesse. Clo. The matter is to me sir, as concerning Iaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the manner. Ber. In what manner? Clo. In manner and forme following sir all those three.I was seene with her in the Mannor house, sitting withher vpon the Forme, and taken following her into theParke: which put to gether, is in manner and formefollowing. Now sir for the manner; It is the mannerof a man to speake to a woman, for the forme in someforme. Ber. For the following sir. Clo. As it shall follow in my correction, and God de-fend the right. Fer. Will you heare this Letter with attention? Ber. As we would heare an Oracle. Clo. Such is the simplicitie of man to harken after theflesh. Ferdinand. Great Deputie, the Welkins Vicegerent, and sole domi-nator of Nauar, my soules earths God, and bodies fo-string patrone: Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. Ferd. So it is. Cost. It may be so: but if he say it is so, he is in tellingtrue: but so. Ferd. Peace, Clow. Be to me, and euery man that dares not fight. Ferd. No words, Clow. Of other mens secrets I beseech you. Ferd. So it is besieged with sable coloured melancholie, I did commend the blacke oppressing humour to the most whole-some Physicke of thy health-giuing ayre: And as I am a Gen-tleman, betooke my selfe to walke: the time When? about the sixt houre, When beasts most grase, birds best pecke, and men sit downe to that nourishment which is called supper: So much for the time When. Now for the ground Which? which I meane I walkt vpon, it is ycliped, Thy Parke. Then for the place Where? where I meane I did encounter that obscene and most preposterous euent that draweth from my snow-white pen the ebon coloured Inke, which heere thou viewest, beholdest: suruayest, or seest. But to the place Where? It standeth North North-east and by East from the West corner of thy curious knotted garden; There did I see that low spiri-ted Swaine, that base Minow of thy myrth, ( Clown. Mee?) that vnletered small knowing soule, ( Clow Me?) that shallow vassall ( Clow. Still mee?) which as I remember, hight Co-stard, ( Clow. O me) sorted and consorted contrary to thy e-stablished proclaymed Edict and Continent, Cannon: Whichwith, o with, but with this I passion to say wherewith: Clo. With a Wench. Ferd. With a childe of our Grandmother Eue, a female; or for thy more sweet understanding a woman: him, I (as my euer esteemed dutie prickes me on) haue sent to thee, to receiue the meed of punishment by the sweet Graces Officer AnthonyDull, a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, & estimation. Anth. Me, an't shall please you? I am Anthony Dull. Ferd. For Iaquenetta (so is the weaker vessell called) which I apprehended with the aforesaid Swaine, I keepe her as a vessell of thy Lawes furie, and shall at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to triall. Thine in all complements ofdeuoted and heart-burning heat of dutie. Don Adriana de Armado. Ber. This is not so well as I looked for, but the bestthat euer I heard. Fer. I the best, for the worst. But sirra, What say youto this? Clo. Sir I confesse the Wench. Fer. Did you heare the Proclamation? Clo. I doe confesse much of the hearing it, but littleof the marking of it. Fer. It was proclaimed a yeeres imprisonment to beetaken with a Wench. Clow. I was taken with none sir, I was taken with aDamosell. Fer. Well, it was proclaimed Damosell. Clo. This was no Damosell neyther sir, shee was aVirgin. Fer. It is so varried to, for it was proclaimed Virgin. Clo. If it were, I denie her Virginitie: I was takenwith a Maide. Fer. This Maid will not serue your turne sir. Clo. This Maide will serue my turne sir. Kin. Sir I will pronounce your sentence: You shallfast a Weeke with Branne and water. Clo. I had rather pray a Moneth with Mutton andPorridge. Kin. And Don Armado shall be your keeper.My Lord Berowne, see him deliuer'd ore,And goe we Lords to put in practice that,Which each to other hath so strongly sworne. Bero. Ile lay my head to any good mans hat,These oathes and lawes will proue an idle scorne.Sirra, come on. Clo. I suffer for the truth sir: for true it is, I was ta-ken with Iaquenetta, and Iaquenetta is a true girle, andtherefore welcome the sowre cup of prosperitie, afflicti-on may one day smile againe, and vntill then sit downesorrow. Exit. Enter Armado and Moth his Page. Arma. Boy, What signe is it when a man of greatspirit growes melancholy? Boy. A great signe sir, that he will looke sad. Brag. Why? sadnesse is one and the selfe-same thingdeare impe. Boy. No no, O Lord sir no. Brag. How canst thou part sadnesse and melancholymy tender Iuuenall? Boy. By a familiar demonstration of the working, mytough signeur. Brag. Why tough signeur? Why tough signeur? Boy. Why tender Iuuenall? Why tender Iuuenall? Brag. I spoke it tender Iuuenall, as a congruent apa-thaton, appertaining to thy young daies, which we maynominate tender. Boy. And I tough signeur, as an appertinent title toyour olde time, which we may name tough. Brag. Pretty and apt. Boy. How meane you sir, I pretty, and my saying apt?or I apt, and my saying prettie? Brag. Thou pretty because little. Boy. Little pretty, because little: wherefore apt? Brag. And therefore apt, because quicke. Boy. Speake you this in my praise Master? Brag. In thy condigne praise. Boy. I will praise an Eele with the same praise. Brag. What? that an Eele is ingenuous. Boy. That an Eele is quicke. Brag. I doe say thou art quicke in answeres. Thouheat'st my bloud. Boy. I am answer'd sir. Brag. I loue not to be crost. Boy. He speakes the meere contrary, crosses loue not him. Br. I haue promis'd to study iij. yeres with the Duke. Boy. You may doe it in an houre sir. Brag. Impossible. Boy. How many is one thrice told? Bra. I am ill at reckning, it fits the spirit of a Tapster. Boy. You are a gentleman and a gamester sir. Brag. I confesse both, they are both the varnish of acompleat man. Boy. Then I am sure you know how much the grossesumme of deus-ace amounts to. Brag. It doth amount to one more then two. Boy. Which the base vulgar call three. Br. True. Boy. Why sir is this such a peece of study?Now here's three studied, ere you'll thrice wink, & howeasie it is to put yeres to the word three, and study threeyeeres in two words, the dancing horse will tell you. Brag. A most fine Figure. Boy. To proue you a Cypher. Brag. I will heereupon confesse I am in loue: and asit is base for a Souldier to loue; so am I in loue with abase wench. If drawing my sword against the humourof affection, would deliuer mee from the reprobatethought of it, I would take Desire prisoner, and ransomehim to any French Courtier for a new deuis'd curtsie. Ithinke scorne to sigh, me thinkes I should out-sweare Cupid. Comfort me Boy, What great men haue beenein loue? Boy. Hercules Master. Brag. Most sweete Hercules: more authority deareBoy, name more; and sweet my childe let them be menof good repute and carriage. Boy. Sampson Master, he was a man of good carriage,great carriage: for hee carried the Towne-gates on hisbacke like a Porter: and he was in loue. Brag. O well-knit Sampson, strong ioynted Sampson; I doe excell thee in my rapier, as much as thou didst meein carrying gates. I am in loue too. Who was Sampsons loue my deare Moth? Boy. A Woman, Master. Brag. Of what complexion? Boy. Of all the foure, or the three, or the two, or oneof the foure. Brag. Tell me precisely of what complexion? Boy. Of the sea-water Greene sir. Brag. Is that one of the foure complexions? Boy. As I haue read sir, and the best of them too. Brag. Greene indeed is the colour of Louers: but tohaue a Loue of that colour, methinkes Sampson had smallreason for it. He surely affected her for her wit. Boy. It was so sir, for she had a greene wit. Brag. My Loue is most immaculate white and red. Boy. Most immaculate thoughts Master, are mask'dvnder such colours. Brag. Define, define, well educated infant. Boy. My fathers witte, and my mothers tongue assistmee. Brag. Sweet inuocation of a childe, most pretty andpatheticall. Boy. If shee be made of white and red,Her faults will nere be knowne:For blush-in cheekes by faults are bred,And feares by pale white showne:Then if she feare, or be to blame,By this you shall not know,For still her cheekes possesse the same,Which natiue she doth owe:A dangerous rime master against the reason of whiteand redde. Brag. Is there not a ballet Boy, of the King and theBegger? Boy. The world was very guilty of such a Ballet somethree ages since, but I thinke now 'tis not to be found: orif it were, it would neither serue for the writing, nor thetune. Brag. I will haue that subiect newly writ ore, that Imay example my digression by some mighty president.Boy, I doe loue that Countrey girle that I tooke inthe Parke with the rationall hinde Costard: she deserueswell. Boy. To bee whip'd: and yet a better loue then myMaster. Brag. Sing Boy, my spirit grows heauy in loue. Boy. And that's great maruell, louing a light wench. Brag. I say sing. Boy. Forbeare till this company be past. Enter Clowne, Constable, and Wench. Const. Sir, the Dukes pleasure, is that you keepe Co-stard safe, and you must let him take no delight, nor nopenance, but hee must fast three daies a weeke: for thisDamsell, I must keepe her at the Parke, shee is alowd forthe Day-woman. Fare you well. Exit. Brag. I do betray my selfe with blushing: Maide. Maid. Man. Brag. I wil visit thee at the Lodge. Maid. That's here by. Brag. I know where it is situate. Mai. Lord how wise you are! Brag. I will tell thee wonders. Ma. With what face? Brag. I loue thee. Mai. So I heard you say. Brag. And so farewell. Mai. Faire weather after you. Clo. Come Iaquenetta, away. Exeunt. Brag. Villaine, thou shalt fast for thy offences erethou be pardoned. Clo. Well sir, I hope when I doe it, I shall doe it on afull stomacke. Brag. Thou shalt be heauily punished. Clo. I am more bound to you then your fellowes, forthey are but lightly rewarded. Clo. Take away this villaine, shut him vp. Boy. Come you transgressing slaue, away. Clow. Let mee not bee pent vp sir, I will fast beingloose. Boy. No sir, that were fast and loose: thou shalt toprison. Clow. Well, if euer I do see the merry dayes of deso-lation that I haue seene, some shall see. Boy. What shall some see? Clow. Nay nothing, Master Moth, but what theylooke vpon. It is not for prisoners to be silent in theirwords, and therefore I will say nothing: I thanke God, Ihaue as little patience as another man, and therefore Ican be quiet. Exit. Brag. I doe affect the very ground (which is base)where her shooe (which is baser) guided by her foote(which is basest) doth tread. I shall be forsworn (whichis a great argument of falshood) if I loue. And how canthat be true loue, which is falsly attempted? Loue is a fa-miliar, Loue is a Diuell. There is no euill Angell butLoue, yet Sampson was so tempted, and he had an excel-lent strength: Yet was Salomon so seduced, and hee hada very good witte. Cupids Butshaft is too hard for Her-cules Clubbe, and therefore too much ods for a Spa-niards Rapier: The first and second cause will not seruemy turne: the Passado hee respects not, the Duello heregards not; his disgrace is to be called Boy, but hisglorie is to subdue men. Adue Valour, rust Rapier, beestill Drum, for your manager is in loue; yea hee loueth.Assist me some extemporall god of Rime, for I am sure Ishall turne Sonnet. Deuise Wit, write Pen, for I am forwhole volumes in folio. Exit. Finis Actus Primus.
Actus Secunda. Enter the Princesse of France, with three attending Ladies,and three Lords. Boyet. Now Madam summon vp your dearest spirits,Consider who the King your father sends:To whom he sends, and what's his Embassie.Your selfe, held precious in the worlds esteeme,To parlee with the sole inheritourOf all perfections that a man may owe,Matchlesse Nauarre, the plea of no lesse weightThen Aquitaine, a Dowrie for a Queene,Be now as prodigall of all deare grace,As Nature was in making Graces deare,When she did starue the generall world beside,And prodigally gaue them all to you. Queen. Good L[ord]. Boyet, my beauty though but mean,Needs not the painted flourish of your praise:Beauty is bought by iudgement of the eye,Not vttred by base sale of chapmens tongues:I am lesse proud to heare you tell my worth,Then you much willing to be counted wise,In spending your wit in the praise of mine.But now to taske the tasker, good Boyet. Prin. You are not ignorant all-telling fameDoth noyse abroad Nauar hath made a vow,Till painefull studie shall out-weare three yeares,No woman may approach his silent Court:Therefore to's seemeth it a needfull course,Before we enter his forbidden gates,To know his pleasure, and in that behalfeBold of your worthinesse, we single you,As our best mouing faire soliciter:Tell him, the daughter of the King of France,On serious businesse crauing quicke dispatch,Importunes personall conference with his grace.Haste, signifie so much while we attend,Like humble visag'd suters his high will. Boy. Proud of imployment, willingly I goe. Exit. Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so:Who are the Votaries my Louing Lords, that are vow-felloweswith this vertuous Duke? Lor. Longauill is one. Princ. Know you the man? 1 Lady. I know him Madame at a marriage feast,Betweene L[ord]. Perigort and the beautious heireOf Iaques Fauconbridge solemnized.In Normandie saw I this Longauill, A man of soueraigne parts he is esteem'd:Well fitted in Arts, glorious in Armes:Nothing becomes him ill that he would well.The onely soyle of his faire vertues glosse,If vertues glosse will staine with any soile,Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a Will:Whose edge hath power to cut whose will still wills,It should none spare that come within his power. Prin. Some merry mocking Lord belike, ist so? Lad.1. They say so most, that most his humors know. Prin. such short liu'd wits do wither as they grow.Who are the rest? 2.Lad. The yong Dumaine, a well accomplisht youth,Of all that Vertue loue, for Vertue loued.Most power to doe most harme, least knowing ill:For he hath wit to make an ill shape good,And shape to win grace though she had no wit.I saw him at the Duke Alansoes once,And much too little of that good I saw,Is my report to his great worthinesse. Rossa. Another of these Students at that time,Was there with him, as I haue heard a truth. Berowne they call him, but a merrier man,Within the limit of becomming mirth,I neuer spent an houres talke withall.His eye begets occasion for his wit,For euery obiect that the one doth catch,The other turnes to a mirth-mouing iest.Which his faire tongue (conceits expositor)Deliuers in such apt and gracious words,That aged eares play treuant at his tales,And yonger hearings are quite rauished.So sweet and voluble is his discourse. Prin. God blesse my Ladies, are they all in loue?That euery one her owne hath garnished,With such bedecking ornaments of praise. Ma. Heere comes Boyet. Enter Boyet. Prin. Now, what admittance Lord? Boyet. Nauar had notice of your faire approach;And he and his competitors in oath,Were all addrest to meete you gentle LadyBefore I came: Marrie thus much I haue learnt,He rather meanes to lodge you in the field,Like one that comes heere to besiege his Court,Then seeke a dispensation for his oath:To let you enter his vnpeopled house. Enter Nauar, Longauill, Dumaine, and Berowne. Heere comes Nauar. Nau. Faire Princesse, welcom to the Court of Nauar. Prin. Faire I giue you backe againe, and welcome Ihaue not yet: the roofe of this Court is too high to beeyours, and welcome to the wide fields, too base to bemine. Nau. You shall be welcome Madam to my Court. Prin. I wil be welcome then, Conduct me thither. Nau. Heare me deare Lady, I haue sworne an oath. Prin. Our Lady helpe my Lord, he'll be forsworne. Nau. Not for the world faire Madam, by my will. Prin. Why, will shall breake it will, and nothing els. Nau. Your Ladiship is ignorant what it is. Prin. Were my Lord so, his ignorance were wise,Where now his knowledge must proue ignorance.I heare your grace hath sworne out House-keeping:'Tis deadly sinne to keepe that oath my Lord,And sinne to breake it:But pardon me, I am too sodaine bold,To teach a Teacher ill beseemeth me.Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my comming,And sodainly resolue me in my suite. Nau. Madam, I will, if sodainly I may. Prin. You will the sooner that I were away,For you'll proue periur'd if you make me stay. Berow. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Rosa. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? Ber. I know you did. Rosa. How needlesse was it then to ask the question? Ber. You must not be so quicke. Rosa. 'Tis long of you that spur me with such questions. Ber. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill tire. Rosa. Not till it leaue the Rider in the mire. Ber. What time a day? Rosa. The howre that fooles should aske. Ber. Now faire befall your maske. Rosa. Faire fall the face it couers. Ber. And send you many louers. Rosa. Amen, so you be none. Ber. Nay then will I be gone. Kin. Madame, your father heere doth intimate,The paiment of a hundred thousand Crownes,Being but th' one halfe, of an intire summe,Disbursed by my father in his warres.But say that he, or we, as neither haueReceiu'd that summe; yet there remaines vnpaidA hundred thousand more: in surety of the which,One part of Aquitaine is bound to vs,Although not valued to the moneys worth.If then the King your father will restoreBut that one halfe which is vnsatisfied,We will giue vp our right in Aquitaine, And hold faire friendship with his Maiestie:But that it seemes he little purposeth,For here he doth demand to haue repaie,An hundred thousand Crownes, and not demandsOne paiment of a hundred thousand Crownes,To haue his title liue in Aquitaine. Which we much rather had depart withall,And haue the money by our father lent,Then Aquitane, so guelded as it is.Deare Princesse, were not his requests so farreFrom reasons yeelding, your faire selfe should makeA yeelding 'gainst some reason in my brest,And goe well satisfied to France againe. Prin. You doe the King my Father too much wrong,And wrong the reputation of your name,In so vnseeming to confesse receytOf that which hath so faithfully beene paid. Kin. I doe protest I neuer heard of it,And if you proue it, Ile repay it backe,Or yeeld vp Aquitaine. Prin. We arrest your word: Boyet, you can produce acquittancesFor such a summe, from speciall Officers,Of Charles his Father. Kin. Satisfie me so. Boyet. So please your Grace, the packet is not comeWhere that and other specialties are bound,To morrow you shall haue a sight of them. Kin. It shall suffice me; at which enterview,All liberall reason would I yeeld vnto:Meane time, receiue such welcome at my hand,As honour, without breach of Honour mayMake tender of, to thy true worthinesse.You may not come faire Princesse in my gates,But heere without you shall be so receiu'd,As you shall deeme your selfe lodg'd in my heart,Though so deni'd farther harbour in my house:Your owne good thoughts excuse me, and farewell,To morrow we shall visit you againe. Prin. Sweet health & faire desires consort your grace. Kin. Thy own wish wish I thee, in euery place. Exit. Boy. Lady, I will commend you to my owne heart. La.Ro. Pray you doe my commendations,I would be glad to see it. Boy. I would you heard it grone. La.Ro. Is the soule sicke? Boy. Sicke at the heart. La.Ro. Alacke, let it bloud. Boy. Would that doe it good? La.Ro. My Phisicke saies I. Boy. Will you prick't with your eye. La.Ro. No poynt, with my knife. Boy. Now God saue thy life. La.Ro. And yours from long liuing. Ber. I cannot stay thanks-giuing. Exit. Enter Dumane. Dum. Sir, I pray you a word: What Lady is that same? Boy. The heire of Alanson, Rosalin her name. Dum. A gallant Lady, Mounsier fare you well. Long. I beseech you a word: what is she in the white? Boy. A woman somtimes, if you saw her in the light. Long. Perchance light in the light: I desire her name. Boy. Shee hath but one for her selfe,To desire that were a shame. Long. Pray you sir, whose daughter? Boy. Her Mothers, I haue heard. Long. Gods blessing a your beard. Boy. Good sir be not offended,Shee is an heyre of Faulconbridge. Long. Nay, my choller is ended:Shee is a most sweet Lady. Exit. Long. Boy. Not vnlike sir, that may be. Enter Beroune. Ber. What's her name in the cap. Boy. Katherine by good hap. Ber. Is she wedded, or no. Boy. To her will sir, or so, Ber. You are welcome sir, adiew. Boy. Fare well to me sir, and welcome to you. Exit. La.Ma. That last is Beroune, the mery mad-cap Lord.Not a word with him, but a iest. Boy. And euery iest but a word. Pri. It was well done of you to take him at his word. Boy. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to boord. La.Ma. Two hot Sheepes marie:And wherefore not Ships? Boy. No Sheepe (sweet Lamb) vnlesse we feed on your lips. La. You Sheepe & I pasture: shall that finish the iest? Boy. So you grant pasture for me. La. Not so gentle beast.My lips are no Common, though seuerall they be. Bo. Belonging to whom? La. To my fortunes and me. Prin. Good wits wil be iangling, but gentles agree.This ciuill warre of wits were much better vsedOn Nauar and his bookemen, for heere 'tis abus'd. Bo. If my obseruation (which very seldome liesBy the hearts still rhetoricke, disclosed with eyes)Deceiue me not now, Nauar is infected. Prin. With what? Bo. With that which we Louers intitle affected. Prin. Your reason. Bo. Why all his behauiours doe make their retire,To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire.His hart like an Agot with your print impressed, Proud with his forme, in his eie pride expressed.His tongue all impatient to speake and not see,Did stumble with haste in his eie-sight to be,All sences to that sence did make their repaire,To feele onely looking on fairest of faire:Me thought all his sences were lockt in his eye,As Iewels in Christall for some Prince to Buy.Who tendring their own worth from whence they were glast,Did point out to buy them along as you past.His faces owne margent did coate such amazes,That all eyes saw his eies inchanted with gazes.Ile giue you Aquitaine, and all that is his, And you giue him for my sake, but one louing Kisse. Prin. Come to our Pauillion, Boyet is disposde. Bro. But to speak that in words, which his eie hath dis-clos'd. I onelie haue made a mouth of his eie,By adding a tongue, which I know will not lie. Lad.Ro. Thou art an old Loue-monger, and speakestskilfully. Lad.Ma. He is Cupids Grandfather, and learnes newsof him. Lad.2. Then was Venus like her mother, for her fa-ther is but grim. Boy. Do you heare my mad wenches? La.1. No. Boy. What then, do you see? Lad.2. I, our way to be gone. Boy. You are too hard for me. Exeunt omnes.
Actus Tertius. Enter Braggart and Boy. Song. Bra. Warble childe, make passionate my sense of hea-ring. Boy. Concolinel. Brag. Sweete Ayer, go tendernesse of yeares: takethis Key, giue enlargement to the swaine, bring him fe-stinatly hither: I must imploy him in a letter to myLoue. Boy. Will you win your loue with a French braule? Bra. How meanest thou, brauling in French? Boy. No my compleat master, but to Iigge off a tuneat the tongues end, canarie to it with the feete, humourit with turning vp your eie: sigh a note and sing a note,sometime through the throate: if you swallowed louewith singing, loue sometime through: nose as if yousnuft vp loue by smelling loue with your hat penthouse-like ore the shop of your eies, with your armes crost onyour thinbellie doublet, like a Rabbet on a spit, or yourhands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting,and keepe not too long in one tune, but a snip and away:these are complements, these are humours, these betraienice wenches that would be betraied without these, andmake them men of note: do you note men that most areaffected to these? Brag. How hast thou purchased this experience? Boy. By my penne of obseruation. Brag. But O, but O. Boy. The Hobbie-horse is forgot. Bra. Cal'st thou my loue Hobbi-horse. Boy. No Master, the Hobbie-horse is but a Colt, andand your Loue perhaps, a Hacknie:but haue you forgot your Loue? Brag. Almost I had. Boy. Negligent student, learne her by heart. Brag. By heart, and in heart Boy. Boy. And out of heart Master: all those three I willproue. Brag. What wilt thou proue? Boy. A man, if I liue (and this) by, in, and without, vp-on the instant: by heart you loue her, because your heartcannot come by her: in heart you loue her, because yourheart is in loue with her: and out of heart you loue her,being out of heart that you cannot enioy her. Brag. I am all these three. Boy. And three times as much more, and yet nothingat all. Brag. Fetch hither the Swaine, he must carrie mee aletter. Boy. A message well simpathis'd, a Horse to be em-bassadour for an Asse. Brag. Ha, ha, What saiest thou? Boy. Marrie sir, you must send the Asse vpon the Horsefor he is verie slow gated: but I goe. Brag. The way is but short, away. Boy. As swift as Lead sir. Brag. Thy meaning prettie ingenious, is not Lead amettall heauie, dull, and slow? Boy. Minnime honest Master, or rather Master no. Brag. I say Lead is slow. Boy. You are too swift sir to say so.Is that Lead slow which is fir'd from a Gunne? Brag. Sweete smoke of Rhetorike,He reputes me a Cannon, and the Bullet that's he:I shoote thee at the Swaine. Boy. Thump then, and I flee. Bra. A most acute Iuuenall, voluble and free of grace,By thy fauour sweet Welkin, I must sigh in thy face.Most rude melancholie, Valour giues thee place.My Herald is return'd. Enter Page and Clowne. Pag. A wonder Master, here's a Costard broken in ashin. Ar. Some enigma, some riddle, come, thy Lenuoy begin. Clo. No egma, no riddle, no lenuoy, no salue, in theemale sir. Or sir, Plantan, a plaine Plantan: no lenuoy, no lenuoy, no Salue sir, but a Plantan. Ar. By vertue, thou inforcest laughter, thy silliethought, my spleene, the heauing of my lunges prouokesme to rediculous smyling: O pardon me my stars, doththe inconsiderate take salue for lenuoy, and the word len-uoy for a salue? Pag. Doe the wise thinke them other, is not lenuoy a salue? Ar. No Page, it is an epilogue or discourse to make plaine,Some obscure precedence that hath tofore bin faine.Now will I begin your morrall, and do you follow withmy lenuoy. The Foxe, the Ape, and the Humble-Bee,Were still at oddes, being but three. Arm. Vntill the Goose came out of doore,Staying the oddes by adding foure. Pag. A good Lenuoy, ending in the Goose: would youdesire more? Clo. The Boy hath sold him a bargaine, a Goose, that's flat. Sir, your penny-worth is good, and your Goose be fat.To sell a bargaine well is as cunning as fast and loose:Let me see a fat Lenuoy, I that's a fat Goose. Ar. Come hither, come hither:How did this argument begin? Boy. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.Then cal'd you for the Lenuoy. Clow. True, and I for a Plantan:Thus came your argument in:Then the Boyes fat Lenuoy, the Goose that you bought,And he ended the market. Ar. But tell me: How was there a Costard broken ina shin? Pag. I will tell you sencibly. Clow. Thou hast no feeling of it Moth, I will speake that Lenuoy. I Costard running out, that was safely within,Fell ouer the threshold, and broke my shin. Arm. We will talke no more of this matter. Clow. Till there be more matter in the shin. Arm. Sirra Costard, I will infranchise thee. Clow. O, marrie me to one Francis, I smell some Len-uoy, some Goose in this. Arm. By my sweete soule, I meane, setting thee at li-bertie. Enfreedoming thy person: thou wert emured,restrained, captiuated, bound. Clow. True, true, and now you will be my purgation,and let me loose. Arm. I giue thee thy libertie, set thee from durance,and in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing but this:Beare this significant to the countrey Maide Iaquenetta: there is remuneration, for the best ward of mine honoursis rewarding my dependants. Moth, follow. Pag. Like the sequell I.Signeur Costard adew. Exit. Clow. My sweete ounce of mans flesh, my in-conie Iew: Now will I looke to his remuneration.Remuneration, O, that's the Latine word for three-far-things: Three-farthings remuneration, What's the priceof this yncle? i.d. no, Ile giue you a remuneration: Why?It carries it remuneration: Why? It is a fairer name thena French-Crowne. I will neuer buy and sell out of thisword. Enter Berowne. Ber. O my good knaue Costard, exceedingly well met. Clow. Pray you sir, How much Carnation Ribbonmay a man buy for a remuneration? Ber. What is a remuneration? Cost. Marrie sir, halfe pennie farthing. Ber. O, Why then threefarthings worth of Silke. Cost. I thanke your worship, God be wy you. Ber. O stay slaue, I must employ thee:As thou wilt win my fauour, good my knaue,Doe one thing for me that I shall intreate. Clow. When would you haue it done sir? Ber. O this after-noone. Clo. Well, I will doe it sir: Fare you well. Ber. O thou knowest not what it is. Clo. I shall know sir, when I haue done it. Ber. Why villaine thou must know first. Clo. I wil come to your worship to morrow morning. Ber. It must be done this after-noone,Harke slaue, it is but this:The Princesse comes to hunt here in the Parke,And in her traine there is a gentle Ladie:When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,And Rosaline they call her, aske for her:And to her white hand see thou do commendThis seal'd-vp counsaile. Ther's thy guerdon: goe. Clo. Gardon, O sweete gardon, better then remune-ration, a leuenpence-farthing better: most sweete gar-don. I will doe it sir in print: gardon, remuneration. Exit. Ber. O, and I forsooth in loue,I that haue beene loues whip?A verie Beadle to a humerous sigh: A Criticke,Nay, a night-watch Constable.A domineering pedant ore the Boy,Then whom no mortall so magnificent,This wimpled, whyning, purblinde waiward Boy,This signior Iunios gyant dwarfe, don Cupid, Regent of Loue-rimes, Lord of folded armes,Th' annointed soueraigne of sighes and groanes:Liedge of all loyterers and malecontents:Dread Prince of Placcats, King of Codpeeces.Sole Emperator and great generallOf trotting Parrators (O my little heart.)And I to be a Corporall of his field,And weare his colours like a Tumblers hoope.What? I loue, I sue, I seeke a wife,A woman that is like a Germane Cloake,Still a repairing: euer out of frame,And neuer going a right, being a Watch:But being watcht, that it may still goe right.Nay, to be periurde, which is worst of all:And among three, to loue the worst of all,A whitly wanton, with a veluet brow.With two pitch bals stucke in her face for eyes. I, and by heauen, one that will doe the deede,Though Argus were her Eunuch and her garde.And I to sigh for her, to watch for her,To pray for her, go to: it is a plagueThat Cupid will impose for my neglect,Of his almighty dreadfull little might.Well, I will loue, write, sigh, pray, shue, grone,Some men must loue my Lady, and some Ione.
Actus Quartus. Enter the Princesse, a Forrester, her Ladies, andher Lords. Qu. Was that the King that spurd his horse so hard,Against the steepe vprising of the hill? Boy. I know not, but I thinke it was not he. Qu. Who ere a was, a shew'd a mounting minde:Well Lords, to day we shall haue our dispatch,On Saterday we will returne to France. Then Forrester my friend, Where is the BushThat we must stand and play the murtherer in? For. Hereby vpon the edge of yonder Coppice,A stand where you may make the fairest shoote. Qu. I thanke my beautie, I am faire that shoote,And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoote. For. Pardon me Madam, for I meant not so. Qu. What, what? First praise me, & then again say no.O short liu'd pride. Not faire? alacke for woe. For. Yes Madam faire. Qu. Nay, neuer paint me now,Where faire is not, praise cannot mend the brow.Here (good my glasse) take this for telling true:Faire paiment for foule words, is more then due. For. Nothing but faire is that which you inherit. Qu. See, see, my beautie will be sau'd by merit.O heresie in faire, fit for these dayes,A giuing hand, though foule, shall haue faire praise.But come, the Bow: Now Mercie goes to kill,And shooting well, is then accounted ill:Thus will I saue my credit in the shoote,Not wounding, pittie would not let me do't:If wounding, then it was to shew my skill,That more for praise, then purpose meant to kill.And out of question, so it is sometimes:Glory growes guiltie of detested crimes,When for Fames sake, for praise an outward part,We bend to that, the working of the hart.As I for praise alone now seeke to spillThe poore Deeres blood, that my heart meanes no ill. Boy. Do not curst wiues hold that selfe-soueraigntieOnely for praise sake, when they striue to beLords ore their Lords? Qu. Onely for praise, and praise we may afford,To any Lady that subdewes a Lord. Enter Clowne. Boy. Here comes a member of the common-wealth. Clo. God dig-you-den all, pray you which is the headLady? Qu. Thou shalt know her fellow, by the rest that haueno heads. Clo. Which is the greatest Lady, the highest? Qu. The thickest, and the tallest. Clo. The thickest, & the tallest: it is so, truth is truth. And your waste Mistris, were as slender as my wit,One a these Maides girdles for your waste should be fit.Are not you the chiefe woma[n]? You are the thickest here? Qu. What's your will sir? What's your will? Clo. I haue a Letter from Monsier Berowne, To one Lady Rosaline. Qu. O thy letter, thy letter: He's a good friend of mine.Stand a side good bearer. Boyet, you can carue,Breake vp this Capon. Boyet. I am bound to serue.This Letter is mistooke: it importeth none here:It is writ to Iaquenetta. Qu. We will read it, I sweare.Breake the necke of the Waxe, and euery one giue eare. Boyet reades. By heauen, that thou art faire, is most infallible: truethat thou art beauteous, truth it selfe that thou artlouely: more fairer then faire, beautifull then beautious,truer then truth it selfe: haue comiseration on thy heroi-call Vassall. The magnanimous and most illustrate King Cophetua set eie vpon the pernicious and indubitate Beg-ger Zenelophon: and he it was that might rightly say, Ve-ni, vidi, vici: Which to annothanize in the vulgar, Obase and obscure vulgar; videliset, He came, See, and o-uercame: hee came one; see, two; ouercame three:Who came? the King. Why did he come? to see. Whydid he see? to ouercome. To whom came he? to theBegger. What saw he? the Begger. Who ouercamehe? the Begger. The conclusion is victorie: On whoseside? the King: the captiue is inricht: On whose side?the Beggers. The catastrophe is a Nuptiall: on whoseside? the Kings: no, on both in one, or one in both. I amthe King (for so stands the comparison) thou the Beg-ger, for so witnesseth thy lowlinesse. Shall I commandthy loue? I may. Shall I enforce thy loue? I could.Shall I entreate thy loue? I will. What, shalt thou ex-change for ragges, roabes: for tittles titles, for thy selfemee. Thus expecting thy reply, I prophane my lips onthy foote, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thyeuerie part. Thine in the dearest designe of industrie, Don Adriana de Armatho.Thus dost thou heare the Nemean Lion roare,Gainst thee thou Lambe, that standest as his pray:Submissiue fall his princely feete before,And he from forrage will incline to play.But if thou striue (poore soule) what art thou then?Foode for his rage, repasture for his den. Qu. What plume of feathers is hee that indited thisLetter? What veine? What Wethercocke? Did youeuer heare better? Boy. I am much deceiued, but I remember the stile. Qu. Else your memorie is bad, going ore it erewhile. Boy. This Armado is a Spaniard that keeps here in courtA Phantasime, a Monarcho, and one that makes sportTo the Prince and his Booke-mates. Qu. Thou fellow, a word.Who gaue thee this Letter? Clow. I told you, my Lord. Qu. To whom should'st thou giue it? Clo. From my Lord to my Lady. Qu. From which Lord, to which Lady? Clo. From my Lord Berowne, a good master of mine,To a Lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. Qu. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come Lords away.Here sweete, put vp this, 'twill be thine another day. Exeunt. Boy. Who is the shooter? Who is the shooter? Rosa. Shall I teach you to know. Boy. I my continent of beautie. Rosa. Why she that beares the Bow. Finely put off. Boy. My Lady goes to kill hornes, but if thou marrie,Hang me by the necke, if hornes that yeare miscarrie.Finely put on. Rosa. Well then, I am the shooter. Boy. And who is your Deare? Rosa. If we choose by the hornes, your selfe come notneare. Finely put on indeede. Maria. You still wrangle with her Boyet, and sheestrikes at the brow. Boyet. But she her selfe is hit lower:Haue I hit her now. Rosa. Shall I come vpon thee with an old saying, thatwas a man when King Pippin of France was a little boy, astouching the hit it. Boyet. So I may answere thee with one as old thatwas a woman when Queene Guinouer of Brittaine was alittle wench, as touching the hit it. Rosa. Thou canst not hit it, hit it, hit it,Thou canst not hit it my good man. Boy. I cannot, cannot, cannot: And I cannot, another can. Exit. Clo. By my troth most pleasant, how both did fit it. Mar. A marke marueilous well shot, for they bothdid hit. Boy. A mark, O marke but that marke: a marke saiesmy Lady.Let the mark haue a pricke in't, to meat at, if it may be. Mar. Wide a'th bow hand, yfaith your hand is out. Clo. Indeede a' must shoote nearer, or heele ne're hitthe clout. Boy. And if my hand be out, then belike your handis in. Clo. Then will shee get the vpshoot by cleauing theis in. Ma. Come, come, you talke greasely, your lips growfoule. Clo. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir challenge herto boule. Boy. I feare too much rubbing: good night my goodOule. Clo. By my soule a Swaine, a most simple Clowne.Lord, Lord, how the Ladies and I haue put him downe.O my troth most sweete iests, most inconie vulgar wit,When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it were,so fit. Armathor ath to the side, O a most dainty man.To see him walke before a Lady, and to beare her Fan.To see him kisse his hand, and how most sweetly a willsweare:And his Page atother side, that handfull of wit,Ah heauens, it is most patheticall nit.Sowla, sowla. Exeunt. Shoote within. Enter Dull, Holofernes, the Pedant and Nathaniel. Nat. Very reuerent sport truely, and done in the testi-mony of a good conscience. Ped. The Deare was (as you know) sanguis in blood,ripe as a Pomwater who now hangeth like a Iewell inthe eare of Celo the skie; the welken the heauen, and a-non falleth like a Crab on the face of Terra, the soyle, theland, the earth. Curat.Nath. Truely M[aster]. Holofernes, the epythithes aresweetly varied like a scholler at the least: but sir I assureye, it was a Bucke of the first head. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. Dul. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a Pricket. Hol. Most barbarous intimation: yet a kinde of insi-nuation, as it were in via, in way of explication facere: asit were replication, or rather ostentare, to show as it werehis inclination after his vndressed, vnpolished, vneduca-ted, vnpruned, vntrained, or rather vnlettered, or rathe-rest vnconfirmed fashion, to insert againe my haud credo for a Deare. Dul. I said the Deare was not a haud credo, 'twas aPricket. Hol. Twice sod simplicitie, bis coctus, O thou mon-ster Ignorance, how deformed doost thou looke. Nath. Sir hee hath neuer fed of the dainties that arebred in a booke.He hath not eate paper as it were:He hath not drunke inke.His intellect is not replenished, hee is onely an animall,onely sensible in the duller parts: and such barren plantsare set before vs, that we thankfull should be: which wetaste and feeling, are for those parts that doe fructifie invs more then he.For as it would ill become me to be vaine, indiscreet, ora foole;So were there a patch set on Learning, to see him in aSchoole.But omne bene say I, being of an old Fathers minde,Many can brooke the weather, that loue not the winde. Dul. You two are book-men: Can you tell by yourwit, What was a month old at Cains birth, that's not fiueweekes old as yet? Hol. Dictisima goodman Dull, dictisima goodman Dull. Dul. What is dictima? Nath. A title to Phebe, to Luna, to the Moone. Hol. The Moone was a month old when Adam wasno more.And wrought not to fiue-weekes when he came to fiuescore.Th' allusion holds in the Exchange. Dul. 'Tis true indeede, the Collusion holds in theExchange. Hol. God comfort thy capacity, I say th' allusion holdsin the Exchange. Dul. And I say the polusion holds in the Exchange:for the Moone is neuer but a month old: and I say be-side that, 'twas a Pricket that the Princesse kill'd. Hol. Sir Nathaniel, will you heare an extemporallEpytaph on the death of the Deare, and to humourthe ignorant call'd the Deare, the Princesse kill'd aPricket. Nath. Perge, good M[aster]. Holofernes, perge, so it shallplease you to abrogate scurilitie. Hol. I will something affect a letter, for it arguesfacilitie. The prayfull Princesse pearst and prickta prettie pleasing Pricket,Some say a Sore, but not a sore,till now made sore with shooting.The Dogges did yell, put ell to Sore,then Sorrell iumps from thicket:Or Pricket-sore, or else Sorell,the people fall a hooting.If Sore be sore, than ell to Sore,makes fiftie sores O sorell:Of one sore I an hundred makeby adding but one more L. Nath. A rare talent. Dul. If a talent be a claw, looke how he clawes himwith a talent. Nath. This is a gift that I haue simple: simple, a foo-lish extrauagant spirit, full of formes, figures, shapes, ob-iects, Ideas, apprehensions, motions, reuolutions. Theseare begot in the ventricle of memorie, nourisht in thewombe of primater, and deliuered vpon the mellowingof occasion: but the gift is good in those in whom it isacute, and I am thankfull for it. Hol. Sir, I praise the Lord for you, and so may myparishioners, for their Sonnes are well tutor'd by you,and their Daughters profit very greatly vnder you: youare a good member of the common-wealth. Nath. Me hercle, If their Sonnes be ingenuous, they shall want no instruction: If their Daughters be capable,I will put it to them. But Vir sapis qui pauca loquitur, asoule Feminine saluteth vs. Enter Iaquenetta and the Clowne. Iaqu. God giue you good morrow M[aster]. Person. Nath. Master Person, quasi Person? And if one shouldbe perst, Which is the one? Clo. Marry M[aster]. Schoolemaster, hee that is likest to ahogshead. Nath. Of persing a Hogshead, a good luster of con-ceit in a turph of Earth, Fire enough for a Flint, Pearleenough for a Swine: 'tis prettie, it is well. Iaqu. Good Master Parson be so good as reade meethis Letter, it was giuen mee by Costard, and sent meefrom Don Armatho: I beseech you read it. Nath. Facile precor gellida, quando pecas omnia sub vm-bra ruminat, and so forth. Ah good old Mantuan, Imay speake of thee as the traueiler doth of Venice, vem-chie, vencha, que non te vnde, que non te perreche. Old Man-tuan, old Mantuan. Who vnderstandeth thee not, vt re sol la mi fa: Vnder pardon sir, What are the contents? orrather as Horrace sayes in his, What my soule verses. Hol. I sir, and very learned. Nath. Let me heare a staffe, a stanze, a verse, Lege do-mine. If Loue make me forsworne, how shall I sweare to loue?Ah neuer faith could hold, if not to beautie vowed.Though to my selfe forsworn, to thee Ile faithfull proue.Those thoughts to mee were Okes, to thee like Osiersbowed.Studie his byas leaues, and makes his booke thine eyes.Where all those pleasures liue, that Art would compre-hend. If knowledge be the marke, to know thee shall suffice.Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee co[m]mend.All ignorant that soule, that sees thee without wonder.Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire;Thy eye Ioues lightning beares, thy voyce his dreadfullthunder.Which not to anger bent, is musique, and sweete fire.Celestiall as thou art, Oh pardon loue this wrong,That sings heauens praise, with such an earthly tongue. Ped. You finde not the apostraphas, and so misse theaccent. Let me superuise the cangenet. Nath. Here are onely numbers ratified, but for theelegancy, facility, & golden cadence of poesie caret: O-uiddius Naso was the man. And why in deed Naso, butfor smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy? theierkes of inuention imitarie is nothing: So doth theHound his master, the Ape his keeper, the tyred Horsehis rider: But Damosella virgin, Was this directed toyou? Iaq. I sir from one mounsier Berowne, one of thestrange Queenes Lords. Nath. I will ouerglance the superscript. To the snow-white hand of the most beautious Lady Rosaline.I will looke againe on the intellect of the Letter, forthe nomination of the partie written to the person writ-ten vnto. Your Ladiships in all desired imployment, Berowne. Ped. Sir Holofernes, this Berowne is one of the Votarieswith the King, and here he hath framed a Letter to a se-quent of the stranger Queens: which accidentally, orby the way of progression, hath miscarried. Trip andgoe my sweete, deliuer this Paper into the hand of theKing, it may concerne much: stay not thy complement, Iforgiue thy duetie, adue. Maid. Good Costard go with me:Sir God saue your life. Cost. Haue with thee my girle. Exit. Hol. Sir you haue done this in the feare of God veryreligiously: and as a certaine Father saith Ped. Sir tell not me of the Father, I do feare coloura-ble colours. But to returne to the Verses, Did they pleaseyou sir Nathaniel? Nath. Marueilous well for the pen. Peda. I do dine to day at the fathers of a certaine Pu-pill of mine, where if (being repast) it shall please you togratifie the table with a Grace, I will on my priuiledge Ihaue with the parents of the foresaid Childe or Pupill,vndertake your bien venuto, where I will proue thoseVerses to be very vnlearned, neither sauouring ofPoetrie, Wit, nor Inuention. I beseech your So-cietie. Nat. And thanke you to: for societie (saith the text)is the happinesse of life. Peda. And certes the text most infallibly concludes it.Sir I do inuite you too, you shall not say me nay: paucaverba. Away, the gentles are at their game, and we will to ourrecreation. Exeunt. Enter Berowne with a Paper in his hand, alone. Bero. The King he is hunting the Deare,I am coursing my selfe.They haue pitcht a Toyle, I am toyling in a pytch,pitch that defiles; defile, a foule word: Well, set theedowne sorrow; for so they say the foole said, and so sayI, and I the foole: Well proued wit. By the Lord thisLoue is as mad as Aiax, it kils sheepe, it kils mee, I asheepe: Well proued againe a my side. I will not loue;if I do hang me: yfaith I will not. O but her eye: bythis light, but for her eye, I would not loue her; yes, forher two eyes. Well, I doe nothing in the world but lye,and lye in my throate. By heauen I doe loue, and it hathtaught mee to Rime, and to be mallicholie: and here ispart of my Rime, and heere my mallicholie. Well, shehath one a'my Sonnets already, the Clowne bore it, theFoole sent it, and the Lady hath it: sweet Clowne, swee-ter Foole, sweetest Lady. By the world, I would not carea pin, if the other three were in. Here comes one with apaper, God giue him grace to grone. He stands aside. The King entreth. Kin. Ay mee! Ber. Shot by heauen: proceede sweet Cupid, thou hastthumpt him with thy Birdbolt vnder the left pap: in faithsecrets. King. So sweete a kisse the golden Sunne giues not,To those fresh morning drops vpon the Rose,As thy eye beames, when their fresh rayse haue smot.The night of dew that on my cheekes downe flowes.Nor shines the siluer Moone one halfe so bright,Through the transparent bosome of the deepe,As doth thy face through teares of mine giue light:Thou shin'st in euery teare that I doe weepe,No drop, but as a Coach doth carry thee:So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.Do but behold the teares that swell in me,And they thy glory through my griefe will show: But doe not loue thy selfe, then thou wilt keepeMy teares for glasses, and still make me weepe.O Queene of Queenes, how farre dost thou excell,No thought can thinke, nor tongue of mortall tell.How shall she know my griefes? Ile drop the paper.Sweete leaues shade folly. Who is he comes heere? Enter Longauile. The King steps aside. What Longauill, and reading: listen eare. Ber. Now in thy likenesse, one more foole appeare. Long. Ay me, I am forsworne. Ber. Why he comes in like a periure, wearing papers. Long. In loue I hope, sweet fellowship in shame. Ber. One drunkard loues another of the name. Lon. Am I the first that haue been periur'd so? Ber. I could put thee in comfort, not by two that I know,Thou makest the triumphery, the corner cap of societie,The shape of Loues Tiburne, that hangs vp simplicitie. Lon. I feare these stubborn lines lack power to moue.O sweet Maria, Empresse of my Loue,These numbers will I teare, and write in prose. Ber. O Rimes are gards on wanton Cupids hose,Disfigure not his Shop. Lon. This same shall goe. He reades the Sonnet. Did not the heauenly Rhetoricke of thine eye,'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,Perswade my heart to this false periurie?Vowes for thee broke deserue not punishment.A Woman I forswore, but I will proue,Thou being a Goddesse, I forswore not thee.My Vow was earthly, thou a heauenly Loue.Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.Vowes are but breath, and breath a vapour is.Then thou faire Sun, which on my earth doest shine,Exhalest this vapor-vow, in thee it is:If broken then, it is no fault of mine:If by me broke, What foole is not so wise,To loose an oath, to win a Paradise? Ber. This is the liuer veine, which makes flesh a deity.A greene Goose, a Goddesse, pure pure Idolatry.God amend vs, God amend, we are much out o'th' way. Enter Dumaine. Lon. By whom shall I send this (company?) Stay. Bero. All hid, all hid, an old infant play,Like a demie God, here sit I in the skie,And wretched fooles secrets heedfully ore-eye.More Sacks to the myll. O heauens I haue my wish, Dumaine transform'd, foure Woodcocks in a dish. Dum. O most diuine Kate. Bero. O most prophane coxcombe. Dum. By heauen the wonder of a mortall eye. Bero. By earth she is not, corporall, there you lye. Dum. Her Amber haires for foule hath amber coted. Ber. An Amber coloured Rauen was well noted. Dum. As vpright as the Cedar. Ber. Stoope I say, her shoulder is with-child. Dum. As faire as day. Ber. I as some daies, but then no sunne must shine. Dum. O that I had my wish? Lon. And I had mine. Kin. And mine too good Lord. Ber. Amen, so I had mine: Is not that a good word? Dum. I would forget her, but a Feuer sheRaignes in my bloud, and will remembred be. Ber. A Feuer in your bloud, why then incisionWould let her out in Sawcers, sweet misprision. Dum. Once more Ile read the Ode that I haue writ. Ber. Once more Ile marke how Loue can varry Wit. Dumane reades his Sonnet. On a day, alack the day:Loue, whose Month is euery May,Spied a blossome passing faire,Playing in the wanton ayre:Through the Veluet, leaues the winde,All vnseene, can passage finde.That the Louer sicke to death,Wish himselfe the heauens breath.Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blowe,Ayre, would I might triumph so.But alacke my hand is sworne,Nere to plucke thee from thy throne:Vow alacke for youth vnmeete,youth so apt to plucke a sweet.Doe not call it sinne in me,That I am forsworne for thee.Thou for whom Ioue would sweare, Iuno but an Aethiop were,And denie himselfe for Ioue. Turning mortall for thy Loue. This will I send, and something else more plaine.That shall expresse my true-loues fasting paine.O would the King, Berowne and Longauill, Were Louers too, ill to example ill,Would from my forehead wipe a periur'd note:For none offend, where all alike doe dote. Lon. Dumaine, thy Loue is farre from charitie,That in Loues griefe desir'st societie:You may looke pale, but I should blush I know,To be ore-heard, and taken napping so. Kin. Come sir, you blush: as his, your case is such,You chide at him, offending twice as much.You doe not loue Maria? Longauile, Did neuer Sonnet for her sake compile;Nor neuer lay his wreathed armes athwartHis louing bosome, to keepe downe his heart.I haue beene closely shrowded in this bush,And markt you both, and for you both did blush.I heard your guilty Rimes, obseru'd your fashion:Saw sighes reeke from you, noted well your passion.Aye me, sayes one! O Ioue, the other cries!On her haires were Gold, Christall the others eyes.You would for Paradise breake Faith and troth,And Ioue for your Loue would infringe an oath.What will Berowne say when that he shall heareFaith infringed, which such zeale did sweare.How will he scorne? how will he spend his wit?How will he triumph, leape, and laugh at it?For all the wealth that euer I did see,I would not haue him know so much by me. Bero. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisie.Ah good my Liedge, I pray thee pardon me.Good heart, What grace hast thou thus to reproueThese wormes for louing, that art most in loue?Your eyes doe make no couches in your teares.There is no certaine Princesse that appeares.You'll not be periur'd, 'tis a hatefull thing:Tush, none but Minstrels like of Sonnetting.But are you not asham'd? nay, are you not All three of you, to be thus much ore'shot?You found his Moth, the King your Moth did see:But I a Beame doe finde in each of three.O what a Scene of fool'ry haue I seene.Of sighes, of grones, of sorrow, and of teene:O me, with what strict patience haue I sat,To see a King transformed to a Gnat?To see great Hercules whipping a Gigge,And profound Salomon tuning a Iygge?And Nestor play at push-pin with the boyes,And Critticke Tymon laugh at idle toyes.Where lies thy griefe? O tell me good Dumaine; And gentle Longauill, where lies thy paine?And where my Liedges? all about the brest:A Candle hoa! Kin. Too bitter is thy iest.Are wee betrayed thus to thy ouer-view? Ber. Not you by me, but I betrayed to you.I that am honest, I that hold it sinneTo breake the vow I am ingaged in.I am betrayed by keeping companyWith men, like men of inconstancie.When shall you see me write a thing in rime?Or grone for Ioane? or spend a minutes time,In pruning mee, when shall you heare that I will praise ahand, a foot, a face, an eye: a gate, a state, a brow, a brest,a waste, a legge, a limme. Kin. Soft, Whither a-way so fast?A true man, or a theefe, that gallops so. Ber. I post from Loue, good Louer let me go. Enter Iaquenetta and Clowne. Iaqu. God blesse the King. Kin. What Present hast thou there? Clo. Some certaine treason. Kin. What makes treason heere? Clo. Nay it makes nothing sir. Kin. If it marre nothing neither,The treason and you goe in peace away together. Iaqu. I beseech your Grace let this Letter be read,Our person mis-doubts it: it was treason he said. Kin. Berowne, read it ouer. He reades the Letter. Kin. Where hadst thou it? Iaqu. Of Costard. King. Where hadst thou it? Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. Kin. How now, what is in you? why dost thou tear it? Ber. A toy my Liedge, a toy: your grace needes notfeare it. Long. It did moue him to passion, and therefore let'sheare it. Dum. It is Berowns writing, and heere is his name. Ber. Ah you whoreson loggerhead, you were borneto doe me shame.Guilty my Lord, guilty: I confesse, I confesse. Kin. What? Ber. That you three fooles, lackt mee foole, to makevp the messe.He, he, and you: and you my Liedge, and I,Are picke-purses in Loue, and we deserue to die.O dismisse this audience, and I shall tell you more. Dum. Now the number is euen. Berow. True true, we are fowre: will these Turtlesbe gone? Kin. Hence sirs, away. Clo. Walk aside the true folke, & let the traytors stay. Ber. Sweet Lords, sweet Louers, O let vs imbrace,As true we are as flesh and bloud can be,The Sea will ebbe and flow, heauen will shew his face:Young bloud doth not obey an old decree.We cannot crosse the cause why we are borne:Therefore of all hands must we be forsworne. King. What, did these rent lines shew some loue ofthine? Ber. Did they, quoth you? Who sees the heauenly Rosaline, That (like a rude and sauage man of Inde.)At the first opening of the gorgeous East,Bowes not his vassall head, and strooken blinde,Kisses the base ground with obedient breast?What peremptory Eagle-sighted eyeDares looke vpon the heauen of her brow,That is not blinded by her maiestie? Kin. What zeale, what furie, hath inspir'd thee now?My Loue (her Mistres) is a gracious Moone,Shee (an attending Starre) scarce seene a light. Ber. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. O, but for my Loue, day would turne to night,Of all complexions the cul'd soueraignty,Doe meet as at a faire in her faire cheeke,Where seuerall Worthies make one dignity,Where nothing wants, that want it selfe doth seeke.Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,Fie painted Rethoricke, O she needs it not,To things of sale, a sellers praise belongs:She passes prayse, then prayse too short doth blot.A withered Hermite, fiuescore winters worne,Might shake off fiftie, looking in her eye:Beauty doth varnish Age, as if new borne,And giues the Crutch the Cradles infancie.O 'tis the Sunne that maketh all things shine. King. By heauen, thy Loue is blacke as Ebonie. Berow. Is Ebonie like her? O word diuine?A wife of such wood were felicite.O who can giue an oth? Where is a booke?That I may sweare Beauty doth beauty lacke,If that she learne not of her eye to looke:No face is faire that is not full so blacke. Kin. O paradoxe, Blacke is the badge of hell,The hue of dungeons, and the Schoole of night:And beauties crest becomes the heauens well. Ber. Diuels soonest tempt resembling spirits of light.O if in blacke my Ladies browes be deckt,It mournes, that painting vsurping haireShould rauish doters with a false aspect:And therfore is she borne to make blacke, faire.Her fauour turnes the fashion of the dayes,For natiue bloud is counted painting now:And therefore red that would auoyd dispraise,Paints it selfe blacke, to imitate her brow. Dum. To look like her are Chimny-sweepers blacke. Lon. And since her time, are Colliers counted bright. King. And Aethiops of their sweet complexion crake. Dum. Dark needs no Candles now, for dark is light. Ber. Your mistresses dare neuer come in raine,For feare their colours should be washt away. Kin. 'Twere good yours did: for sir to tell you plaine,Ile finde a fairer face not washt to day. Ber. Ile proue her faire, or talke till dooms-day here. Kin. No Diuell will fright thee then so much as shee. Duma. I neuer knew man hold vile stuffe so deere. Lon. Looke, heer's thy loue, my foot and her face see. Ber. O if the streets were paued with thine eyes, Her feet were much too dainty for such tread. Duma. O vile, then as she goes what vpward lyes?The street should see as she walk'd ouer head. Kin. But what of this, are we not all in loue? Ber. O nothing so sure, and thereby all forsworne. Kin. Then leaue this chat, & good Berown now proueOur louing lawfull, and our fayth not torne. Dum. I marie there, some flattery for this euill. Long. O some authority how to proceed,Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the diuell. Dum. Some salue for periurie, Ber. O 'tis more then neede.Haue at you then affections men at armes,Consider what you first did sweare vnto:To fast, to study, and to see no woman:Flat treason against the Kingly state of youth.Say, Can you fast? your stomacks are too young:And abstinence ingenders maladies.And where that you haue vow'd to studie (Lords)In that each of you haue forsworne his Booke.Can you still dreame and pore, and thereon looke.For when would you my Lord, or you, or you,Haue found the ground of studies excellence,Without the beauty of a womans face;From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue,They are the Ground, the Bookes, the Achadems,From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire.Why, vniuersall plodding poysons vpThe nimble spirits in the arteries,As motion and long during action tyresThe sinnowy vigour of the trauailer.Now for not looking on a womans face,You haue in that forsworne the vse of eyes:And studie too, the causer of your vow.For where is any Author in the world,Teaches such beauty as a womans eye:Learning is but an adiunct to our selfe,And where we are, our Learning likewise is.Then when our selues we see in Ladies eyes,With our selues.Doe we not likewise see our learning there?O we haue made a Vow to studie, Lords,And in that vow we haue forsworne our Bookes:For when would you (my Leege) or you, or you?In leaden contemplation haue found outSuch fiery Numbers as the prompting eyes,Of beauties tutors haue inrich'd you with:Other slow Arts intirely keepe the braine:And therefore finding barraine practizers,Scarce shew a haruest of their heauy toyle.But Loue first learned in a Ladies eyes,Liues not alone emured in the braine:But with the motion of all elements,Courses as swift as thought in euery power,And giues to euery power a double power,Aboue their functions and their offices.It addes a precious seeing to the eye:A Louers eyes will gaze an Eagle blinde.A Louers eare will heare the lowest sound.When the suspicious head of theft is stopt.Loues feeling is more soft and sensible,Then are the tender hornes of Cockle Snayles.Loues tongue proues dainty, Bachus grosse in taste,For Valour, is not Loue a Hercules?Still climing trees in the Hesperides. Subtill as Sphinx, as sweet and musicall,As bright Apollo's Lute, strung with his haire.And when Loue speakes, the voyce of all the Gods,Make heauen drowsie with the harmonie.Neuer durst Poet touch a pen to write,Vntill his Inke were tempred with Loues sighes:O then his lines would rauish sauage eares,And plant in Tyrants milde humilitie.From womens eyes this doctrine I deriue.They sparcle still the right promethean fire,They are the Bookes, the Arts, the Achademes,That shew, containe, and nourish all the world.Else none at all in ought proues excellent.Then fooles you were these women to forsweare:Or keeping what is sworne, you will proue fooles,For Wisedomes sake, a word that all men loue:Or for Loues sake, a word that loues all men.Or for Mens sake, the author of these Women:Or Womens sake, by whom we men are Men.Let's once loose our oathes to finde our selues,Or else we loose our selues, to keepe our oathes:It is religion to be thus forsworne.For Charity it selfe fulfills the Law:And who can seuer loue from Charity. Kin. Saint Cupid then, and Souldiers to the field. Ber. Aduance your standards, & vpon them Lords,Pell, mell, downe with them: but be first aduis'd,In conflict that you get the Sunne of them. Long. Now to plaine dealing, Lay these glozes by,Shall we resolue to woe these girles of France? Kin. And winne them too, therefore let vs deuise,Some entertainment for them in their Tents. Ber. First from the Park let vs conduct them thither,Then homeward euery man attach the handOf his faire Mistresse, in the afternooneWe will with some strange pastime solace them:Such as the shortnesse of the time can shape,For Reuels, Dances, Maskes, and merry houres,Fore-runne faire Loue, strewing her way with flowres. Kin. Away, away, no time shall be omitted,That will be time, and may by vs be fitted. Ber. Alone, alone sowed Cockell, reap'd no Corne,And Iustice alwaies whirles in equall measure:Light Wenches may proue plagues to men forsworne,If so, our Copper buyes no better treasure. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Enter the Pedant, Curate and Dull. Pedant. Satis quid sufficit. Curat. I praise God for you sir, your reasons at dinnerhaue beene sharpe & sententious: pleasant without scur-rillity, witty without affection, audacious without im-pudency, learned without opinion, and strange withoutheresie: I did conuerse this quondam day with a compa-nion of the Kings, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armatho. Ped. Noui hominum tanquam te, His humour is lofty,his discourse peremptorie: his tongue filed, his eyeambitious, his gate maiesticall, and his generall behaui-our vaine, ridiculous, and thrasonicall. He is too picked,too spruce, too affected, too odde, as it were, too pere-grinat, as I may call it. Curat. A most singular and choise Epithat, Draw out his Table-booke. Peda. He draweth out the thred of his verbositie, fi-ner then the staple of his argument. I abhor such pha-naticall phantasims, such insociable and poynt deuisecompanions, such rackers of ortagriphie, as to speakedout fine, when he should say doubt; det, when he sholdpronounce debt; debt, not det: he clepeth a Calf, Caufe:halfe, haufe: neighbour vocatur nebour; neigh abreuiatedne: this is abhominable, which he would call abhomi-nable it insinuateth me of infamie: ne inteligis domine, tomake franticke, lunaticke? Cura. Laus deo, bene intelligo. Peda. Bome boon for boon prescian, a little scratcht, 'twilserue. Enter Bragart, Boy. Curat. Vides ne quis venit? Peda. Video, & gaudio. Brag. Chirra. Peda. Quari Chirra, not Sirra? Brag. Men of peace well incountred. Ped. Most millitarie sir salutation. Boy. They haue beene at a great feast of Languages,and stolne the scraps. Clow. O they haue liu'd long on the almes-basket ofwords. I maruell thy M[aster]. hath not eaten thee for a word,for thou art not so long by the head as honorificabilitu-%dinitatibus:Thou art easier swallowed then a flapdra-gon. Page. Peace, the peale begins. Brag. Mounsier, are you not lettred? Page. Yes, yes, he teaches boyes the Horne-booke:What is Ab speld backward with the horn on his head? Peda. Ba, puericia with a horne added. Pag. Ba most seely Sheepe, with a horne: you hearehis learning. Peda. Quis quis, thou Consonant? Pag. The last of the fiue Vowels if You repeat them,or the fift if I. Peda. I will repeat them: a e I. Pag. The Sheepe, the other two concludes it o u. Brag. Now by the salt waue of the mediteranium, asweet tutch, a quicke venewe of wit, snip snap, quick &home, it reioyceth my intellect, true wit. Page. Offered by a childe to an olde man: which iswit-old. Peda. What is the figure? What is the figure? Page. Hornes. Peda. Thou disputes like an Infant: goe whip thyGigge. Pag. Lend me your Horne to make one, and I willwhip about your Infamie vnum cita a gigge of a Cuck-olds horne. Clow. And I had but one penny in the world, thoushouldst haue it to buy Ginger bread: Hold, there is thevery Remuneration I had of thy Maister, thou halfpennypurse of wit, thou Pidgeon-egge of discretion. O & theheauens were so pleased, that thou wert but my Bastard;What a ioyfull father wouldst thou make mee? Goe to,thou hast it ad dungil, at the fingers ends, as they say. Peda. Oh I smell false Latine, dunghel for vnguem. Brag. Arts-man preambulat, we will bee singled fromthe barbarous. Do you not educate youth at the Charg-house on the top of the Mountaine? Peda. Or Mons the hill. Brag. At your sweet pleasure, for the Mountaine. Peda. I doe sans question. Bra. Sir, it is the Kings most sweet pleasure and af-fection, to congratulate the Princesse at her Pauilion, inthe posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude callthe after-noone. Ped. The posterior of the day, most generous sir, is lia-ble, congruent, and measurable for the after-noone: theword is well culd, chose, sweet, and apt I doe assure yousir, I doe assure. Brag. Sir, the King is a noble Gentleman, and my fa-miliar, I doe assure ye very good friend: for what is in-ward betweene vs, let it passe. I doe beseech thee re-member thy curtesie. I beseech thee apparell thy head:and among other importunate & most serious designes,and of great import indeed too: but let that passe, for Imust tell thee it will please his Grace (by the world)sometime to leane vpon my poore shoulder, and withhis royall finger thus dallie with my excrement, with mymustachio: but sweet heart let that passe. By the worldI recount no fable, some certaine speciall honours itpleaseth his greatnesse to impart to Armado a Souldier,a man of trauell, that hath seene the world: but let thatpasse; the very all of all is: but sweet heart I do imploresecrecie, that the King would haue mee present thePrincesse (sweet chucke) with some delightfull ostenta-tion, or show, or pageant, or anticke, or fire-worke:Now, vnderstanding that the Curate and your sweet selfare good at such eruptions, and sodaine breaking out ofmyrth (as it were) I haue acquainted you withall, tothe end to craue your assistance. Peda. Sir, you shall present before her the Nine Wor-thies. Sir Holofernes, as concerning some entertainmentof time, some show in the posterior of this day, to beerendred by our assistants the Kings command: and thismost gallant, illustrate and learned Gentleman, beforethe Princesse: I say none so fit as to present the NineWorthies. Curat. Where will you finde men worthy enough topresent them? Peda. Iosua, your selfe: my selfe, and this gallant gen-tleman Iudas Machabeus; this Swaine (because of hisgreat limme or ioynt) shall passe Pompey the great, thePage Hercules. Brag. Pardon sir, error: He is not quantitie enoughfor that Worthies thumb, hee is not so big as the end ofhis Club. Peda. Shall I haue audience: he shall present Hercu-les in minoritie: his enter and exit shall bee strangling aSnake; and I will haue an Apologie for that purpose. Pag. An excellent deuice: so if any of the audiencehisse, you may cry, Well done Hercules, now thou cru-shest the Snake; that is the way to make an offence gra-cious, though few haue the grace to doe it. Brag. For the rest of the Worthies? Peda. I will play three my selfe. Pag. Thrice worthy Gentleman. Brag. Shall I tell you a thing? Peda. We attend. Brag. We will haue, if this fadge not, an Antique. Ibeseech you follow. Ped. Via good-man Dull, thou hast spoken no wordall this while. Dull. Nor vnderstood none neither sir. Ped. Alone, we will employ thee. Dull. Ile make one in a dance, or so: or I will play on the taber to the Worthies, & let them dance the hey. Ped. Most Dull, honest Dull, to our sport away. Exit. Enter Ladies. Qu. Sweet hearts we shall be rich ere we depart,If fairings come thus plentifully in.A Lady wal'd about with Diamonds: Look you, what Ihaue from the louing King. Rosa. Madam, came nothing else along with that? Qu. Nothing but this: yes as much loue in Rime,As would be cram'd vp in a sheet of paperWrit on both sides the leafe, margent and all,That he was faine to seale on Cupids name. Rosa. That was the way to make his god-head wax:For he hath beene fiue thousand yeeres a Boy. Kath. I, and a shrewd vnhappy gallowes too. Ros. You'll nere be friends with him, a kild your sister. Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heauy, andso she died: had she beene Light like you, of such a mer-rie nimble stirring spirit, she might a bin a Grandam ereshe died. And so may you: For a light heart liues long. Ros. What's your darke meaning mouse, of this lightword? Kat. A light condition in a beauty darke. Ros. We need more light to finde your meaning out. Kat. You'll marre the light by taking it in snuffe:Therefore Ile darkely end the argument. Ros. Look what you doe, you doe it stil i'th darke. Kat. So do not you, for you are a light Wench. Ros. Indeed I waigh not you, and therefore light. Ka. You waigh me not, O that's you care not for me. Ros. Great reason: for past care, is still past cure. Qu. Well bandied both, a set of Wit well played.But Rosaline, you haue a Fauour too?Who sent it? and what is it? Ros. I would you knew. And if my face were but as faire as yours,My Fauour were as great, be witnesse this.Nay, I haue Verses too, I thanke Berowne, The numbers true, and were the numbring too.I were the fairest goddesse on the ground.I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.O he hath drawne my picture in his letter. Qu. Any thing like? Ros. Much in the letters, nothing in the praise. Qu. Beauteous as Incke: a good conclusion. Kat. Faire as a text B. in a Coppie booke. Ros. Ware pensals. How? Let me not die your debtor,My red Dominicall, my golden letter.O that your face were full of Oes. Qu. A Pox of that iest, and I beshrew all Shrowes:But Katherine, what was sent to youFrom faire Dumaine? Kat. Madame, this Gloue. Qu. Did he not send you twaine? Kat. Yes Madame: and moreouer,Some thousand Verses of a faithfull Louer.A huge translation of hypocrisie,Vildly compiled, profound simplicitie. Mar. This, and these Pearls, to me sent Longauile. The Letter is too long by halfe a mile. Qu. I thinke no lesse: Dost thou wish in heartThe Chaine were longer, and the Letter short. Mar. I, or I would these hands might neuer part. Quee. We are wise girles to mocke our Louers so. Ros. They are worse fooles to purchase mocking so.That same Berowne ile torture ere I goe.O that I knew he were but in by th' weeke,How I would make him fawne, and begge, and seeke,And wait the season, and obserue the times,And spend his prodigall wits in booteles rimes,And shape his seruice wholly to my deuice,And make him proud to make me proud that iests.So pertaunt like would I o'resway his state,That he shold be my foole, and I his fate. Qu. None are so surely caught, when they are catcht,As Wit turn'd foole, follie in Wisedome hatch'd:Hath wisedoms warrant, and the helpe of Schoole,And Wits owne grace to grace a learned Foole? Ros. The bloud of youth burns not with such excesse,As grauities reuolt to wantons be. Mar. Follie in Fooles beares not so strong a note,As fool'ry in the Wise, when Wit doth dote:Since all the power thereof it doth apply,To proue by Wit, worth in simplicitie. Enter Boyet. Qu. Heere comes Boyet, and mirth in his face. Boy. O I am stab'd with laughter, Wher's her Grace? Qu. Thy newes Boyet? Boy. Prepare Madame, prepare.Arme Wenches arme, incounters mounted are,Against your Peace, Loue doth approach, disguis'd:Armed in arguments, you'll be surpriz'd.Muster your Wits, stand in your owne defence,Or hide your heads like Cowards, and flie hence. Qu. Saint Dennis to S[aint]. Cupid: What are they,That charge their breath against vs? Say scout say. Boy. Vnder the coole shade of a Siccamore,I thought to close mine eyes some halfe an houre:When lo to interrupt my purpos'd rest,Toward that shade I might behold addrest,The King and his companions: warelyI stole into a neighbour thicket by,And ouer-heard, what you shall ouer-heare:That by and by disguis'd they will be heere.Their Herald is a pretty knauish Page:That well by heart hath con'd his embassage,Action and accent did they teach him there.Thus must thou speake, and thus thy body beare.And euer and anon they made a doubt,Presence maiesticall would put him out:For quoth the King, an Angell shalt thou see:Yet feare not thou, but speake audaciously.The Boy reply'd, An Angell is not euill:I should haue fear'd her, had she beene a deuill.With that all laugh'd, and clap'd him on the shoulder,Making the bold wagg by their praises bolder.One rub'd his elboe thus, and fleer'd, and swore,A better speech was neuer spoke before.Another with his finger and his thumb,Cry'd via, we will doo't, come what will come.The third he caper'd and cried, All goes well.The fourth turn'd on the toe, and downe he fell:With that they all did tumble on the ground,With such a zelous laughter so profound,That in this spleene ridiculous appeares,To checke their folly passions solemne teares. Que. But what, but what, come they to visit vs? Boy. They do, they do; and are apparel'd thus,Like Muscouites; or Russians, as I gesse.Their purpose is to parlee, to court, and dance, And euery one his Loue-feat will aduance,Vnto his seuerall mistresse: which they'll knowBy fauours seuerall, which they did bestow. Queen. And will they so? the Gallants shall be taskt:For Ladies; we will euery one be maskt,And not a man of them shall haue the graceDespight of sute, to see a Ladies face.Hold Rosaline, this Fauour thou shalt weare,And then the King will court thee for his Deare:Hold, take thou this my sweet, and giue me thine,So shall Berowne take me for Rosaline. And change your Fauours too, so shall your LouesWoo contrary, deceiu'd by these remoues. Rosa. Come on then, weare the fauours most in sight. Kath. But in this changing, What is your intent? Queen. The effect of my intent is to crosse theirs:They doe it but in mocking merriment,And mocke for mocke is onely my intent.Their seuerall counsels they vnbosome shall,To Loues mistooke, and so be mockt withall.Vpon the next occasion that we meete,With Visages displayd to talke and greete. Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire vs too't? Quee. No, to the death we will not moue a foot,Nor to their pen'd speech render we no grace:But while 'tis spoke, each turne away his face. Boy. Why that contempt will kill the keepers heart,And quite diuorce his memory from his part. Quee. Therefore I doe it, and I make no doubt,The rest will ere come in, if he be out.Theres no such sport, as sport by sport orethrowne:To make theirs ours, and ours none but our owne.So shall we stay mocking entended game,And they well mockt, depart away with shame. Sound. Boy. The Trompet sounds, be maskt, the maskerscome. Enter Black moores with musicke, the Boy with a speech,and the rest of the Lords disguised. Page. All haile, the richest Beauties on the earth. Ber. Beauties no richer then rich Taffata. Pag. A holy parcell of the fairest dames that euer turn'dtheir backes to mortall viewes. The Ladies turne their backes to him. Ber. Their eyes villaine, their eyes. Pag. That euer turn'd their eyes to mortall viewes.Out Boy. True, out indeed. Pag. Out of your fauours heauenly spirits vouchsafeNot to beholde. Ber. Once to behold, rogue. Pag. Once to behold with your Sunne beamed eyes,With your Sunne beamed eyes. Boy. They will not answer to that Epythite,you were best call it Daughter beamed eyes. Pag. They do not marke me, and that brings me out. Bero. Is this your perfectnesse? be gon you rogue. Rosa. What would these strangers?Know their mindes Boyet. If they doe speake our language, 'tis our will That some plaine man recount their purposes.Know what they would? Boyet. What would you with the Princes? Ber. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Ros. What would they, say they? Boy. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. Rosa. Why that they haue, and bid them so be gon. Boy. She saies you haue it, and you may be gon. Kin. Say to her we haue measur'd many miles,To tread a Measure with you on the grasse. Boy. They say that they haue measur'd many a mile,To tread a Measure with you on this grasse. Rosa. It is not so. Aske them how many inchesIs in one mile? If they haue measur'd manie,The measure then of one is easlie told. Boy. If to come hither, you haue measur'd miles,And many miles: the Princesse bids you tell,How many inches doth fill vp one mile? Ber. Tell her we measure them by weary steps. Boy. She heares her selfe. Rosa. How manie wearie steps,Of many wearie miles you haue ore-gone,Are numbred in the trauell of one mile? Bero. We number nothing that we spend for you,Our dutie is so rich, so infinite,That we may doe it still without accompt.Vouchsafe to shew the sunshine of your face,That we (like sauages) may worship it. Rosa. My face is but a Moone and clouded too. Kin. Blessed are clouds, to doe as such clouds do.Vouchsafe bright Moone, and these thy stars to shine,(Those clouds remooued) vpon our waterie eyne. Rosa. O vaine peticioner, beg a greater matter,Thou now requests but Mooneshine in the water. Kin. Then in our measure, vouchsafe but one change.Thou bidst me begge, this begging is not strange. Rosa. Play musicke then: nay you must doe it soone.Not yet no dance: thus change I like the Moone. Kin. Will you not dance? How come you thus e-stranged? Rosa. You tooke the Moone at full, but now shee'schanged? Kin. Yet still she is the Moone, and I the Man. Rosa. The musick playes, vouchsafe some motion toit: Our eares vouchsafe it. Kin. But your legges should doe it. Ros. Since you are strangers, & come here by chance,Wee'll not be nice, take hands, we will not dance. Kin. Why take you hands then? Rosa. Onelie to part friends.Curtsie sweet hearts, and so the Measure ends. Kin. More measure of this measure, be not nice. Rosa. We can afford no more at such a price. Kin. Prise your selues: What buyes your companie? Rosa. Your absence onelie. Kin. That can neuer be. Rosa. Then cannot we be bought: and so adue,Twice to your Visore, and halfe once to you. Kin. If you denie to dance, let's hold more chat. Ros. In priuate then. Kin. I am best pleas'd with that. Be. White handed Mistris, one sweet word with thee. Qu. Hony, and Milke, and Suger: there is three. Ber. Nay then two treyes, an if you grow so niceMethegline, Wort, and Malmsey; well runne dice:There's halfe a dozen sweets. Qu. Seuenth sweet adue, since you can cogg,Ile play no more with you. Ber. One word in secret. Qu. Let it not be sweet. Ber. Thou greeu'st my gall. Qu. Gall, bitter. Ber. Therefore meete. Du. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a word? Mar. Name it. Dum. Faire Ladie: Mar. Say you so? Faire Lord:Take you that for your faire Lady. Du. Please it you,As much in priuate, and Ile bid adieu. Mar. What, was your vizard made without a tong? Long. I know the reason Ladie why you aske. Mar. O for your reason, quickly sir, I long. Long. You haue a double tongue within your mask,And would affoord my speechlesse vizard halfe. Mar. Veale quoth the Dutch-man: is not Veale aCalfe? Long. A Calfe faire Ladie? Mar. No, a faire Lord Calfe. Long. Let's part the word. Mar. No, Ile not be your halfe:Take all and weane it, it may proue an Oxe. Long. Looke how you but your selfe in these sharpemockes.Will you giue hornes chast Ladie? Do not so. Mar. Then die a Calfe before your horns do grow. Lon. One word in priuate with you ere I die. Mar. Bleat softly then, the Butcher heares you cry. Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are as keenAs is the Razors edge, inuisible:Cutting a smaller haire then may be seene,Aboue the sense of sence so sensible:Seemeth their conference, their conceits haue wings,Fleeter then arrows, bullets wind, thoght, swifter things Rosa. Not one word more my maides, breake off,breake off. Ber. By heauen, all drie beaten with pure scoffe. King. Farewell madde Wenches, you haue simplewits. Exeunt. Qu. Twentie adieus my frozen Muscouits.Are these the breed of wits so wondred at? Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweete breathespuft out. Rosa. Wel-liking wits they haue, grosse, grosse, fat, fat. Qu. O pouertie in wit, Kingly poore flout.Will they not (thinke you) hang themselues to night?Or euer but in vizards shew their faces:This pert Berowne was out of count'nance quite. Rosa. They were all in lamentable cases.The King was weeping ripe for a good word. Qu. Berowne did sweare himselfe out of all suite. Mar. Dumaine was at my seruice, and his sword:No point (quoth I:) my seruant straight was mute. Ka. Lord Longauill said I came ore his hart:And trow you what he call'd me? Qu. Qualme perhaps. Kat. Yes in good faith. Qu. Go sicknesse as thou art. Ros. Well, better wits haue worne plain statute caps,But will you heare; the King is my loue sworne. Qu. And quicke Berowne hath plighted faith to me. Kat. And Longauill was for my seruice borne. Mar. Dumaine is mine as sure as barke on tree. Boyet. Madam, and prettie mistresses giue eare,Immediately they will againe be heereIn their owne shapes: for it can neuer be,They will digest this harsh indignitie. Qu. Will they returne? Boy. They will they will, God knowes,And leape for ioy, though they are lame with blowes:Therefore change Fauours, and when they repaire,Blow like sweet Roses, in this summer aire. Qu. How blow? how blow? Speake to bee vnder-stood. Boy. Faire Ladies maskt, are Roses in their bud:Dismaskt, their damaske sweet commixture showne,Are Angels vailing clouds, or Roses blowne. Qu. Auant perplexitie: What shall we do,If they returne in their owne shapes to wo? Rosa. Good Madam, if by me you'l be aduis'd.Let's mocke them still as well knowne as disguis'd:Let vs complaine to them what fooles were heare,Disguis'd like Muscouites in shapelesse geare:And wonder what they were, and to what endTheir shallow showes, and Prologue vildely pen'd:And their rough carriage so ridiculous,Should be presented at our Tent to vs. Boyet. Ladies, withdraw: the gallants are at hand. Quee. Whip to our Tents, as Roes runnes ore Land. Exeunt. Enter the King and the rest. King. Faire sir, God saue you. Wher's the Princesse? Boy. Gone to her Tent.Please it your Maiestie command me any seruice to her? King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one word. Boy. I will, and so will she, I know my Lord. Exit. Ber. This fellow pickes vp wit as Pigeons pease,And vtters it againe, when Ioue doth please.He is Wits Pedler, and retailes his Wares,At Wakes, and Wassels, Meetings, Markets, Faires.And we that sell by grosse, the Lord doth know,Haue not the grace to grace it with such show.This Gallant pins the Wenches on his sleeue.Had he bin Adam, he had tempted Eue. He can carue too, and lispe: Why this is he,That kist away his hand in courtesie.This is the Ape of Forme, Monsieur the nice,That when he plaies at Tables, chides the DiceIn honorable tearmes: Nay he can singA meane most meanly, and in VsheringMend him who can: the Ladies call him sweete.The staires as he treads on them kisse his feete.This is the flower that smiles on euerie one,To shew his teeth as white as Whales bone.And consciences that wil not die in debt,Pay him the dutie of honie-tongued Boyet. King. A blister on his sweet tongue with my hart,That put Armathoes Page out of his part. Enter the Ladies. Ber. See where it comes. Behauiour what wer't thou,Till this madman shew'd thee? And what art thou now? King. All haile sweet Madame, and faire time of day. Qu. Faire in all Haile is foule, as I conceiue. King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. Qu. Then wish me better, I wil giue you leaue. King. We came to visit you, and purpose nowTo leade you to our Court, vouchsafe it then. Qu. This field shal hold me, and so hold your vow:Nor God, nor I, delights in periur'd men. King. Rebuke me not for that which you prouoke: The vertue of your eie must breake my oth. Q. You nickname vertue: vice you should haue spoke:For vertues office neuer breakes men troth.Now by my maiden honor, yet as pureAs the vnsallied Lilly, I protest,A world of torments though I should endure,I would not yeeld to be your houses guest:So much I hate a breaking cause to beOf heauenly oaths, vow'd with integritie. Kin. O you haue liu'd in desolation heere,Vnseene, vnuisited, much to our shame. Qu. Not so my Lord, it is not so I sweare,We haue had pastimes heere, and pleasant game,A messe of Russians left vs but of late. Kin. How Madam? Russians? Qu. I in truth, my Lord.Trim gallants, full of Courtship and of state. Rosa. Madam speake true. It is not so my Lord:My Ladie (to the manner of the daies)In curtesie giues vndeseruing praise.We foure indeed confronted were with foureIn Russia habit: Heere they stayed an houre,And talk'd apace: and in that houre (my Lord)They did not blesse vs with one happy word.I dare not call them fooles; but this I thinke,When they are thirstie, fooles would faine haue drinke. Ber. This iest is drie to me. Gentle sweete,Your wits makes wise things foolish when we greeteWith eies best seeing, heauens fierie eie:By light we loose light; your capacitieIs of that nature, that to your huge stoore,Wise things seeme foolish, and rich things but poore. Ros. This proues you wise and rich: for in my eie Ber. I am a foole, and full of pouertie. Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong,It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. Ber. O, I am yours, and all that I possesse. Ros. All the foole mine. Ber. I cannot giue you lesse. Ros. Which of the Vizards what it that you wore? Ber. Where? when? What Vizard?Why demand you this? Ros. There, then, that vizard, that superfluous case,That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face. Kin. We are discried,They'l mocke vs now downeright. Du. Let vs confesse, and turne it to a iest. Que. Amaz'd my Lord? Why lookes your Highnessadde? Rosa. Helpe hold his browes, hee'l sound: why lookeyou pale?Sea-sicke I thinke comming from Muscouie. Ber. Thus poure the stars down plagues for periury.Can any face of brasse hold longer out?Heere stand I, Ladie dart thy skill at me,Bruise me with scorne, confound me with a flout.Thrust thy sharpe wit quite through my ignorance.Cut me to peeces with thy keene conceit:And I will wish thee neuer more to dance,Nor neuer more in Russian habit waite.O! neuer will I trust to speeches pen'd,Nor to the motion of a Schoole-boies tongue.Nor neuer come in vizard to my friend,Nor woo in rime like a blind-harpers songue,Taffata phrases, silken tearmes precise,Three-pil'd Hyperboles, spruce affection;Figures pedanticall, these summer flies,Haue blowne me full of maggot ostentation.I do forsweare them, and I heere protest,By this white Gloue (how white the hand God knows)Henceforth my woing minde shall be exprestIn russet yeas, and honest kersie noes.And to begin Wench, so God helpe me law,My loue to thee is sound, sans cracke or flaw, Rosa. Sans, sans, I pray you. Ber. Yet I haue a trickeOf the old rage: beare with me, I am sicke.Ile leaue it by degrees: soft, let vs see,Write Lord haue mercie on vs, on those three,They are infected, in their hearts it lies:They haue the plague, and caught it of your eyes:These Lords are visited, you are not free:For the Lords tokens on you do I see. Qu. No, they are free that gaue these tokens to vs. Ber. Our states are forfeit, seeke not to vndo vs. Ros. It is not so; for how can this be true,That you stand forfeit, being those that sue. Ber. Peace, for I will not haue to do with you. Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. Ber. Speake for your selues, my wit is at an end. King. Teach vs sweete Madame, for our rude trans-gression, some faire excuse. Qu. The fairest is confession.Were you not heere but euen now, disguis'd? Kin. Madam, I was. Qu. And were you well aduis'd? Kin. I was faire Madam. Qu. When you then were heere,What did you whisper in your Ladies eare? King. That more then all the world I did respect her Qu. When shee shall challenge this, you will reiecther. King. Vpon mine Honor no. Qu. Peace, peace, forbeare:Your oath once broke, you force not to forsweare. King. Despise me when I breake this oath of mine. Qu. I will, and therefore keepe it. Rosaline, What did the Russian whisper in your eare? Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me deareAs precious eye-sight, and did value meAboue this World: adding thereto moreouer,That he would Wed me, or else die my Louer. Qu. God giue thee ioy of him: the Noble LordMost honorably doth vphold his word. King. What meane you Madame?By my life, my trothI neuer swore this Ladie such an oth. Ros. By heauen you did; and to confirme it plaine,You gaue me this: But take it sir againe. King. My faith and this, the Princesse I did giue,I knew her by this Iewell on her sleeue. Qu. Pardon me sir, this Iewell did she weare.And Lord Berowne (I thanke him) is my deare.What? Will you haue me, or your Pearle againe? Ber. Neither of either, I remit both twaine.I see the tricke on't: Heere was a consent,Knowing aforehand of our merriment,To dash it like a Christmas Comedie.Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight Zanie,Some mumble-newes, some trencher-knight, som DickThat smiles his cheeke in yeares, and knowes the trickTo make my Lady laugh, when she's dispos'd; Told our intents before: which once disclos'd,The Ladies did change Fauours; and then weFollowing the signes, woo'd but the signe of she.Now to our periurie, to adde more terror,We are againe forsworne in will and error.Much vpon this tis: and might not youForestall our sport, to make vs thus vntrue?Do not you know my Ladies foot by'th squier?And laugh vpon the apple of her eie?And stand betweene her backe sir, and the fire,Holding a trencher, iesting merrilie?You put our Page out: go, you are alowd.Die when you will, a smocke shall be your shrowd.You leere vpon me, do you? There's an eieWounds like a Leaden sword. Boy. Full merrily hath this braue manager, this car-reere bene run. Ber. Loe, he is tilting straight. Peace, I haue don. Enter Clowne. Welcome pure wit, thou part'st a faire fray. Clo. O Lord sir, they would kno,Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. Ber. What, are there but three? Clo. No sir, but it is vara fine,For euerie one pursents three. Ber. And three times thrice is nine. Clo. Not so sir, vnder correction sir, I hope it is not so.You cannot beg vs sir, I can assure you sir, we know whatwe know: I hope sir three times thrice sir. Ber. Is not nine. Clo. Vnder correction sir, wee know where-vntill itdoth amount. Ber. By Ioue, I alwaies tooke three threes for nine. Clow. O Lord sir, it were pittie you should get yourliuing by reckning sir. Ber. How much is it? Clo. O Lord sir, the parties themselues, the actors sirwill shew where-vntill it doth amount: for mine ownepart, I am (as they say, but to perfect one man in onepoore man) Pompion the great sir. Ber. Art thou one of the Worthies? Clo. It pleased them to thinke me worthie of Pompey the great: for mine owne part, I know not the degree ofthe Worthie, but I am to stand for him. Ber. Go, bid them prepare. Exit. Clo. We will turne it finely off sir, we wil take somecare. King. Berowne, they will shame vs:Let them not approach. Ber. We are shame-proofe my Lord: and 'tis somepolicie, to haue one shew worse then the Kings and hiscompanie. Kin. I say they shall not come. Qu. Nay my good Lord, let me ore-rule you now;That sport best pleases, that doth least know how.Where Zeale striues to content, and the contentsDies in the Zeale of that which it presents:Their forme confounded, makes most forme in mirth,When great things labouring perish in their birth. Ber. A right description of our sport my Lord. Enter Braggart. Brag. Annointed, I implore so much expence of thyroyall sweet breath, as will vtter a brace of words. Qu. Doth this man serue God? Ber. Why aske you? Qu. He speak's not like a man of God's making. Brag. That's all one my faire sweet honie Monarch:For I protest, the Schoolmaster is exceeding fantasticall:Too too vaine, too too vaine. But we wil put it (as theysay) to Fortuna delaguar, I wish you the peace of mindemost royall cupplement. King. Here is like to be a good presence of Worthies;He presents Hector of Troy, the Swaine Pompey  the great,the Parish Curate Alexander, Armadoes Page Hercules, the Pedant Iudas Machabeus: and if these foure Wor-thies in their first shew thriue, these foure will changehabites, and present the other fiue. Ber. There is fiue in the first shew. Kin. You are deceiued, tis not so. Ber. The Pedant, the Braggart, the Hedge-Priest, theFoole, and the Boy,Abate throw at Novum, and the whole world againe,Cannot pricke out fiue such, take each one in's vaine. Kin. The ship is vnder saile, and here she coms amain. Enter Pompey. Clo. I Pompey am. Ber. You lie, you are not he. Clo. I Pompey am. Boy. With Libbards head on knee. Ber. Well said old mocker,I must needs be friends with thee. Clo. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'd the big. Du. The great. Clo. It is great sir: Pompey surnam'd the great:That oft in field, with Targe and Shield,did make my foe to sweat: And trauailing along this coast, I heere am come by chance,And lay my Armes before the legs of this sweet Lasse ofFrance. If your Ladiship would say thankes Pompey, I had done. La. Great thankes great Pompey. Clo. Tis not so much worth: but I hope I was per-fect. I made a little fault in great. Ber. My hat to a halfe-penie, Pompey prooues thebest Worthie. Enter Curate for Alexander. Curat. When in the world I liu'd, I was the worldes Com-mander: By East, West, North, & South, I spred my conquering might My Scutcheon plaine declares that I am Alisander. Boiet. Your nose saies no, you are not:For it stands too right. Ber. Your nose smells no, in this most tender smel-ling Knight. Qu. The Conqueror is dismaid:Proceede good Alexander. Cur. When in the world I liued, I was the worldes Com-mander. Boiet. Most true, 'tis right; you were so Alisander. Ber. Pompey the great. Clo. your seruant and Costard. Ber. Take away the Conqueror, take away Alisander Clo. O sir, you haue ouerthrowne Alisander the con-queror: you will be scrap'd out of the painted cloth for this: your Lion that holds his Pollax sitting on a closestoole, will be giuen to Aiax. He will be the ninth wor-thie. A Conqueror, and affraid to speake? Runne awayfor shame Alisander. There an't shall please you: a foo-lish milde man, an honest man, looke you, & soon dasht.He is a maruellous good neighbour insooth, and a veriegood Bowler: but for Alisander, alas you see, how 'tis alittle ore-parted. But there are Worthies a comming,will speake their minde in some other sort. Exit Cu. Qu. Stand aside good Pompey. Enter Pedant for Iudas, and the Boy for Hercules. Ped. Great Hercules is presented by this Impe,Whose Club kil'd Cerberus that three-headed Canus, And when he was a babe, a childe, a shrimpe,Thus did he strangle Serpents in his Manus:Quoniam, he seemeth in minoritie, Ergo, I come with this Apologie.Keepe some state in thy exit, and vanish. Exit Boy Ped. Iudas I am. Dum. A Iudas? Ped. Not Iscariot sir.Iudas I am, ycliped Machabeus. Dum. Iudas Machabeus clipt, is plaine Iudas. Ber. A kissing traitor. How art thou prou'd Iudas? Ped. Iudas I am. Dum. The more shame for you Iudas. Ped. What meane you sir? Boi. To make Iudas hang himselfe. Ped. Begin sir, you are my elder. Ber. Well follow'd, Iudas was hang'd on an Elder. Ped. I will not be put out of countenance. Ber. Because thou hast no face. Ped. What is this? Boi. A Citterne head. Dum. The head of a bodkin. Ber. A deaths face in a ring. Lon. The face of an old Roman coine, scarce seene. Boi. The pummell of Caesars Faulchion. Dum. The caru'd-bone face on a Flaske. Ber. S[aint]. Georges halfe cheeke in a brooch. Dum. I, and in a brooch of Lead. Ber. I, and worne in the cap of a Tooth-drawer.And now forward, for we haue put thee in countenance Ped. You haue put me out of countenance. Ber. False, we haue giuen thee faces. Ped. But you haue out-fac'd them all. Ber. And thou wer't a Lion, we would do so. Boy. Therefore as he is, an Asse, let him go:And so adieu sweet Iude. Nay, why dost thou stay? Dum. For the latter end of his name. Ber. For the Asse to the Iude: giue it him. Iud-as a-way. Ped. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. Boy. A light for monsieur Iudas, it growes darke, hemay stumble. Que. Alas poore Machabeus, how hath hee beenebaited. Enter Braggart. Ber. Hide thy head Achilles, heere comes Hector inArmes. Dum. Though my mockes come home by me, I willnow be merrie. King. Hector was but a Troyan in respect of this. Boi. But is this Hector? Kin. I thinke Hector was not so cleane timber'd. Lon. His legge is too big for Hector. Dum. More Calfe certaine. Boi. No, he is best indued in the small. Ber. This cannot be Hector. Dum. He's a God or a Painter, for he makes faces. Brag. The Armipotent Mars, of Launces the almighty,gaue Hector a gift. Dum. A gilt Nutmegge. Ber. A Lemmon. Lon. Stucke with Cloues. Dum. No clouen. Brag. The Armipotent Mars of Launces the almighty,Gaue Hector a gift, the heire of Illion;A man so breathed, that certaine he would fight: yeaFrom morne till night, out of his Pauillion. I am that Flower. Dum. That Mint. Long. That Cullambine. Brag. Sweet Lord Longauill reine thy tongue. Lon. I must rather giue it the reine: for it runnes a-gainst Hector. Dum. I, and Hector's a Grey-hound. Brag. The sweet War-man is dead and rotten,Sweet chuckes, beat not the bones of the buried:But I will forward with my deuice;Sweete Royaltie bestow on me the sence of hearing. Berowne steppes forth. Qu. Speake braue Hector, we are much delighted. Brag. i do adore thy sweet Graces slipper. Boy. Loues her by the foot. Dum. He may not by the yard. Brag. This Hector farre surmounted Hanniball.The partie is gone. Clo. Fellow Hector, she is gone; she is two monethson her way. Brag. What meanest thou? Clo. Faith vnlesse you play the honest Troyan, thepoore Wench is cast away: she's quick, the child bragsin her belly alreadie: tis yours. Brag. Dost thou infamonize me among Potentates?Thou shalt die. Clo. Then shall Hector be whipt for Iaquenetta thatis quicke by him, and hang'd for Pompey, that is dead byhim. Dum. Most rare Pompey. Boi. Renowned Pompey. Ber. Greater then great, great, great, great Pompey:Pompey the huge. Dum. Hector trembles. Ber. Pompey is moued, more Atees more Atees stirrethem, or stirre them on. Dum. Hector will challenge him. Ber. I, if a'haue no more mans blood in's belly, thenwill sup a Flea. Brag. By the North-pole I do challenge thee. Clo. I wil not fight with a pole like a Northern man;Ile slash, Ile do it by the sword: I pray you let mee bor-row my Armes againe. Dum. Roome for the incensed Worthies. Clo. Ile do it in my shirt. Dum. Most resolute Pompey. Page. Master, let me take you a button hole lower:Do you not see Pompey is vncasing for the combat: what meane you? you will lose your reputation. Brag. Gentlemen and Souldiers pardon me, I willnot combat in my shirt. Du. You may not denie it, Pompey hath made thechallenge. Brag. Sweet bloods, I both may, and will. Ber. What reason haue you for't? Brag. The naked truth of it is, I haue no shirt,I go woolward for penance. Boy. True, and it was inioyned him in Rome for wantof Linnen: since when, Ile be sworne he wore none, buta dishclout of Iaquenettas, and that hee weares next hisheart for a fauour. Enter a Messenger, Monsieur Marcade. Mar. God saue you Madame. Qu. Welcome Marcade, but that thou interruptestour merriment. Marc. I am sorrie Madam, for the newes I bring isheauie in my tongue. The King your father Qu. Dead for my life. Mar. Euen so: My tale is told. Ber. Worthies away, the Scene begins to cloud. Brag. For mine owne part, I breath free breath: Ihaue seene the day of wrong, through the little hole ofdiscretion, and I will right my selfe like a Souldier. Exeunt Worthies Kin. How fare's your Maiestie? Qu. Boyet prepare, I will away to night. Kin. Madame not so, I do beseech you stay. Qu. Prepare I say. I thanke you gracious LordsFor all your faire endeuours and entreats:Out of a new sad-soule, that you vouchsafe,In your rich wisedome to excuse, or hide,The liberall opposition of our spirits,If ouer-boldly we haue borne our selues,In the conuerse of breath (your gentlenesseWas guiltie of it.) Farewell worthie Lord:A heauie heart beares not a humble tongue.Excuse me so, comming so short of thankes,For my great suite, so easily obtain'd. Kin. The extreme parts of time, extremelie formesAll causes to the purpose of his speed:And often at his verie loose decidesThat, which long processe could not arbitrate.And though the mourning brow of progenieForbid the smiling curtesie of Loue:The holy suite which faine it would conuince,Yet since loues argument was first on foote,Let not the cloud of sorrow iustle itFrom what it purpos'd: since to waile friends lost,Is not by much so wholsome profitable,As to reioyce at friends but newly found. Qu. I vnderstand you not, my greefes are double. Ber. Honest plain words, best pierce the ears of griefeAnd by these badges vnderstand the King,For your faire sakes haue we neglected time,Plaid foule play with our oaths: your beautie LadiesHath much deformed vs, fashioning our humorsEuen to the opposed end of our intents.And what in vs hath seem'd ridiculous:As Loue is full of vnbefitting straines,All wanton as a childe, skipping and vaine.Form'd by the eie, and therefore like the eie.Full of straying shapes, of habits, and of formesVarying in subiects as the eie doth roule,To euerie varied obiect in his glance:Which partie-coated presence of loose louePut on by vs, if in your heauenly eies,Haue misbecom'd our oathes and grauities.Those heauenlie eies that looke into these faults,Suggested vs to make: therefore LadiesOur loue being yours, the error that Loue makesIs likewise yours. We to our selues proue false,By being once false, for euer to be trueTo those that make vs both, faire Ladies you.And euen that falshood in it selfe a sinne,Thus purifies it selfe, and turnes to grace. Qu. We haue receiu'd your Letters, full of Loue:Your Fauours, the Ambassadors of Loue.And in our maiden counsaile rated them,At courtship, pleasant iest, and curtesie,As bumbast and as lining to the time:But more deuout then these are our respectsHaue we not bene, and therefore met your louesIn their owne fashion, like a merriment. Du. Our letters Madam, shew'd much more then iest. Lon. So did our lookes. Rosa. We did not coat them so. Kin. Now at the latest minute of the houre,Grant vs your loues. Qu. A time me thinkes too short,To make a world-without-end bargaine in:No, no my Lord, your Grace is periur'd much,Full of deare guiltinesse, and therefore this:If for my Loue (as there is no such cause)You will do ought, this shall you do for me.Your oth I will not trust: but go with speedTo some forlorne and naked Hermitage,Remote from all the pleasures of the world:There stay, vntill the twelue Celestiall SignesHaue brought about their annuall reckoning.If this austere insociable life,Change not your offer made in heate of blood:If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weedsNip not the gaudie blossomes of your Loue,But that it beare this triall, and last loue:Then at the expiration of the yeare,Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,And by this Virgin palme, now kissing thine,I will be thine: and till that instant shutMy wofull selfe vp in a mourning house,Raining the teares of lamentation,For the remembrance of my Fathers death.If this thou do denie, let our hands part,Neither intitled in the others hart. Kin. If this, or more then this, I would denie,To flatter vp these powers of mine with rest,The sodaine hand of death close vp mine eie.Hence euer then, my heart is in thy brest. Ber. And what to me my Loue? and what to me? Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rack'd.You are attaint with faults and periurie:Therefore if you my fauor meane to get,A tweluemonth shall you spend, and neuer rest,But seeke the wearie beds of people sicke. Du. But what to me my loue? but what to me? Kat. A wife? a beard, faire health, and honestie,With three-fold loue, I wish you all these three. Du. O shall I say, I thanke you gentle wife? Kat. Not so my Lord, a tweluemonth and a day, Ile marke no words that smoothfac'd wooers say.Come when the King doth to my Ladie come:Then if I haue much loue, Ile giue you some. Dum. Ile serue thee true and faithfully till then. Kath. Yet sweare not, least ye be forsworne agen. Lon. What saies Maria? Mari. At the tweluemonths end,Ile change my blacke Gowne, for a faithfull friend. Lon. Ile stay with patience: but the time is long. Mari. The liker you, few taller are so yong. Ber. Studies my Ladie? Mistresse, looke on me,Behold the window of my heart, mine eie:What humble suite attends thy answer there,Impose some seruice on me for my loue. Ros. Oft haue I heard of you my Lord Berowne, Before I saw you: and the worlds large tongueProclaimes you for a man repleate with mockes,Full of comparisons, and wounding floutes:Which you on all estates will execute,That lie within the mercie of your wit.To weed this Wormewood from your fruitfull braine,And therewithall to win me, if you please,Without the which I am not to be won:You shall this tweluemonth terme from day to day,Visit the speechlesse sicke, and still conuerseWith groaning wretches: and your taske shall be,With all the fierce endeuour of your wit,To enforce the pained impotent to smile. Ber. To moue wilde laughter in the throate of death?It cannot be, it is impossible.Mirth cannot moue a soule in agonie. Ros. Why that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,Which shallow laughing hearers giue to fooles:A iests prosperitie, lies in the eareOf him that heares it, neuer in the tongueOf him that makes it: then, if sickly eares,Deaft with the clamors of their owne deare grones,Will heare your idle scornes; continue then,And I will haue you, and that fault withall.But if they will not, throw away that spirit,And I shal finde you emptie of that fault,Right ioyfull of your reformation. Ber. A tweluemonth? Well: befall what will befall,Ile iest a tweluemonth in an Hospitall. Qu. I sweet my Lord, and so I take my leaue. King. No Madam, we will bring you on your way. Ber. Our woing doth not end like an old Play:Iacke hath not Gill: these Ladies courtesieMight wel haue made our sport a Comedie. Kin. Come sir, it wants a tweluemonth and a day,And then 'twil end. Ber. That's too long for a play. Enter Braggart. Brag. Sweet Maiesty vouchsafe me. Qu. Was not that Hector? Dum. The worthie Knight of Troy. Brag. I wil kisse thy royal finger, and take leaue.I am a Votarie, I haue vow'd to Iaquenetta to holde thePlough for her sweet loue three yeares. But most estee-med greatnesse, wil you heare the Dialogue that the twoLearned men haue compiled, in praise of the Owle andthe Cuckow? It should haue followed in the end of ourshew. Kin. Call them forth quickely, we will do so. Brag. Holla, Approach. Enter all. This side is Hiems, Winter.This Ver, the Spring: the one maintained by the Owle,Th' other by the Cuckow. Ver, begin. The Song. When Dasies pied, and Violets blew,And Cuckow-buds of yellow hew:And Ladie-smockes all siluer white,Do paint the Medowes with delight.The Cuckow then on euerie tree,Mockes married men, for thus sings he,Cuckow.Cuckow, Cuckow: O word of feare,Vnpleasing to a married eare.When Shepheards pipe on Oaten strawes,And merrie Larkes are Ploughmens clockes:When Turtles tread, and Rookes and Dawes,And Maidens bleach their summer smockes:The Cuckow then on euerie treeMockes married men; for thus sings he,Cuckow.Cuckow, Cuckow: O word of feare,Vnpleasing to a married eare. Winter. When Isicles hang by the wall,And Dicke the Shepheard blowes his naile;And Tom beares Logges into the hall,And Milke comes frozen home in paile:When blood is nipt, and waies be fowle,Then nightly sings the staring OwleTu-whit to-who. A merrie note,While greasie Ione doth keele the pot.When all aloud the winde doth blow,And coffing drownes the Parsons saw:And birds sit brooding in the snow,And Marrians nose lookes red and raw:When roasted Crabs hisse in the bowle,Then nightly sings the staring Owle,Tu-whit to-who: A merrie note,While greasie Ione doth keele the pot. Brag. The Words of Mercurie,Are harsh after the songs of Apollo:You that way; we this way. Exeunt omnes.
FINIS. A MIDSOMMER Nights Dreame.
Actus primus. Enter Theseus, Hippolita, with others. Theseus. Now faire Hippolita, our nuptiall houreDrawes on apace: foure happy daies bring inAnother Moon: but oh, me thinkes, how slowThis old Moon wanes; She lingers my desiresLike to a Step-dame, or a Dowager,Long withering out a yong mans reuennew. Hip. Foure daies wil quickly steep the[m]selues in nightsFoure nights wil quickly dreame away the time:And then the Moone, like to a siluer bow,Now bent in heauen, shal behold the nightOf our solemnities. The. Go Philostrate, Stirre vp the Athenian youth to merriments,Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth,Turne melancholy forth to Funerals:The pale companion is not for our pompe,Hippolita, I woo'd thee with my sword,And wonne thy loue, doing thee iniuries:But I will wed thee in another key,With pompe, with triumph, and with reuelling. Enter Egeus and his daughter Hermia, Lysander,and Demetrius. Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned Duke. The. Thanks good Egeus: what's the news with thee? Ege. Full of vexation, come I, with complaintAgainst my childe, my daughter Hermia. Stand forth Demetrius. My Noble Lord,This man hath my consent to marrie her. Stand forth Lysander. And my gracious Duke,This man hath bewitch'd the bosome of my childe:Thou, thou Lysander, thou hast giuen her rimes,And interchang'd loue-tokens with my childe:Thou hast by Moone-light at her window sung,With faining voice, verses of faining loue,And stolne the impression of her fantasie,With bracelets of thy haire, rings, gawdes, conceits,Knackes, trifles, Nose-gaies, sweet meats (messengersOf strong preuailment in vnhardned youth)With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughters heart,Turn'd her obedience (which is due to me)To stubborne harshnesse. And my gracious Duke,Be it so she will not heere before your Grace,Consent to marrie with Demetrius, I beg the ancient priuiledge 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 prouided in that case. The. What say you Hermia? be aduis'd faire Maide,To you your Father should be as a God;One that compos'd your beauties; yea and oneTo whom you are but as a forme in waxeBy him imprinted: and within his power,To leaue the figure, or disfigure it: Demetrius is a worthy Gentleman. Her. So is Lysander. The. In himselfe he is.But in this kinde, wanting your fathers voyce,The other must be held the worthier. Her. I would my father look'd but with my eyes. The. Rather your eies must with his iudgment looke. Her. I do entreat your Grace to pardon me.I know not by what power I am made bold,Nor how it may concerne my modestieIn such a presence heere to pleade my thoughts:But I beseech your Grace, that I may knowThe worst that may befall me in this case,If I refuse to wed Demetrius. The. Either to dye the death, or to abiureFor euer the society of men.Therefore faire Hermia question your desires,Know of your youth, examine well your blood,Whether (if you yeeld not to your fathers choice)You can endure the liuerie of a Nunne,For aye to be in shady Cloister mew'd,To liue a barren sister all your life,Chanting faint hymnes to the cold fruitlesse Moone,Thrice blessed they that master so their blood,To vndergo such maiden pilgrimage,But earthlier happie is the Rose distil'd,Then that which withering on the virgin thorne,Growes, liues, and dies, in single blessednesse. Her. So will I grow, so liue, so die my Lord,Ere I will yeeld my virgin Patent vpVnto his Lordship, whose vnwished yoake,My soule consents not to giue soueraignty. The. Take time to pause, and by the next new MoonThe sealing day betwixt my loue and me,For euerlasting bond of fellowship:Vpon that day either prepare to dye,For disobedience to your fathers will,Or else to wed Demetrius as hee would,Or on Dianaes Altar to protestFor aie, austerity, and single life. Dem. Relent sweet Hermia, and Lysander, yeeldeThy crazed title to my certaine right. Lys. You haue her fathers loue, Demetrius: Let me haue Hermiaes: do you marry him. Egeus. Scornfull Lysander, true, he hath my Loue;And what is mine, my loue shall render him.And she is mine, and all my right of her,I do estate vnto Demetrius. Lys. I am my Lord, as well deriu'd as he,As well possest: my loue is more then his:My fortunes euery way as fairely ranck'd(If not with vantage) as Demetrius: And (which is more then all these boasts can be)I am belou'd of beauteous Hermia. Why should not I then prosecute my right? Demetrius, Ile auouch it to his head,Made loue to Nedars daughter, Helena, And won her soule: and she (sweet Ladie) dotes,Deuoutly dotes, dotes in Idolatry,Vpon this spotted and inconstant man. The. I must confesse, that I haue heard so much,And with Demetrius thought to haue spoke thereof:But being ouer-full of selfe-affaires,My minde did lose it. But Demetrius come,And come Egeus, you shall go with me,I haue some priuate schooling for you both.For you faire Hermia, looke you arme your selfe,To fit your fancies to your Fathers will;Or else the Law of Athens yeelds you vp(Which by no meanes we may extenuate)To death, or to a vow of single life.Come my Hippolita, what cheare my loue? Demetrius and Egeus go along:I must imploy you in some businesseAgainst our nuptiall, and conferre with youOf something, neerely that concernes your selues. Ege. With dutie and desire we follow you. Exeunt Manet Lysander and Hermia. Lys. How now my loue? Why is your cheek so pale?How chance the Roses there do fade so fast? Her. Belike for want of raine, which I could wellBeteeme them, from the tempest of mine eyes. Lys. For ought that euer I could reade,Could euer heare by tale or historie,The course of true loue neuer did run smooth,But either it was different in blood. Her. O crosse! too high to be enthral'd to loue. Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of yeares. Her. O spight! too old to be ingag'd to yong. Lys. Or else it stood vpon the choise of merit. Her. O hell! to choose loue by anothers eie. Lys. Or if there were a simpathie in choise,Warre, death, or sicknesse, did lay siege to it;Making it momentarie, as a sound:Swift as a shadow, short as any dreame,Briefe as the lightning in the collied night,That (in a spleene) vnfolds both heauen and earth;And ere a man hath power to say, behold,The iawes of darkness do deuoure it vp:So quicke bright things come to confusion. Her. If then true Louers haue beene euer crost,It stands as an edict in destinie:Then let vs teach our triall patience,Because it is a customarie crosse,As due to loue, as thoughts, and dreames, and sighes,Wishes and teares; poore Fancies followers. Lys. A good perswasion; therefore heare me Hermia, I haue a Widdow Aunt, a dowager,Of great reuennew, and she hath no childe,From Athens is her house remou'd seuen leagues,And she respects me, as her onely sonne:There gentle Hermia, may I marrie thee,And to that place, the sharpe Athenian LawCannot pursue vs. If thou lou'st me, thenSteale forth thy Fathers house to morrow night:And in the wood, a league without the towne,(Where I did meete thee once with Helena. To do obseruance for a morne of May)There will I stay for thee. Her. My good Lysander, I sweare to thee, by Cupids strongest bow,By his best arrow with the golden head,By the simplicitie of Venus Doues,By that which knitteth soules, and prospers loue,And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage Queene,When the false Troyan vnder saile was seene,By all the vowes that euer men haue broke,(In number more then euer women spoke)In that same place thou hast appointed me,To morrow truly will I meete with thee. Lys. Keepe promise loue: looke here comes Helena. Enter Helena. Her. God speede faire Helena, whither away? Hel. Cal you me faire? that faire againe vnsay, Demetrius loues you faire: O happie faire!Your eyes are loadstarres, and your tongues sweete ayreMore tuneable then Larke to shepheards eare,When wheate is greene, when hauthorne buds appeare,Sicknesse is catching: O were fauor so,Your words I catch, faire Hermia ere I go,My eare should catch your voice, my eye, your eye,My tongue should catch your tongues sweete melodie,Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,The rest Ile giue to be to you translated.O teach me how you looke, and with what art You sway the motion of Demetrius hart. Her. I frowne vpon him, yet he loues me still. Hel. O that your frownes would teach my smilessuch skil. Her. I giue him curses, yet he giues me loue. Hel. O that my prayers could such affection mooue. Her. The more I hate, the more he followes me. Hel. The more I loue, the more he hateth me. Her. His folly Helena is none of mine. Hel. None but your beauty, wold that fault wer mine Her. Take comfort: he no more shall see my face, Lysander and my selfe will flie this place.Before the time I did Lysander see,Seem'd Athens like a Paradise to mee. O then, what graces in my Loue do dwell,That he hath turn'd a heauen into hell. Lys. Helen, to you our mindes we will vnfold,To morrow night, when Phoebe doth beholdHer siluer visage, in the watry glasse,Decking with liquid pearle, the bladed grasse(A time that Louers flights doth still conceale)Through Athens gates, haue we deuis'd to steale. Her. And in the wood, where often you and I,Vpon faint Primrose beds, were wont to lye,Emptying our bosomes, of their counsell sweld:There my Lysander, and my selfe shall meete,And thence from Athens turne away our eyesTo seeke new friends and strange companions,Farwell sweet play-fellow, pray thou for vs,And good lucke grant thee thy Demetrius. Keepe word Lysander we must starue our sight,From louers foode, till morrow deepe midnight. Exit Hermia. Lys. I will my Hermia. Helena adieu,As you on him, Demetrius dotes on you. Exit Lysander. Hele. How happy some, ore othersome can be?Through Athens I am thought as faire as she.But what of that? Demetrius thinkes not so:He will not know, what all, but he doth know,And as hee erres, doting on Hermias eyes;So I, admiring of his qualities:Things base and vilde, holding no quantity,Loue can transpose to forme and dignity,Loue lookes not with the eyes, but with the minde,And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blinde.Nor hath loues minde of any iudgement taste:Wings and no eyes, figure, vnheedy haste.And therefore is Loue said to be a childe,Because in choise he is often beguil'd,As waggish boyes in game themselues forsweare;So the boy Loue is periur'd euery where.For ere Demetrius lookt on Hermias eyne,He hail'd downe oathes that he was onely mine.And when this Haile some heat from Hermia felt,So he dissolu'd, and showres of oathes did melt,I will goe tell him of faire Hermias flight:Then to the wood will he, to morrow nightPursue her; and for his intelligence,If I haue thankes, it is a deere expence:But heerein meane I to enrich my paine,To haue his sight thither, and backe againe. Exit. Enter Quince the Carpenter, Snug the Ioyner, Bottome the Weauer, Flute the bellowes-mender, Snout the Tinker, andStarueling the Taylor. Quin. Is all our company heere? Bot. You were best to call them generally, man byman according to the scrip. Qui. Here is the scrowle of euery mans name, whichis thought fit through all Athens, to play in our Enter-lude before the Duke and the Dutches, on his weddingday at night. Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treatson: then read the names of the Actors: and so grow onto a point. Quin. Marry our play is the most lamentable come-dy, and most cruell death of Pyramus and Thisbie. Bot. A very good peece of worke I assure you, and amerry. Now good Peter Quince, call forth your Actorsby the scrowle. Masters spread your selues. Quince. Answere as I call you. Nick Bottome theWeauer. Bottome. Ready; name what part I am for, andproceed. Quince. You Nicke Bottome are set downe for Py-ramus. Bot. What is Pyramus, a louer, or a tyrant? Quin. A Louer that kills himselfe most gallantly forloue. Bot. That will aske some teares in the true perfor-ming of it: if I do it, let the audience looke to their eies:I will mooue stormes; I will condole in some measure.To the rest yet, my chiefe humour is for a tyrant. I couldplay Ercles rarely, or a part to teare a Cat in, to make allsplit the raging Rocks; and shiuering shocks shall breakthe locks of prison gates, and Phibbus carre shall shinefrom farre, and make and marre the foolish Fates. Thiswas lofty. Now name the rest of the Players. Thisis Ercles vaine, a tyrants vaine: a louer is more condo-ling. Quin. Francis Flute the Bellowes-mender. Flu. Heere Peter Quince. Quin. You must take Thisbie on you. Flut. What is Thisbie, a wandring Knight? Quin. It is the Lady that Pyramus must loue. Flut. Nay faith, let not mee play a woman, I haue abeard comming. Qui. That's all one, you shall play it in a Maske, andyou may speake as small as you will. Bot. And I may hide my face, let me play Thisbie too:Ile speake in a monstrous little voyce; Thisne, Thisne, ah Pyramus my louer deare, thy Thisbie deare, and Ladydeare. Quin. No no, you must play Pyramus, and Flute, you Thisby. Bot. Well, proceed. Qu. Robin Starueling the Taylor. Star. Heere Peter Quince. Quince. Robin Starueling, you must play Thisbies mother? Tom Snowt, the Tinker. Snowt. Heere Peter Quince. Quin. you, Pyramus father; my self, Thisbies father; Snugge the Ioyner, you the Lyons part: and I hope thereis a play fitted. Snug. Haue you the Lions part written? pray you ifbe, giue it me, for I am slow of studie. Quin. You may doe it extemporie, for it is nothingbut roaring. Bot. Let mee play the Lyon too, I will roare that Iwill doe any mans heart good to heare me. I will roare,that I will make the Duke say, Let him roare againe, lethim roare againe. Quin. If you should do it too terribly, you wouldfright the Dutchesse and the Ladies, that they wouldshrike, and that were enough to hang us all. All. That would hang vs euery mothers sonne. Bottome. I graunt you friends, if that you shouldfright the Ladies out of their Wittes, they wouldhaue no more discretion but to hang vs: but I will ag-grauate my voyce so, that I will roare you as gently asany sucking Doue; I will roare and 'twere any Nightin-gale. Quin. You can play no part but Piramus, for Pira-mus is a sweet-fac'd man, a proper man as one shall see ina summers day; a most louely Gentleman-like man, ther-fore you must needs play Piramus. Bot. Well, I will vndertake it. What beard were Ibest to play it in? Quin. Why, what you will. Bot. I will discharge it, in either your straw-colourbeard, your orange tawnie beard, your purple in grainebeard, or your French-crowne colour'd beard, your per-fect yellow. Quin. Some of your French Crownes haue no haireat all, and then you will play bare-fac'd. But masters hereare your parts, and I am to intreat you, request you, anddesire you, to con them by too morrow night: and meetme in the palace wood, a mile without the Towne, byMoone-light, there we will rehearse: for if we meete inthe Citie, we shalbe dog'd with company, and our deui-ses knowne. In the meane time, I wil draw a bil of pro-perties, such as our play wants. I pray you faile me not. Bottom. We will meete, and there we may rehearsemore obscenely and couragiously. Take paines, be per-fect, adieu. Quin. At the Dukes oake we meete. Bot. Enough, hold or cut bow-strings. Exeunt
Actus Secundus. Enter a Fairie at one dore, and Robin good-fellow at another. Rob. How now spirit, whether wander you? Fai. Ouer hil, ouer dale, through bush, through briar,Ouer parke, ouer pale, through flood, through fire,I do wander euerie where, swifter then the Moons sphere;And I serue the Fairy Queene, to dew her orbs vpon the green.The Cowslips tall, her pensioners bee,In their gold coats, spots you see,Those be Rubies, Fairie fauors,In those freckles, liue their sauors,I must go seeke some dew drops heere,And hang a pearle in euery cowslips eare.Farewell thou Lob of spirits, Ile be gon,Our Queene and all her Elues come heere anon. Rob. The King doth keepe his Reuels here to night,Take heed the Queene come not within his sight,For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,Because that she, as her attendant, hathA louely boy stolne from an Indian King,She neuer had so sweet a changeling,And iealous Oberon would haue the childeKnight of his traine, to trace the Forrests wilde.But she (perforce) with-holds the loued boy,Crownes him with flowers, and makes him all her ioy.And now they neuer meete in groue, or greene,By fountaine cleere, or spangled star-light sheene,But they do square, that all their Elues for feareCreepe into Acorne cups and hide them there. Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making quite,Or else you are that shrew'd and knauish spiritCal'd Robin Good-fellow. Are you not hee,That frights the maidens of the Villagree,Skim milke, and sometimes labour in the querne,And bootlesse make the breathlesse huswife cherne,And sometime make the drinke to beare no barme,Misleade night-wanderers, laughing at their harme,Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Pucke,You do their worke, and they shall haue good lucke.Are not you he? Rob. Thou speak'st aright;I am that merrie wanderer of the night:I iest to Oberon, and make him smile,When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,Neighing in likenesse of a silly foale,And sometime lurke I in a Gossips bole,In very likenesse of a roasted crab:And when she drinkes, against her lips I bob,And on her withered dewlop poure the Ale.The wisest Aunt telling the saddest tale,Sometime for three-foot stoole, mistaketh me,Then slip I from her bum, downe topples she,And tailour cries, and fals into a coffe.And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe,And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and sweare,A merrier houre was neuer wasted there.But roome Fairy, heere comes Oberon. Fair. And heere my Mistris:Would that he were gone. Enter the King of Fairies at one doore with his traine,and the Queene at another with hers. Ob. Ill met by Moone-light.Proud Tytania. Qu. What, iealous Oberon? Fairy skip hence.I haue forsworne his bed and companie. Ob. Tarrie rash Wanton; am not I thy Lord? Qu. Then I must be thy Lady: but I knowWhen thou wast stolne away from Fairy Land,And in the shape of Corin, sate all day,Playing on pipes of Corne, and versing loueTo amorous Phillida. Why art thou heereCome from the farthest steepe of India?But that forsooth the bouncing Amazon Your buskin'd Mistresse, and your Warrior loue,To Theseus must be Wedded; and you come,To giue their bed ioy and prosperitie. Ob. How canst thou thus for shame Tytania. Glance at my credite, with Hippolita?Knowing I know thy loue to Theseus?Didst thou not leade him through the glimmering nightFrom Peregenia, whom he rauished?And make him with faire Eagles breake his faithWith Ariadne, and Antiopa? Que. These are the forgeries of iealousie,And neuer since the middle Summers springMet we on hil, in dale, forrest, or mead,By paued fountaine, or by rushie brooke,Or in the beached margent of the sea,To dance our ringlets to the whistling Winde,But with thy braules thou hast disturb'd our sport.Therefore the Windes, piping to vs in vaine,As in reuenge, haue suck'd vp from the seaContagious fogges: Which falling in the Land,Hath euerie petty Riuer made so proud,That they haue ouer-borne their Continents.The Oxe hath therefore stretch'd his yoake in vaine,The Ploughman lost his sweat, and the greene CorneHath rotted, ere his youth attain'd a beard:The fold stands empty in the drowned field,And Crowes are fatted with the murrion flocke, The nine mens Morris is fild vp with mud,And the queint Mazes in the wanton greene,For lacke of tread are vndistinguishable.The humane mortals want their winter heere,No night is now with hymne or caroll blest;Therefore the Moone (the gouernesse of floods)Pale in her anger, washes all the aire;That Rheumaticke diseases doe abound.And through this distemperature, we seeThe seasons alter; hoared headed FrostsFall in the fresh lap of the crimson Rose,And on old Hyems chinne and Icie crowne,An odorous Chaplet of sweet Sommer budsIs as in mockry set. The Spring, the Sommer,The childing Autumne, angry Winter changeTheir wonted Liueries, and the mazed world,By their increase, now knowes not which is which;And this same progeny of euills,Comes from our debate, from our dissention,We are their parents and originall. Ober. Do you amend it then, it lies in you,Why should Titania crosse her Oberon?I do but beg a little changeling boy,To be my Henchman. Qu. Set your heart at rest,The Fairy land buyes not the childe of me,His mother was a Votresse of my Order,And in the spiced Indian aire, by nightFull often hath she gossipt by my side,And sat with me on Neptunes yellow sands,Marking th' embarked traders on the flood,When we haue laught to see the sailes conceiue,And grow big bellied with the wanton winde:Which she with pretty and with swimming gate,Following (her wombe then rich with my yong squire)Would imitate, and saile vpon the Land,To fetch me trifles, and returne againe,As from a voyage, rich with merchandize.But she being mortall, of that boy did die,And for her sake I doe reare vp her boy,And for her sake I will not part with him. Ob. How long within this wood intend you stay? Qu. Perchance till after Theseus wedding day.If you will patiently dance in our Round,And see our Moone-light reuels, goe with vs;If not, shun me and I will spare your haunts. Ob. Giue me that boy, and I will goe with thee. Qu. Not for thy Fairy Kingdome. Fairies away:We shall chide downe right, if I longer stay. Exeunt. Ob. Wel, go thy way: thou shalt not from this groue,Till I torment thee for this iniury.My gentle Pucke come hither; thou remembrestSince once I sat vpon a promontory,And heard a Meare-maide on a Dolphins backe,Vttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,That the rude sea grew ciuill at her song,And certaine starres shot madly from their Spheares,To heare the Sea-maids musicke. Puc. I remember. Ob. That very time I say (but thou couldst not)Flying betweene the cold Moone and the earth, Cupid all arm'd; a certaine aime he tookeAt a faire Vestall, throned by the West,And loos'd his loue-shaft smartly from his bow,As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts,But I might see young Cupids fiery shaftQuencht in the chaste beames of the watry Moone;And the imperiall Votresse passed on,In maiden meditation, fancy free.Yet markt I where the bolt of Cupid fell.It fell vpon a little westerne flower;Before, milke-white: now purple with loues wound,And maidens call it, Loue in idlenesse.Fetch me that flower; the hearb I shew'd thee once,The iuyce of it, on sleeping eye-lids laid,Will make or man or woman madly doteVpon the next liue creature that it sees.Fetch me this hearbe, and be thou heere againe,Ere the Leuiathan can swim a league. Pucke. Ile put a girdle about the earth, in forty mi-nutes. Ober. Hauing once this iuyce,Ile watch Titania, when she is asleepe,And drop the liquor of it in her eyes:The next thing when she waking lookes vpon,(Be it on Lyon, Beare, or Wolfe, or Bull,On medling Monkey, or on busie Ape)Shee shall pursue it, with the soule of loue.And ere I take this charme off from her sight,(As I can take it with another hearbe)Ile make her render vp her Page to me.But who comes heere? I am inuisible,And I will ouer-heare their conference. Enter Demetrius, Helena following him. Deme. I loue thee not, therefore pursue me not,Where is Lysander, and faire Hermia?The one Ile stay, the other stayeth me.Thou toldst me they were stolne into this wood;And heere am I, and wood within this wood,Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted Adamant,But yet you draw not Iron, for my heartIs true as steele. Leaue you your power to draw,And I shall haue no power to follow you. Deme. Do I entice you? do I speake you faire?Or rather doe I not in plainest truth,Tell you I doe not, nor I cannot loue you? Hel. And euen for that doe I loue thee the more;I am your spaniell, and Demetrius, The more you beat me, I will fawne on you.Vse me but as your spaniell; spurne me, strike me,Neglect me, lose me; onely giue me leaue(Vnworthy as I am) to follow you.What worser place can I beg in your loue,(And yet a place of high respect with me)Then to be vsed as you doe your dogge. Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit,For I am sicke when I do looke on thee. Hel. And I am sicke when I looke not on you. Dem. You doe impeach your modesty too much,To leaue the Citty, and commit your selfeInto the hands of one that loues you not,To trust the opportunity of night.And the ill counsell of a desert place,With the rich worth of your virginity. Hel. Your vertue is my priuiledge: for thatIt is not night when I doe see your face.Therefore I thinke I am not in the night,Nor doth this wood lacke worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world.Then how can it be said I am alone,When all the world is heere to looke on me? Dem. Ile run from thee, and hide me in the brakes,And leaue thee to the mercy of wilde beasts. Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you;Runne when you will, the story shall be chang'd: Apollo flies and Daphne holds the chase;The Doue pursues the Griffin, the milde HindeMakes speed to catch the Tyger. Bootlesse speede,When cowardise pursues, and valour flies. Demet. I will not stay thy questions, let me go;Or if thou follow me, doe not beleeue,But I shall doe thee mischiefe in the wood. Hel. I, in the Temple, in the Towne, and FieldYou doe me mischiefe. Fye Demetrius, Your wrongs doe set a scandall on my sexe:We cannot fight for loue, as men may doe;We should be woo'd, and were not made to wooe.I follow thee, and make a heauen of hell,To die vpon the hand I loue so well. Exit. Ob. Fare thee well Nymph, ere he do leaue this groue,Thou shalt flie him, and he shall seeke thy loue.Hast thou the flower there? Welcome wanderer. Enter Pucke. Puck. I there it is. Ob. I pray thee giue it me.I know a banke where the wilde time blowes,Where Oxslips and the nodding Violet growes,Quite ouer-cannoped with luscious woodbine,With sweet muske roses, and with Eglantine;There sleepes Tytania, sometime of the night,Lul'd in these flowers, with dances and delight:And there the snake throwes her enammel'd skinne,Weed wide enough to rap a Fairy in.And with the iuyce of this Ile streake her eyes,And make her full of hatefull fantasies.Take thou some of it, and seek through this groue;A sweet Athenian Lady is in loueWith a disdainefull youth: annoint his eyes,But doe it when the next thing he espies,May be the Lady. Thou shalt know the man,By the Athenian garments he hath on.Effect it with some care, that he may proueMore fond on her, then she vpon her loue;And looke thou meet me ere the first Cocke crow. Pu. Feare not my Lord, your seruant shall do so. Exit. Enter Queene of Fairies, with her traine. Queen. Come, now a Roundell, and a Fairy song;Then for the third part of a minute hence,Some to kill Cankers in the muske rose buds,Some warre with Reremise, for their leathern wings.To make my small Elues coates, and some keepe backeThe clamorous Owle that nightly hoots and wondersAt our queint spirits: Sing me now asleepe,Then to your offices, and let me rest. Fairies Sing. You spotted Snakes with double tongue,Thorny Hedgehogges be not seene,Newts and blinde wormes do no wrong,Come not neere our Fairy Queene.Philomele with melodie,Sing in your sweet Lullaby.Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby,Neuer harme, nor spell, nor charme,Come our louely Lady nye,So good night with Lullaby. 2.Fairy. Weauing Spiders come not heere,Hence you long leg'd Spinners, hence:Beetles blacke approach not neere;Worme nor Snayle doe no offence.Philomele with melody, &c. 1.Fairy. Hence away, now all is well;One aloofe, stand Centinell. Shee sleepes. Enter Oberon. Ober. What thou seest when thou dost wake,Do it for thy true Loue take:Loue and languish for his sake.Be it Ounce, or Catte, or Beare,Pard, or Boare with bristled haire,In thy eye that shall appeare,When thou wak'st, it is thy deare,Wake when some vile thing is neere. Enter Lisander and Hermia. Lis. Faire loue, you faint with wandring in the woods,And to speake troth I haue forgot our way:Wee'll rest vs Hermia, If you thinke it good,And tarry for the comfort of the day. Her. Be it so Lysander; finde you out a bed,For I vpon this banke will rest my head. Lys. One turfe shall serue as pillow for vs both,One heart, one bed, two bosomes, and one troth. Her. Nay good Lysander, for my sake my deereLie further off yet, doe not lie so neere. Lys. O take the sence sweet, of my innocence,Loue takes the meaning, in loues conference,I meane that my heart vnto yours is knit,So that but one heart can you make of it.Two bosomes interchanged with an oath,So then two bosomes, and a single troth.Then by your side, no bed-roome me deny,For lying so, Hermia, I doe not lye. Her. Lysander riddles very prettily;Now much beshrew my manners and my pride,If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied.But gentle friend, for loue and courtesieLie further off, in humane modesty,Such separation, as may well be said,Becomes a vertuous batchelour, and a maide,So farre be distant, and good night sweet friend;Thy loue nere alter, till thy sweet life end. Lys. Amen, amen, to that faire prayer, say I,And then end life, when I end loyalty:Heere is my bed, sleepe giue thee all his rest. Her. With halfe that wish, the wishers eyes be prest. Enter Pucke. They sleepe. Puck. Through the Forest haue I gone,But Athenian finde I none, One whose eyes I might approueThis flowers force in stirring loue.Nigh and silence: who is heere?Weedes of Athens he doth weare:This is he (my master said)Despised the Athenian maide:And heere the maiden sleeping sound, On the danke and durty ground.Pretty soule, she durst not lyeNeere this lacke-loue, this kill-curtesie.Churle, vpon thy eyes I throwAll the power this charme doth owe:When thou wak'st, let loue forbidSleepe his seate on thy eye-lid.So awake when I am gone:For I must now to Oberon. Exit. Enter Demetrius and Helena running. Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweete Demetrius. De. I charge thee hence, and do not haunt me thus. Hel. O wilt thou darkling leaue me? do not so. De. Stay on thy perill, I alone will goe. Exit Demetrius. Hel. O I am out of breath, in this fond chace,The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace,Happy is Hermia, wheresoere she lies;For she hath blessed and attractiue eyes.How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt teares.If so, my eyes are oftner washt then hers.No, no, I am as vgly as a Beare;For beasts that meete me, runne away for feare,Therefore no maruaile, though Demetrius Doe as a monster, flie my presence thus.What wicked and dissembling glasse of mine,Made me compare with Hermias sphery eyne?But who is here? Lysander on the ground;Deade or asleepe? I see no bloud, no wound, Lysander, if you liue, good sir awake. Lys. And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.Transparent Helena, nature her shewes art,That through thy bosome makes me see thy heart.Where is Demetrius? oh how fit a wordIs that vile name, to perish on my sword! Hel. Do not say so Lysander, say not so:What though he loue your Hermia? Lord, what though?Yet Hermia still loues you; then be content. Lys. Content with Hermia? no, I do repentThe tedious minutes I with her haue spent.Not Hermia, but Helena now I loue;Who will not change a Rauen for a Doue?The will of man is by his reason sway'd:And reason saies you are the worthier Maide.Things growing are not ripe vntill their season;So I being yong, till now ripe not to reason,And touching now the point of humane skill,Reason becomes the Marshall to my will.And leades me to your eyes, where I orelookeLoues stories, written in Loues richest booke. Hel. Wherefore was I to this keene mockery borne?When at your hands did I deserue this scorne?Ist not enough, ist not enough, yong man,That I did neuer, no nor neuer can,Deserue a sweete looke from Demetrius eye,But you must flout my insufficiency?Good troth you do me wrong (good-sooth you do)In such disdainfull manner, me to wooe.But fare you well; perforce I must confesse,I thought you Lord of more true gentlenesse.Oh, that a Lady of one man refus'd,Should of another therefore be abus'd. Exit. Lys. She sees not Hermia: Hermia sleepe thou there,And neuer maist thou come Lysander neere;For as a surfeit of the sweetest thingsThe deepest loathing to the stomacke brings:Or as the heresies that men do leaue,Are hated most of those that did deceiue:So thou, my surfeit, and my heresie,Of all be hated; but the most of me;And all my powers addresse your loue and might,To honour Helen, and to be her Knight. Exit. Her. Helpe me Lysander, helpe me; do thy bestTo plucke this crawling serpent from my brest.Aye me, for pitty; what a dreame was here? Lysander looke, how I do quake with feare:Me-thought a serpent eate my heart away,And yet sat smiling at his cruell prey. Lysander, What remoou'd? Lysander, Lord,What, out of hearing, gone? No sound, no word?Alacke where are you? speake and if you heare:Speake of all loues; I sound almost with feare.No, then I well perceiue you are not nye,Either death or you Ile finde immediately. Exit.
Actus Tertius. Enter the Clownes. Bot. Are we all met? Quin. Pat, pat, and here's a maruailous conuenientplace for our rehearsall. This greene plot shall be ourstage, this hauthorne brake our tyring house, and we willdo it in action, as we will do it before the Duke. Bot. Peter Quince? Peter. What saist thou, bully Bottome? Bot. There are things in this Comedy of Piramus and Thisby, that will neuer please. First, Piramus must draw asword to kill himselfe; which the Ladies cannot abide.How answere you that? Snout. Berlaken, a parlous feare. Star. I beleeue we must leaue the killing out, whenall is done. Bot. Not a whit, I haue a deuice to make all well.Write me a Prologue, and let the Prologue seeme to say,we will do no harme with our swords, and that Pyramus is not kill'd indeede: and for the more better assurance,tell them, that I Piramus am not Piramus, but Bottome theWeauer; this will put them out of feare. Quin. Well, we will haue such a Prologue, and it shallbe written in eight and sixe. Bot. No, make it two more, let it be written in eightand eight. Snout. Will not the Ladies be afear'd of the Lyon? Star. I feare it, I promise you. Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your selues, tobring in (God shield vs) a Lyon among Ladies, is a mostdreadfull thing. For there is not a more fearefull wildefoule then your Lyon liuing: and wee ought to looketo it. Snout. Therefore another Prologue must tell he is nota Lyon. Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and halfe his facemust be seene through the Lyons necke, and he himselfemust speake through, saying thus, or to the same defect;Ladies, or faire Ladies, I would wish you, or I would request you, or I would entreat you, not to feare, not totremble: my life for yours. If you thinke I come hitheras a Lyon, it were pitty of my life. No, I am no suchthing, I am a man as other men are; and there indeed lethim name his name, and tell him plainly hee is Snug theioyner. Quin. Well, it shall be so; but there is two hardthings, that is, to bring the Moone-light into a cham-ber: for you know Piramus and Thisby meete by Moone-light. Sn. Doth the Moone shine that night wee play ourplay? Bot. A Calender, a Calender, looke in the Almanack,finde out Moone-shine, finde out Moone-shine. Enter Pucke. Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night. Bot. Why then may you leaue a casement of the greatchamber window (where we play) open, and the Moonemay shine in at the casement. Quin. I, or else one must come in with a bush of thornsand a lanthorne, and say he comes to disfigure, or to pre-sent the person of Moone-shine. Then there is anotherthing, we must haue a wall in the great Chamber; for Pi-ramus and Thisby (saies the story) did talke through thechinke of a wall. Sn. You can neuer bring in a wall. What say you Bottome ? Bot. Some man or other must present wall, and lethim haue some Plaster, or some Lome, or some roughcast about him, to signifie wall; or let him hold his fin-gers thus; and through that cranny shall Piramus and Thisby whisper. Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sitdowne euery mothers sonne, and rehearse your parts. Piramus, you begin; when you haue spoken your speech,enter into that Brake, and so euery one according to hiscue. Enter Robin. Rob. What hempen home-spuns haue we swagge-ring here,So neere the Cradle of the Faierie Queene?What, a Play toward? Ile be an auditor,An Actor too perhaps, if I see cause. Quin. Speake Piramus: Thisby stand forth. Pir. Thisby, the flowers of odious sauors sweete. Quin. Odours, odours. Pir. Odours sauors sweete,So hath thy breath, my dearest Thisby deare.But harke, a voyce: stay thou but here a while,And by and by I will to thee appeare. Exit. Pir. Puck. A stranger Piramus, then ere plaid here. This. Must I speake now? Pet. I marry must you. For you must vnderstand hegoes but to see a noyse that he heard, and is to come a-gaine. Thys. Most radiant Piramus, most Lilly white of hue,Of colour like the red rose on triumphant bryer,Most brisky Iuuenall, and eke most louely Iew,As true as truest horse, that yet would neuer tyre,Ile meete thee Piramus, at Ninnies toombe. Pet. Ninus toombe man: why, you must not speakethat yet; that you answere to Piramus: you speake allyour part at once, cues and all. Piramus enter, your cue ispast; it is neuer tyre. Thys. O, as true as truest horse, that yet would neuertyre: Pir. If I were faire, Thisby I were onely thine. Pet. O monstrous. O strange. We are hanted; praymasters, flye masters, helpe. The Clownes all Exit. Puk. Ile follow you, Ile leade you about a Round,Through bogge, through bush, through brake, through bryer,Sometime a horse Ile be, sometime a hound:A hogge, a headlesse beare, sometime a fire,And neigh, and barke, and grunt, and rore, and burne,Like horse, hound, hog, beare, fire, at euery turne. Exit. Enter Piramus with the Asse head. Bot. Why do they run away? This is a knauery ofthem to make me afeard. Enter Snowt. Sn. O Bottom, thou art chang'd; What doe I see onthee? Bot. What do you see? You see an Asse-head of yourowne, do you? Enter Peter Quince. Pet. Blesse thee Bottome, blesse thee; thou art transla-ted. Exit. Bot. I see their knauery; this is to make an asse of me,to fright me if they could; but I will not stirre fromthis place, do what they can. I will walke vp and downehere, and I will sing that they shall heare I am not a-fraid. The Woosell cocke, so blacke of hew,With Orenge-tawny bill.The Throstle, with his note so true,The Wren and little quill. Tyta. What Angell wakes me from my flowry bed? Bot. The Finch, the Sparrow, and the Larke,The plainsong Cuckow gray;Whose note full many a man doth marke,And dares not answere, nay.For indeede, who would set his wit to so foolish a bird?Who would giue a bird the lye, though he cry Cuckow,neuer so? Tyta. I pray thee gentle mortall, sing againe,Mine eare is much enamored of thy note;On the first view to say, to sweare I loue thee.So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape.And thy faire vertues force (perforce) doth moue me. Bot. Me-thinkes mistresse, you should haue littlereason for that: and yet to say the truth, reason andloue keepe little company together, now-adayes. The more the pittie, that some honest neighbours willnot make them friends. Nay, I can gleeke vpon occa-sion. Tyta. Thou art as wise, as thou art beautifull. Bot. Not so neither: but if I had wit enough to getout of this wood, I haue enough to serue mine owneturne. Tyta. Out of this wood, do not desire to goe,Thou shalt remaine here, whether thou wilt or no.I am a spirit of no common rate:The Summer still doth tend vpon my state,And I doe loue thee; therefore goe with me,Ile giue thee Fairies to attend on thee;And they shall fetch thee Iewels from the deepe,And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleepe:And I will purge thy mortall grossenesse so,That thou shalt like an airie spirit go. Enter Pease-blossome, Cobweb, Moth, Mustard-seede, and foure Fairies. Fai. Ready; and I, and I, and I, Where shall we go? Tita. Be kinde and curteous to this Gentleman,Hop in his walkes, and gambole in his eies,Feede him with Apricocks, and Dewberries,With purple Grapes, greene Figs, and Mulberries,The honie-bags steale from the humble Bees,And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighes,And light them at the fierie-Glow-wormes eyes,To haue my loue to bed, and to arise:And plucke the wings from painted Butterflies,To fan the Moone-beames from his sleeping eies.Nod to him Elues, and doe him curtesies. 1.Fai. Haile mortall, haile. 2.Fai. Haile. 3.Fai. Haile. Bot. I cry your worships mercy hartily; I beseechyour worships name. Cob. Cobweb. Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, goodMaster Cobweb: if I cut my finger, I shall make boldwith you.Your name honest Gentleman? Pease. Pease Blossome. Bot. I pray you commend me to mistresse Squash, your mother, and to master Peascod your father. Goodmaster Pease-blossome, I shal desire of you more acquain-tance to. Your name I beseech you sir? Mus. Mustard-seede. Peas. Pease-blossome. Bot. Good master Mustard seede, I know your pati-ence well: that same cowardly gyant-like Oxe beefehath deuoured many a gentleman of your house. I pro-mise you, your kindred hath made my eyes water erenow. I desire you more acquaintance, good Master Mustard-seede. Tita. Come waite vpon him, lead him to my bower.The Moone me-thinks, lookes with a watrie eie,And when she weepes, weepe euerie little flower,Lamenting some enforced chastitie.Tye vp my louers tongue, bring him silently. Exit. Enter King of Pharies, solus. Ob. I wonder if Titania be awak't;Then what it was that next came in her eye,Which she must dote on, in extremitie. Enter Pucke. Here comes my messenger: how now mad spirit,What night-rule now about this haunted groue? Puck. My Mistris with a monster is in loue,Neere to her close and consecrated bower,While she was in her dull and sleeping hower,A crew of patches, rude Mechanicals,That worke for bread vpon Athenian stals,Were met together to rehearse a Play,Intended for great Theseus nuptiall day:The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,Who Piramus presented, in their sport,Forsooke his Scene, and entred in a brake,When I did him at this aduantage take,An Asses nole I fixed on his head.Anon his Thisbie must be answered,And forth my Mimmick comes: when they him spie,As Wilde-geese, that the creeping Fowler eye,Or russed-pated choughes, many in sort(Rising and cawing at the guns report)Seuer themselues, and madly sweepe the skye:So at his sight, away his fellowes flye,And at our stampe, here ore and ore one fals;He murther cries, and helpe from Athens cals.Their sense thus weake, lost with their feares thus strong,Made senslesse things begin to do them wrong.For briars and thornes at their apparell snatch,Some sleeues, some hats, from yeelders all things catch,I led them on in this distracted feare,And left sweete Piramus translated there:When in that moment (so it came to passe) Tytania waked, and straightway lou'd an Asse. Ob. This fals out better then I could deuise:But hast thou yet lacht the Athenians eyes,With the loue iuyce, as I bid thee doe? Rob. I tooke him sleeping (that is finisht to)And the Athenian woman by his side,That when he wak't, of force she must be eyde. Enter Demetrius and Hermia. Ob. Stand close, this is the same Athenian. Rob. This is the woman, but not this the man. Dem. O why rebuke you him that loues you so?Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. Her. Now I but chide, but I should vse thee worse.For thou (I feare) hast giuen me cause to curse,If thou hast slaine Lysander in his sleepe,Being oreshooes in bloud, plunge in the deepe, and killme too:The Sunne was not so true vnto the day,As he to me. Would he haue stollen away,From sleeping Hermia? Ile beleeue as sooneThis whole earth may be bord, and that the MooneMay through the Center creepe, and so displeaseHer brothers noonetide, with th' Antipodes. It cannot be but thou hast murdred him,So should a murtherer looke, so dead, so grim. Dem. So should the murderer looke, and so should I,Pierst through the heart with your stearne cruelty:Yet you the murderer lookes as bright as cleare,As yonder Venus in her glimmering spheare. Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he?Ah good Demetrius, wilt thou giue him me? Dem. I'de rather giue his carkasse to my hounds. Her. Out dog, out cur, thou driu'st me past the boundsOf maidens patience. Hast thou slaine him then?Henceforth be neuer numbred among men.Oh, once tell true, euen for my sake,Durst thou a lookt vpon him, being awake?And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O braue tutch:Could not a worme, an Adder do so much?An Adder did it: for with doubler tongueThen thine (thou serpent) neuer Adder stung. Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd mood,I am not guiltie of Lysanders blood:Nor is he dead for ought that I can tell. Her. I pray thee tell me then that he is well. Dem. And if I could, what should I get therefore? Her. A priuiledge, neuer to see me more;And from thy hated presence part I: see me no moreWhether he be dead or no. Exit. Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vaine,Here therefore for a while I will remaine.So sorrowes heauinesse doth heauier grow:For debt that bankrout slip doth sorrow owe,Which now in some slight measure it will pay, If for his tender here I make some stay. Lie downe. Ob. What hast thou done? Thou hast mistaken quiteAnd laid the loue iuyce on some true loues sight:Of thy misprision, must perforce ensueSome true loue turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. Rob. Then fate ore-rules, that one man holding troth,A million faile, confounding oath on oath. Ob. About the wood, goe swifter then the winde,And Helena of Athens looke thou finde.All fancy sicke she is, and pale of cheere,With sighes of loue, that costs the fresh bloud deare.By some illusion see thou bring her heere,Ile charme his eyes against she doth appeare. Robin. I go, I go, looke how I goe,Swifter then arrow from the Tartars bowe. Exit. Ob. Flower of this purple die,Hit with Cupids archery,Sinke in apple of his eye,When his loue he doth espie,Let her shine as gloriouslyAs the Venus of the sky.When thou wak'st if she be by,Beg of her for remedy. Enter Pucke. Puck. Captaine of our Fairy band, Helena is heere at hand,And the youth, mistooke by me,Pleading for a Louers fee.Shall we their fond Pageant see?Lord, what fooles these mortals be! Ob. Stand aside: the noyse they make,Will cause Demetrius to awake. Puck. Then will two at once wooe one,That must needs be sport alone:And those things doe best please me,That befall preposterously. Enter Lysander and Helena. Lys. Why should you think that I should wooe in scorn?Scorne and derision neuer comes in teares:Looke when I vow I weepe; and vowes so borne,In their natiuity all truth appeares.How can these things in me, seeme scorne to you?Bearing the badge of faith to proue them true. Hel. You doe aduance your cunning more & more,When truth kils truth, O diuelish holy fray!These vowes are Hermias. Will you giue her ore?Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh.Your vowes to her, and me, (put in two scales)Will euen weigh, and both as light as tales. Lys. I had no iudgement, when to her I swore. Hel. Nor none in my minde, now you giue her ore. Lys. Demetrius loues her, and he loues not you. Awa. Dem. O Helen, goddesse, nimph, perfect, diuine,To what, my loue, shall I compare thine eyne!Christall is muddy, O how ripe in show,Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,Fan'd with the Easterne winde, turnes to a crow,When thou holdst vp thy hand. O let me kisseThis Princesse of pure white, this seale of blisse. Hell. O spight! O hell! I see you are all bentTo set against me, for your merriment:If you were ciuill, and knew curtesie,You would not doe me thus much iniury.Can you not hate me, as I know you doe,But you must ioyne in soules to mocke me to?If you are men, as men you are in show,You would not vse a gentle Lady so;To vow, and sweare, and superpraise my parts,When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.You both are Riuals, and loue Hermia; And now both Riuals to mocke Helena. A trim exploit, a manly enterprize,To coniure teares vp in a poore maids eyes,With your derision; none of noble sort,Would so offend a Virgin, and extortA poore soules patience, all to make you sport, Lysa. You are vnkind Demetrius; be not so,For you loue Hermia; this you know I know;And here with all good will, with all my heart,In Hermias loue I yeeld you vp my part;And yours of Helena, To me bequeath,Whom I do loue, and will do to my death. Hel. Neuer did mockers wast more idle breth. Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia, I will none:If ere I lou'd her, all that loue is gone.My heart to her, but as guest-wise soiourn'd,And now to Helen it is home return'd,There to remaine. Lys. It is not so. De. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,Lest to thy perill thou abide it deare.Looke where thy Loue comes, yonder is thy deare. Enter Hermia. Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,The eare more quicke of apprehension makes,Wherein it doth impaire the seeing sense,It paies the hearing double recompence.Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander found,Mine eare (I thanke it) brought me to that sound.But why vnkindly didst thou leaue me so? Lysan. Why should hee stay whom Loue doth presse to go? Her. What loue could presse Lysander from my side? Lys. Lysanders loue (that would not let him bide)Faire Helena; who more engilds the night,Then all yon fierie oes, and eies of light.Why seek'st thou me? Could not this make thee know,The hate I bare thee, made me leaue thee so? Her. You speake not as you thinke; it cannot be. Hel. Loe, she is one of this confederacy,Now I perceiue they haue conioyn'd all three,To fashion this false sport in spight of me.Iniurous Hermia, most vngratefull maid,Haue you conspir'd, haue you with these contriu'dTo baite me, with this foule derision?Is all the counsell that we two haue shar'd,The sisters vowes, the houres that we haue spent,When wee haue chid the hasty footed time,For parting vs; O, is all forgot?All schooledaies friendship, child-hood innocence?We Hermia, like two Artificiall gods,Haue with our needles, created both one flower,Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,Both warbling of one song, both in one key:As if our hands, our sides, voices, and mindesHad beene incorporate. So we grew together,Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,But yet a vnion in partition, Two louely berries molded on one stem,So with two seeming bodies, but one heart,Two of the first life coats in Heraldry,Due but to one and crowned with one crest.And will you rent our ancient loue asunder,To ioyne with men in scorning your poore friend?It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly.Our sexe as well as I, may chide you for it,Though I alone doe feele the iniurie. Her. I am amazed at your passionate words,I scorne you not; It seemes that you scorne me. Hel. Haue you not set Lysander, as in scorneTo follow me, and praise my eies and face?And made your other loue, Demetrius (Who euen but now did spurne me with his foote)To call me goddesse, nimph, diuine, and rare,Precious, celestiall? Wherefore speakes he thisTo her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander Denie your loue (so rich within his soule)And tender me (forsooth) affection,But by your setting on, by your consent?What though I be not so in grace as you,So hung vpon with loue, so fortunate?(But miserable most, to loue vnlou'd)This you should pittie, rather then despise. Her. I vnderstand not what you meane by this. Hel. I, doe, perseuer, counterfeit sad lookes,Make mouthes vpon me when I turne my backe,Winke each at other, hold the sweete iest vp:This sport well carried, shall be chronicled.If you haue any pittie, grace, or manners,You would not make me such an argument:But fare ye well, 'tis partly mine owne fault,Which death or absence soone shall remedie. Lys. Stay gentle Helena, heare my excuse,My loue, my life, my soule, faire Helena. Hel. O excellent! Her. Sweete, do not scorne her so. Dem. If she cannot entreate, I can compell. Lys. Thou canst compell, no more then she entreate.Thy threats haue no more strength then her weak praise. Helen, I loue thee, by my life I doe;I sweare by that which I will lose for thee,To proue him false, that saies I loue thee not. Dem. I say, I loue thee more then he can do. Lys. If thou say so, with-draw and proue it too. Dem. Quick, come. Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this? Lys. Away, you Ethiope. Dem. No, no, Sir, seeme to breake loose;Take on as you would follow,But yet come not: you are a tame man, go. Lys. Hang off thou cat, thou bur; vile thing let loose,Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent. Her. Why are you growne so rude?What change is this sweete Loue? Lys. Thy loue? out tawny Tartar, out;Out loathed medicine; O hated poison hence. Her. Do you not iest? Hel. Yes sooth, and so do you. Lys. Demetrius: I will keepe my word with thee. Dem. I would I had your bond: for I perceiueA weake bond holds you; Ile not trust your word. Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?Although I hate her, Ile not harme her so. Her. What, can you do me greater harme then hate?Hate me, wherefore? O me, what newes my Loue?Am not I Hermia? Are not you Lysander?I am as faire now, as I was ere while.Since night you lou'd me: yet since night you left me.Why then you left me (O the gods forbid)In earnest, shall I say? Lys. I, by my life;And neuer did desire to see thee more.Therefore be out of hope, of question, of doubt;Be certaine, nothing truer: 'tis no iest,That I do hate thee, and loue Helena. Her. O me, you iugler, you canker blossome,You theefe of loue; What, haue you come by night,And stolne my loues heart from him? Hel. Fine yfaith:Haue you no modesty, no maiden shame,No touch of bashfulnesse? What, will you teareImpatient answers from my gentle tongue?Fie, fie, you counterfeit, you puppet, you. Her. Puppet? why so? I, that way goes the game.Now I perceiue that she hath made compareBetweene our statures, she hath vrg'd her height,And with her personage, her tall personage,Her height (forsooth) she hath preuail'd with him.And are you growne so high in his esteeme,Because I am so dwarfish, and so low?How low am I, thou painted May-pole? Speake,How low am I? I am not yet so low,But that my nailes can reach vnto thine eyes. Hel. I pray you though you mocke me, gentlemen,Let her not hurt me; I was neuer curst:I haue no gift at all in shrewishnesse;I am a right maide for my cowardize;Let her not strike me: you perhaps may thinke,Because she is something lower then my selfe,That I can match her. Her. Lower? harke againe. Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me,I euermore did loue you Hermia, Did euer keepe your counsels, neuer wronged you,Saue that in loue vnto Demetrius, I told him of your stealth vnto this wood.He followed you, for loue I followed him,But he hath chid me hence, and threatned meTo strike me, spurne me, nay to kill me too;And now, so you will let me quiet go,To Athens will I beare my folly backe,And follow you no further. Let me go.You see how simple, and how fond I am. Her. Why get you gone: who ist that hinders you? Hel. A foolish heart, that I leaue here behinde. Her. What, with Lysander? Her. With Demetrius. Lys. Be not afraid, she shall not harme thee Helena. Dem. No sir, she shall not, though you take her part. Hel. O when she's angry, she is keene and shrewd,She was a vixen when she went to schoole,And though she be but little, she is fierce. Her. Little againe? Nothing but low and little?Why will you suffer her to flout me thus?Let me come to her. Lys. Get you gone you dwarfe,You minimus, of hindring knot-grasse made,You bead, you acorne. Dem. You are too officious,In her behalfe that scornes your seruices. Let her alone, speake not of Helena, Take not her part. For if thou dost intendNeuer so little shew of loue to her,Thou shalt abide it. Lys. Now she holds me not,Now follow if thou dar'st, to try whose right,Of thine or mine is most in Helena. Dem. Follow? Nay, Ile goe with thee cheeke byiowle. Exit Lysander and Demetrius. Her. You Mistris, all this coyle is long of you.Nay, goe not backe. Hel. I will not trust you I,Nor longer stay in your curst companie.Your hands then mine, are quicker for a fray,My legs are longer though to runne away. Enter Oberon and Pucke. Ob. This is thy negligence, still thou mistak'st,Or else committ'st thy knaueries willingly. Puck. Beleeue me, King of shadowes, I mistooke,Did not you tell me, I should know the man,By the Athenian garments he hath on?And so farre blamelesse proues my enterprize,That I haue nointed an Athenians eies,And so farre am I glad, it so did sort,As this their iangling I esteeme a sport. Ob. Thou seest these Louers seeke a place to fight,Hie therefore Robin, ouercast the night,The starrie Welkin couer thou anon,With drooping fogge as blacke as Acheron, And lead these testie Riuals so astray,As one come not within anothers way.Like to Lysander, sometime frame thy tongue,Then stirre Demetrius vp with bitter wrong;And sometime raile thou like Demetrius; And from each other looke thou leade them thus,Till ore their browes, death-counterfeiting, sleepeWith leaden legs, and Battie-wings doth creepe:Then crush this hearbe into Lysanders eie,Whose liquor hath this vertuous propertie,To take from thence all error, with his might,and make his eie-bals role with wonted sight.When they next wake, all this derisionShall seeme a dreame, and fruitless vision,And backe to Athens shall the Louers wendWith league, whose date till death shall neuer end.Whiles I in this affaire do thee imploy,Ile to my Queene, and beg her Indian Boy;And then I will her charmed eie releaseFrom monsters view, and all things shall be peace. Puck. My Fairie Lord, this must be done with haste,For night-swift Dragons cut the Clouds full fast,And yonder shines Auroras harbinger;At whose approach Ghosts wandring here and there,Troope home to Church-yards; damned spirits all,That in crosse-waies and flouds haue buriall,Alreadie to their wormie beds are gone;For feare least day should looke their shames vpon,They wilfully themselues exile from light,And must for aye consort with blacke browd night. Ob. But we are spirits of another sort:I, with the mornings loue haue oft made sport,And like a Forrester, the groues may tread,Euen till the Easterne gate all fierie red,Opening on Neptune, With faire blessed beames,Turnes into yellow gold, his salt greene streames.But not withstanding haste, make no delay:We may effect this businesse, yet ere day. Puck. Vp and downe, vp and downe, I will leadethem vp and downe: I am fear'd in field and towne. Goblin, lead them vp and downe: here comes one. Enter Lysander. Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius?Speake thou now. Rob. Here villaine, drawne & readie. Where art thou? Lys. I will be with thee straight. Rob. Follow me then to plainer ground. Enter Demetrius. Dem. Lysander, speake againe;Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled?Speake in some bush: Where dost thou hide thy head? Rob. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars,Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,And wilt not come? Come recreant, come thou childe,Ile whip thee with a rod. He is defil'dThat drawes a sword on thee. Dem. Yea, art thou there? Ro. Follow my voice, we'l try no manhood here. Exit. Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on,When I come where he cals, then he's gone.The Villaine is much lighter heel'd then I:I followed fast, but faster he did flye; shifting places. That fallen am I in darke vneuen way,And here wil rest me. Come thou gentle day: lye down. For if but once thou shew me thy gray light,Ile finde Demetrius, and reuenge this spight. Enter Robin and Demetrius. Rob. Ho, ho, ho; coward, why com'st thou not? Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st. For well I wot,Thou runst before me, shifting euery place,And dar'st not stand, nor looke me in the face.Where art thou? Rob. Come hither, I am here. Dem. Nay then thou mock'st me; thou shalt buy thisdeere,If euer I thy face by day-light see.Now goe thy way: faintnesse constraineth me,To measure out my length on this cold bed,By daies approach looke to be visited. Enter Helena. Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night,Abate thy houres, shine comforts from the East,That I may backe to Athens by day-light,From these that my poore companie detest;And sleepe that sometime shuts vp sorrowes eie,Steale me a while from mine owne companie. Sleepe. Rob. Yet but three? Come one more,Two of both kindes makes vp foure.Here she comes, curst and sad, Cupid is a knauish lad, Enter Hermia. Thus to make poore females mad. Her. Neuer so wearie, neuer so in woe,Bedabbled with the dew, and torne with briars,I can no further crawle, no further goe;My legs can keepe no pace with my desires.Here will I rest me till the breake of day,Heauens shield Lysander, if they meane a fray. Rob. On the ground sleepe sound,Ile apply your eie gentle louer, remedy.When thou wak'st, thou tak'stTrue delight in the sight of thy former Ladies eye, And the Country Prouerb knowne,That euery man should take his owne,In your waking shall be showne. Iacke shall haue Iill, nought shall goe ill.The man shall haue his Mare againe, and all shall beewell. They sleepe all the Act.
Actus Quartus. Enter Queene of Fairies, and Clowne, and Fairies, and theKing behinde them. Tita. Come, sit thee downe vpon this flowry bed,While I thy amiable cheekes doe coy,And sticke muske roses in thy sleeke smoothe head,And kisse thy faire large eares, my gentle ioy. Clow. Where's Peaseblossome? Peas. Ready. Clow. Scratch my head, Pease-blossome. Wher's Moun-sieuer Cobweb. Cob. Ready. Clowne. Mounsieur Cobweb, good Mounsier get yourweapons in your hand, & kill me a red hipt humble-Bee,on the top of a thistle; and good Mounsieur bring meethe hony bag. Doe not fret your selfe too much in theaction, Mounsieur; and good mounsieur haue a care thehony bag breake not, I would be loth to haue you ouer-flowne with a hony-bag signiour. Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed? Mus. Ready. Clo. Giue me your neafe, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you leaue your courtesie good Mounsieur. Mus. What's your will? Clo. Nothing good Mounsieur, but to help Caualery Cobweb to scratch. I must to the Barbers Mounsieur, forme-thinkes I am maruellous hairy about the face. And Iam such a tender asse, if my haire do but tickle me, I mustscratch. Tita. What, wilt thou heare some musicke, my sweetloue. Clow. I haue a reasonable good eare in musicke. Letvs haue the tongs and the bones. Musicke Tongs, Rurall Musicke. Tita. Or say sweete Loue, what thou desirest to eat. Clowne. Truly a pecke of Prouender; I could munchyour good dry Oates. Me-thinkes I haue a great desireto a bottle of hay: good hay, sweete hay hath no fel-low. Tita. I haue a venturous Fairy,That shall seeke the Squirrels hoard,And fetch thee new Nuts. Clown. I had rather haue a handfull or two of driedpease. But I pray you let none of your people stirre me, Ihaue an exposition of sleepe come vpon me. Tyta. Sleepe thou, and I will winde thee in my arms,Fairies be gone, and be alwaies away.So doth the woodbine, the sweet Honisuckle,Gently entwist; the female Iuy soEnrings the barky fingers of the Elme.O how I loue thee! how I dote on thee! Enter Robin goodfellow and Oberon. Ob. Welcome good Robin: Seest thou this sweet sight?Her dotage now I doe begin to pitty.For meeting her of late behinde the wood,Seeking sweet sauours for this hatefull foole,I did vpbraid her, and fall out with her.For she his hairy temples then had rounded,With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers.And that same dew which somtime on the buds,Was wont to swell like round and orient pearles;Stood now within the pretty flouriets eyes,Like teares that did their owne disgrace bewaile.When I had at my pleasure taunted her,And she in milde termes beg'd my patience,I then did aske of her, her changeling childe,Which straight she gaue me, and her fairy sentTo beare him to my Bower in Fairy Land.And now I haue the Boy, I will vndoeThis hatefull imperfection of her eyes.And gentle Pucke, take this transformed scalpe,From off the head of this Athenian swaine;That he awaking when the other doe,May all to Athens backe againe repaire,And thinke no more of this nights accidents,But as the fierce vexation of dreame.But first I will release the Fairy Queene. Be thou as thou wast wont to be;See as thou wast wont to see.Dians bud, or Cupids flower,Hath such force and blessed power. Now my Titania wake you my sweet Queene. Tita. My Oberon, what visions haue I seene!Me-thought I was enamoured of an asse. Ob. There lies your loue. Tita. How came these things to passe?Oh, how mine eyes doth loath this visage now! Ob. Silence a while. Robin take off his head: Titania, musick call, and strike more deadThen common sleepe; of all these, fine the sense. Tita. Musicke, ho musicke, such as charmeth sleepe. Musick still. Rob. When thou wak'st, with thine owne fooles eiespeepe. Ob. Sound musick; come my Queen, take hands with me And rocke the ground whereon these sleepers be.Now thou and I new in amity,And will to morrow midnight, solemnlyDance in Duke Theseus house triumphantly,And blesse it to all faire posterity.There shall the paires of faithfull Louers beWedded, with Theseus, all in iollity. Rob. Faire King attend, and marke,I doe heare the morning Larke, Ob. Then my Queene in silence sad,Trip we after the nights shade;We the Globe can compasse soone,Swifter then the wandering Moone. Tita. Come my Lord, and in our flight,Tell me how it came this night,That I sleeping heere was found, Sleepers Lye still. With these mortals on the ground. Exeunt. Winde Hornes. Enter Theseus, Egeus, Hippolita and all his traine. Thes. Goe one of you, finde out the Forrester,For now our obseruation is perform'd;And since we haue the vaward of the day,My Loue shall heare the musicke of my hounds.Vncouple in the Westerne valley, let them goe;Dispatch I say, and finde the Forrester.We will faire Queene, vp to the Mountains top,And marke the musicall confusionOf hounds and eccho in coniunction. Hip. I was with Hercules and Cadmus once.When in a wood of Creete they bayed the BeareWith hounds of Sparta; neuer did I heareSuch gallant chiding. For besides the groues,The skies, the fountaines, euery region neere,Seeme all one mutuall cry. I neuer heardSo musicall a discord, such sweet thunder. Thes. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kinde,So flew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hungWith eares that sweepe away the morning dew,Crooke kneed, and dew-lapt, like Thessalian Buls,Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bels,Each vnder each. A cry more tuneableWas neuer hallowed to, nor cheer'd with horne,In Creete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly; Iudge when you heare. But soft, what nimphs are these? Egeus. My Lord, this is my daughter heere asleepe,And this Lysander, this Demetrius is,This Helena, olde Nedars Helena, I wonder of this being heere together. The. No doubt they rose vp early, to obserueThe right of May; and hearing our intent,Came heere in grace of our solemnity.But speake Egeus, is not this the dayThat Hermia should giue answer of her choice? Egeus. It is, my Lord. Thes. Goe bid the hunts-men wake them with theirhornes. Hornes and they wake. Shout within, they all start vp. Thes. Good morrow friends: Saint Valentine is past,Begin these wood birds but to couple now? Lys. Pardon my Lord. Thes. I pray you all stand vp.I know you two are Riuall enemies.How comes this gentle concord in the world,That hatred is so farre from iealousie,To sleepe by hate, and feare no enmity. Lys. My Lord, I shall reply amazedly,Halfe sleepe, halfe waking. but as yet, I sweare,I cannot truly say how I came heere.But as I thinke (for truly would I speake)And now I doe bethinke me, so it is;I came with Hermia hither. Our intentWas to be gone from Athens, where we might beWithout the perill of the Athenian Law. Ege. Enough, enough, my Lord: you haue enough;I beg the Law, the Law, vpon his head:They would have stolne away, they would Demetrius, Thereby to haue defeated you and me:You of your wife, and me of my consent;Of my consent, that she should be your wife. Dem. My Lord, faire Helen told me of their stealth,Of this their purpose hither, to this wood,And I in furie hither followed them;Faire Helena, in fancy followed me.But my good Lord, I wot not by what not by what power,(But by some power it is) my loueTo Hermia (melted as the snow)Seems to me now as the remembrance of an idle gaude,Which in my childehood I did doat vpon:And all the faith, the vertue of my heart,The obiect and the pleasure of mine eye,Is onely Helena. To her, my Lord,Was I betroth'd, ere I see Hermia, But like a sickenesse did I loath this food,But as in health, come to my naturall taste,Now doe I wish it, loue it, long for it,And will for euermore be true to it. Thes. Faire Louers, you are fortunately met;Of this discourse we shall heare more anon. Egeus, I will ouer-beare your will;For in the Temple, by and by with vs,These couples shall eternally be knit.And for the morning now is something worne,Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside.Away, with vs to Athens; three and three,Wee'll hold a feast in great solemnitie.Come Hippolita. Exit Duke and Lords. Dem. These things seeme small & vndistinguishable,Like farre off mountaines turned into Clouds. Her. Me-thinks I see these things with parted eye,When euery thing seemes double. Hel. So me-thinkes:And I haue found Demetrius, like a iewell,Mine owne, and not mine owne. Dem. It seemes to mee,That yet we sleepe, we dreame. Do not you thinke,The Duke was heere, and bid vs follow him? Her. Yea, and my Father. Hel. And Hippolita. Lys. And he bid vs follow to the Temple. Dem. Why then we are awake; lets follow him, andby the way let vs recount our dreames. Bottome wakes. Exit Louers. Clo. When my cue comes, call me, and I will answer.My next is, most faire Piramus. Hey ho. Peter Quince? Flute the bellowes-mender? Snout the tinker? Starue-ling?Gods my life! Stolne hence, and left me asleepe: Ihaue had a most rare vision. I had a dreame, past the witof man, to say, what dreame it was. Man is but an Asse,if he goe about to expound this dreame. Me-thought Iwas, there is no man can tell what. Me-thought I was,and me-thought I had. But man is but a patch'd foole,if he will offer to say, what me-thought I had. The eye ofman hath not heard, the eare of man hath not seen, manshand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceiue, nor hisheart to report, what my dreame was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballet of this dreame, it shall be called Bottomes Dreame, because it hath no bottome; and I willsing it in the latter end of a play, before the Duke. Per-aduenture, to make it the more gracious, I shall sing itat her death. Exit. Enter Quince, Flute, Thisbie, Snout, and Starueling. Quin. Haue you sent to Bottomes house? Is he comehome yet? Staru. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt hee istransported. This. If he come not, then the play is mar'd. It goesnot forward, doth it? Quin. It is not possible: you haue not a man in all Athens, able to discharge Piramus but he. This. No, hee hath simply the best wit of any handy-craft man in Athens. Quin. Yea, and the best person too, and hee is a veryParamour, for a sweet voyce. This. You must say, Paragon. A Paramour is (Godblesse vs) a thing of nought. Enter Snug the Ioyner. Snug. Masters, the Duke is comming from the Tem-ple, and there is two or three Lords & Ladies more mar-ried. If our sport had gone forward, we had all bin mademen. This. O sweet bully Bottome: thus hath he lost sixe-pence a day, during his life; he could not haue scaped six-pence a day. And the Duke had not giuen him sixpencea day for playing Piramus, Ile be hang'd. He would hauedeserued it. Sixpence a day in Piramus, or nothing. Enter Bottome. Bot. Where are these Lads? Where are these hearts? Quin. Bottome, o most couragious day! O most hap-pie houre! Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders; but ask menot what. For if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. Iwill tell you euery thing as it fell out. Qu. Let vs heare, sweet Bottome. Bot. Not a word of me: all that I will tell you, is, thatthe Duke hath dined. Get your apparell together, goodstrings to your beards, new ribbands to your pumps,meete presently at the Palace, euery man looke ore hispart: for the short and the long is, our play is preferred:In any case let Thisby haue cleane linnen: and let not himthat playes the Lion, paire his nailes, for they shall hangout for the Lions clawes. And most deare Actors, eateno Onions, nor Garlicke; for wee are to vtter sweetebreath, and I doe not doubt but to heare them say, it is asweet Comedy. No more words: away, go away. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Enter Theseus, Hippolita, Egeus and his Lords. Hip. 'Tis strange my Theseus,  that these louers speake of. The. More strange then true. I neuer may beleeueThese anticke fables, nor these Fairy toyes,Louers and mad men haue such seething braines,Such shaping phantasies, that apprehend moreThen coole reason euer comprehends.The Lunaticke, the Louer, and the Poet,Are of imagination all compact.One sees more diuels then vaste hell can hold;That is the mad man. The Louer, all as franticke,Sees Helens beauty in a brow of Egipt. The Poets eye in a fine frenzy rolling, doth glanceFrom heauen to earth, from earth to heauen.And as imagination bodies forth the forms of thingsVnknowne; the Poets pen turnes them to shapes,And giues to aire nothing, a locall habitation,And a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination,That if it would but apprehend some ioy,It comprehends some bringer of that ioy.Or in the night, imagining some feare,Howe easie is a bush suppos'd a Beare? Hip. But all the storie of the night told ouer,And all their minds transfigur'd so together,More witnesseth than fancies images,And growes to something of great constancie;But howsoeuer, strange, and admirable. Enter louers, Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia,and Helena. The. Heere come the louers, full of ioy and mirth:Ioy, gentle friends, ioy and fresh dayesOf loue accompany your hearts. Lys. More then to vs, waite in your royall walkes,your boord, your bed. The. Come now, what maskes, what dances shallwe haue,To weare away this long age of three houres,Between our after supper, and bed-time?Where is our vsuall manager of mirth?What Reuels are in hand? Is there no play,To ease the anguish of a torturing houre?Call Egeus. Ege. Heere mighty Theseus. The. Say, what abridgement haue you for this eue-ning? What maske? What musicke? How shall we beguileThe lazie time, if not with some delight? Ege. There is a breefe how many sports are rife:Make choise of which your Highnesse will see first. Lis. The battell with the Centaurs to be sungBy an Athenian Eunuch, to the Harpe. The. Wee'l none of that. That haue I told my LoueIn glory of my kinsman Hercules. Lis. The riot of the tipsie Bachanals,Tearing the Thracian singer, in their rage? The. That is an old deuice, and it was plaidWhen I from Thebes came last a Conqueror. Lis. The thrice three Muses, mourning for the deathof learning, late deceast in beggerie. The. That is some Satire keene and criticall,Not sorting with a nuptiall ceremonie. Lis. A tedious breefe Scene of yong Piramus, And his loue Thisby; very tragicall mirth. The. Merry and tragicall? Tedious, and briefe? Thatis, hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. How shall weefinde the concord of this discord? Ege. A play there is, my Lord, some ten words long,Which is as breefe, as I haue knowne a play;But by ten words, my Lord, it is too long;Which makes it tedious. For in all the play,There is not one word apt, one Player fitted.And tragicall my noble Lord it is: for Piramus Therein doth kill himselfe. Which when I sawRehearst, I must confesse, made mine eyes water:But more merrie teares, the passion of loud laughterNeuer shed. Thes. What are they that do play it? Ege. Hard handed men, that worke in Athens heere,Which neuer labour'd in their mindes till now;And now haue toyled their vnbreathed memoriesWith this same play, against your nuptiall. The. And we will heare it. Hip. No my noble Lord, it is not for you. I haue heardIt ouer, and it is nothing, nothing in the world;Vnless you can finde sport in their intents,Extreamely stretched, and cond with cruell paine,To doe you seruice. Thes. I will heare that play. For neuer any thingCan be amisse, when simplenesse and duty tender it.Goe bring them in, and take your places, Ladies. Hip. I loue not to see wretchednesse orecharged;And duty in his seruice perishing. Thes. Why gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. Hip. He saies, they can doe nothing in this kinde. Thes. The kinder we, to giue them thanks for nothingOur sport shall be, to take what they mistake;And what poore duty cannot doe, noble respectTakes it in might, not merit. Where I haue come, great Clearkes haue purposedTo greete me with premeditated welcomes;Where I haue seene them shiuer and looke pale,Make periods in the midst of sentences,Throttle their practiz'd accent in their feares,And in conclusion, dumbly haue broke off,Not paying me a welcome. Trust me sweete,Out of this silence yet, I pickt a welcome:And in the modesty of fearefull duty,I read as much, as from the ratling tongueOf saucy and audacious eloquence.Loue therefore, and tongue-tide simplicity,In least, speake most, to my capacity. Egeus. So please your Grace, the Prologue is addrest. Duke. Let him approach. Flor. Trum. Enter the Prologue. Quince. Pro. If we offend, it is with our good will.That you should thinke, we come not to offend,But with good will. To shew our simple skill,That is the true beginning of our end.Consider then, we come but in despight.We do not come, as minding to content you,Our true intent is. All for your delight,We are not heere. That you should here repent you,The Actors are at hand; and by their show,You shall know all, that you are like to know. Thes. This fellow doth not stand vpon points. Lys. He hath rid his Prologue, like a rough Colt: heknowes not the stop. A good morall my lord. it is notenough to speake, but to speake true. Hip. Indeed hee hath plaid on his Prologue, like achilde on a Recorder, a sound, but not in gouernment. Thes. His speech was like a tangled chaine: nothingimpaired, but all disordered. Who is next? Tawyer with a Trumpet before them. Enter Pyramus and Thisby, Wall, Moone-shine, and Lyon. Prol. Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show,But wonder on, till truth make all things plaine.This man is Piramus, if you would know;This beauteous Lady, Thisby is certaine.This man, with lyme and rough-cast, doth presentWall, that vile wall, which did these louers sunder:And through walls chink (poor soules) they are contentTo whisper. At the which, let no man wonder.This man, with Lanthorne, dog, and bush of thorne,Presenteth moone-shine. For if you will know,By moone-shine did these Louers thinke no scorneTo meet at Ninus toombe, there, there to wooe:This grizly beast (which Lyon hight by name)The trusty Thisby, comming first by night,Did scarre away, or rather did affright:And as she fled, her mantle she did fall;Which Lyon vile with bloody mouth did staine.Anon comes Piramus, sweet youth and tall,And findes his Thisbies Mantle slaine;Whereat, with blade, with bloody blamefull blade,He brauely broacht his boiling bloudy breast,And Thisby, tarrying in Mulberry shade,His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,Let Lyon, Moone-shine, Wall, and Louers twaine,At large discourse, while here they doe remaine. Exit all but Wall. Thes. I wonder if the Lion be to speake. Deme. No wonder, my Lord: one Lion may, whenmany Asses doe. Exit Lyon, Thisbie, and Mooneshine. Wall. In this same Interlude, it doth befall,That I, one Snowt (by name) present a wall:And such a wall, as I would haue you thinke,That had in it a crannied hole or chinke:Through which the Louers, Piramus and Thisbie Did whisper often, very secretly.This loame, this rough-cast, and this stone doth shew,That I am that same Wall; the truth is so.And this the cranny is, right and sinister,Through which the fearfull Louers are to whisper. Thes. Would you desire Lime and Haire to speakebetter? Deme. It is the wittiest partition, that euer I hearddiscourse, my Lord. Thes. Pyramus drawes neere the Wall, silence. Enter Pyramus. Pir. O grim lookt night, o night with hue so blacke,O night, which euer art, when day is not:O night, o night, alacke, alacke, alacke,I feare my Thisbies promise is forgot.And thou o wall, thou sweet and louely wall,That stands between her fathers ground and mine,Thou wall, o Wall, o sweet and louely wall,Shew me thy chinke, to blinke through with mine eine.Thankes courteous wall. Ioue shield thee well for this.But what see I? No Thisbie doe I see.O wicked wall, through whom I see no blisse,Curst be thy stones for thus deceiuing mee. Thes. The wall me-thinkes being sensible, shouldcurse againe. Pir. No in truth sir, he should not. Deceiuing me, Is Thisbies cue; she is to enter, and I am to spyHer through the wall. You shall see it will fall. Enter Thisbie. Pat as I told you; yonder she comes. This. O wall, full often hast thou heard my mones,For parting my faire Piramus, and meMy cherry lips haue often kist thy stones;Thy stones with Lime and Haire knit vp in thee. Pyra. I see a voyce; now will I to the chinke,To spy and I can heare my Thisbies face. Thisbie? This. My Loue thou art, my Loue I thinke. Pir. Thinke what thou wilt, I am thy Louers grace,And like Limander am I trusty still. This. And like Helen till the Fates me kill. Pir. Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true. This. As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you. Pir. O kisse me through the hole of this vile wall. This. I kisse the wals hole, not your lips at all. Pir. Wilt thou at Ninnies tombe meete me straightway? This. Tide life, tide death, I come without delay. Wall. Thus haue I Wall, my part discharged so;And being done, thus Wall away doth go. Exit Clow. Du. Now is the morall downe between the twoNeighbours. Dem. No remedie my Lord, when Wals are so wil-full, to heare without warning. Dut. This is the silliest stuffe that ere I heard. Du. The best in this kind are but shadowes, and theworst are no worse, if imagination amend them. Dut. It must be your imagination then, & not theirs. Duk. If wee imagine no worse of them then they ofthemselues, they may passe for excellent men. Here comtwo noble beasts, in a man and a Lion. Enter Lyon and Moone-shine. Lyon. You Ladies, you (whose gentle harts do feareThe smallest monstrous mouse that creepes on floore)May now perchance, both quake and tremble heere,When Lion rough in wildest rage doth roare.Then know that I, one Snug the Ioyner amA Lion fell, nor else no Lions dam:For if I should as Lion come in strifeInto this place, 'twere pittie of my life. Du. A verie gentle beast, and of good conscience. Dem. The verie best at a beast, my Lord, that ere I saw. Lis. This Lion is a verie Fox for his valor. Du. True, and a Goose for his discretion. Dem. Not so my Lord: for his valor cannot carriehis discretion, and the fox carries the Goose. Du. His discretion I am sure cannot carrie his valor:for the Goose carries not the Fox. It is well; leaue it tohis discretion, and let vs hearken to the Moone. Moone. This Lanthorne doth the horned Moone pre-sent. De. He should haue worne the hornes on his head. Du. Hee is no crescent, and his hornes are inuisible,within the circumference. Moon. This lanthorne doth the horned Moone pre-sent: My selfe, the man i'th Moone doth seeme to be. Du. This is the greatest error of all the rest; the manShould be put into the Lanthorne. How is it els the mani'th Moone? Dem. He dares not come there for the candle.For you see, it is already in snuffe. Dut. I am wearie of this Moone; would he wouldchange. Du. It appeares by his smal light of discretion, thathe is in the wane: but yet in courtesie, in all reason, wemust stay the time. Lys. Proceed Moone. Moon. All that I haue to say, is to tell you, that theLanthorne is the Moone; I, the man in the Moone; thisthorne bush; my thorne bush; and this dog, my dog. Dem. Why all these should be in the Lanthorne: forthey are in the Moone. But silence, heere comes Thisby. Enter Thisby. This. This is old Ninnies tombe: where is my loue? Lyon. Oh. The Lion roares, Thisby runs off. Dem. Well roar'd Lion. Du. Well run Thisby. Dut. Well shone Moone.Truly the Moone shines with a good grace. Du. Wel mouz'd Lion. Dem. And then came Piramus. Lys. And so the Lion vanisht. Enter Piramus. Pyr. Sweet Moone, I thank thee for thy sunny beames,I thanke thee Moone, for shining now so bright:For by thy gracious, golden, glittering beames,I trust to taste of truest Thisbies sight.But stay: O spight! but marke, poore Knight,What dreadful dole is heere?Eyes do you see! How can it be!O dainty Ducke: O Deere!Thy mantle good; what staind with blood!Approch you furies fell:O Fates! come, come: Cut thred and thrum,Quaile, crush, conclude, and quell. Du. This passion, and the death of a deare friend,Would go neere to make a man looke sad. Dut. Beshrew my heart, but I pittie the man. Pir. O wherefore Nature, did'st thou Lions frame?Since lion vilde hath heere deflour'd my deere:Which is: no, no, which was the fairest DameThat liu'd, that lou'd, that like'd, that look'd with cheere.Come teares, confound: Out sword, and woundThe pap of Piramus: I, that left pap, where heart doth hop;Thus dye I, thus, thus, thus.Now am I dead, now am I fled, my soule is in the sky,Tongue lose thy light, Moone take thy flight,Now dye, dye, dye, dye, dye. Dem. No Die, but an ace for him; for he is but one. Lis. Lesse then an ace man. For he is dead, he is no-thing. Du. With the helpe of a Surgeon, he might yet reco-uer, and proue an Asse. Dut. How chance Moone-shine is gone before? Thisby comes backe, and findes her Louer. Enter Thisby. Duke. She wil finde him by starre-light.Heere she comes, and her passion ends the play. Dut. Me thinkes shee should not vse a long one forsuch a Piramus: I hope she will be breefe. Dem. A Moth wil turne the ballance, which Piramus which Thisby is the better. Lys. She hath spyed him already, with those sweete eyes. Dem. And thus she meanes, videlicit. This. Asleepe my Loue? What, dead my Doue?O Piramus arise:Speake, speake. Quite dumbe? Dead, dead? A tombeMust couer thy sweet eyes.These Lilly Lips, this cherry nose,These yellow Cowslip cheekesAre gone, are gone: Louers make mone:His eyes were greene as Leekes.O Sisters three, come, come to mee,With hands as pale as Milke,Lay them in gore, since you haue shorewith sheeres, his thred of silke.Tongue not a word: Come trusty sword:Come blade, my brest imbrue: And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends;Adieu, adieu, adieu. Duk. Moone-shine & Lion are left to burie the dead. Deme. I, and Wall too. Bot. No, I assure you, the wall is downe, that partedtheir Fathers. Will it please you to see the Epilogue, orto heare a Bergomask dance, betweene two of our com-pany? Duk. No Epilogue, I pray you; for your play needsno excuse. Neuer excuse; for when the plaiers are alldead, there need none to be blamed. Marry, if hee thatwrit it had plaid Piramus, and hung himselfe in Thisbies garter, it would haue beene a fine Tragedy: and so it istruely, and very notably discharg'd. but come, yourBurgomaske; let your Epilogue alone.The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelue.Louers to bed, 'tis almost Fairy time.I feare we shall out-sleepe the comming morne,As much as we this night haue ouer-watcht.This palpable grosse play hath well beguil'dThe heauy gate of night. Sweet friends to bed.A fortnight hold we this solemnity.In nightly Reuels; and new iollitie. Exeunt. Enter Pucke. Puck. Now the hungry Lyons rores,And the Wolfe beholds the Moone:Whilest the heauy ploughman snores,All with weary taske fore-done.Now the wasted brands doe glow,Whil'st the scritch-owle, scritching loud,Puts the wretch that lies in woe,In remembrance of a shrowd.Now it is the time of night,That the graues, all gaping wide,Euery one lets forth his spright,In the Church-way paths to glide,And we Fairies, that do runne,By the triple Hecates teame,From the presence of the Sunne,Following darkenesse like a dreame,Now are frollicke; not a MouseShall disturbe this hallowed house.I am sent with broome before,To sweep the dust behinde the doore. Enter King and Queene of Fairies, with their traine. Ob. Through the house giue glimmering light,By the dead and drowsie fier,Euerie Elfe and Fairie spright,Hop as light as bird from brier,And this Ditty after me, sing and dance it trippinglie, Tita. First rehearse this song by roate,To each word a warbling note.Hand in hand, with Fairie grace,Will we sing and blesse this place. The Song. Now vntill the breake of day,Through this house each Fairy stray.To the best Bride-bed will we,Which by vs shall blessed be:And the issue there create,Euer shall be fortunate:So shall all the couples three,Euer true in louing be:And the blots of Natures hand,Shall not in their issue stand.Neuer mole, harelip, nor scarre,nor mark prodigious, such as areDespised in Natiuitie,Shall vpon their children be.With this field dew consecrate,Euery Fairy take his gate,And each seuerall chamber blesse,Through this Pallace with sweet peace,Euer shall in safety rest.And the owner of it blest.Trip away, make no stay;Meet me all by breake of day. Robin. If we shadowes haue offended,Thinke but this (and all is mended)That you haue but slumbred heere,While these Visions did appeare.And this weake and idle theame,No more yeelding but a dreame,Gentles, doe not reprehend.If you pardon, we will mend.And as I am an honest Pucke, If we haue vnearned lucke,Now to scape the Serpents tongue,We will make amends ere long:Else the Pucke a lyar call.So good night vnto you all.Giue me your hands, if we be friends,And Robin shall restore amends.
FINIS. The Merchant of Venice.
Actus primus. Enter Anthonio, Salarino, and Salanio. Anthonio. 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 stuffe 'tis made of, whereof it is borne,I am to learne: and such a Want-wit sadnesse makes ofmee,That I haue much ado to know my selfe. Sal. Your minde is tossing on the Ocean,There where your Argosies with portly saileLike Signiors and rich Burgers on the flood,Or as it were the Pageants of the sea,Do ouer-peere the pettie TraffiquersThat curtsie to them, do them reuerenceAs they flye by them with their wouen wings. Salar. Beleeue me sir, had I such venture forth,The better part of my affections, wouldBe with my hopes abroad. I should be stillPlucking the grasse to know where sits the winde,Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes:And euery obiect that might make me feareMisfortune to my ventures, out of doubtWould make me sad. Sal. My winde cooling my broth,Would blow me to an Ague, when I thoughtWhat harme a winde too great might doe at sea.I should not see the sandie houre-glasse runne,But I should thinke of shallows, and of flats,And see my wealthy Andrew docks in sand,Vailing her high top lower then her ribsTo kisse her buriall; should I goe to ChurchAnd see the holy edifice of stone,And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rocks,Which touching but my gentle Vessels sideWould scatter all her spices on the streame,Enrobe the roring waters with my silkes,And in a word, but euen now worth this,And now worth nothing. Shall I haue the thoughtTo thinke on this, and shall I lacke the thoughtThat such a thing bechaunc'd would make me sad?But tell me, I know Anthonio Is sad to thinke vpon his merchandize. Anth. Beleeue me no, I thanke my fortune for it,My ventures are not in one bottome trusted,Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate Vpon the fortune of this present yeere:Therefore my merchandize makes me not sad. Sola. Why then you are in loue. Anth. Fie, fie. Sola. Not in loue neither: then let vs say you are sadBecause you are not merry: and 'twere as easieFor you to laugh and leape, and say you are merryBecause you are not sad. Now by two-headed Ianus, Nature hath fram'd strange fellowes in her time:Some that will euermore peepe through their eyes,And laugh like Parrats at a bag-piper.And other of such vineger aspect,That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile,Though Nestor sweare the iest be laughable. Enter Bassanio, Lorenso, and Gratiano. Sola. Heere comes Bassanio, Your most noble Kinsman, Gratiano, and Lorenso. Faryewell,We leaue you now with better company. Sala. I would haue staid till I had made you merry,If worthier friends had not preuented me. Ant. Your worth is very deere in my regard.I take it your owne busines calls on you,And you embrace th' occasion to depart. Sal. Good morrow my good Lords. Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, when? You grow exceeding strange: must it be so? Sal. Wee'll make our leysures to attend on yours. Exeunt Salarino, and Solanio. Lor. My Lord Bassanio, since you haue found Anthonio We two will leaue you, but at dinner timeI pray you haue in minde where we must meete. Bass. I will not faile you. Grat. You looke not well signior Anthonio, You haue too much respect vpon the world:They loose it that doe buy it with much care,Beleeue me you are maruellously chang'd. Ant. I hold the world but as the world Gratiano, A stage, where euery man must play a part,And mine a sad one. Grati. Let me play the foole,With mirth and laughter let old wrinckles come,And let my Liuer rather heate with wine,Then my heart coole with mortifying grones.Why should a man whose bloud is warme within,Sit like his Grandsire, cut in Alablaster?Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the Iaundies By being peeuish? I tell thee what Anthonio, I loue thee, and it is my loue that speakes:There are a sort of men, whose visagesDo creame and mantle like a standing pond,And do a wilfull stilnesse entertaine,With purpose to be drest in an opinionOf wisedome, grauity, profound conceit,As who should say, I am sir an Oracle,And when I ope my lips, let no dogge barke.O my Anthonio, I do know of theseThat therefore onely are reputed wise,For saying nothing; when I am verie sureIf they should speake, would almost dam those earesWhich hearing them would call their brothers fooles:Ile tell thee more of this another time.But fish not with this melancholly baiteFor this foole Gudgin, this opinion:Come good Lorenzo, faryewell a while,Ile end my exhortation after dinner. Lor. Well, we will leaue you then till dinner time.I must be one of these same dumbe wise men.For Gratiano neuer let's me speake. Gra. Well, keepe me company but two yeares mo,Thou shalt not know the sound of thine owne tongue. Ant. Far you well, Ile grow a talker for this geare. Gra. Thankes ifaith, for silence is onely commendableIn a neats tongue dri'd, and a maid not vendible. Exit. Ant. It is that any thing now. Bas. Gratiano speakes an infinite deale of nothing,more then any man in all Venice, his reasons are twograines of wheate hid in two bushels of chaffe: you shallseeke all day ere you finde them, & when you haue themthey are not worth the search. An. Well: tel me now, what Lady is the sameTo whom you swore a secret PilgrimageThat you to day promis'd to tel me of? Bas. Tis not vnknowne to you Anthonio How much I haue disabled mine estate,By something shewing a more swelling portThen my faint meanes would grant continuance:Nor do I now make mone to be abridg'dFrom such a noble rate, but my cheefe careIs to come fairely off from the great debtsWherein my time something too prodigallHath left me gag'd: to you Anthonio I owe the most in money, and in loue,And from your loue I haue a warrantieTo vnburthen all my plots and purposes,How to get cleere of all the debts I owe. An. I pray you good Bassanio let me know it,And if it stand as you your selfe still do,Within the eye of honour, be assur'dMy purse, my person, my extreamest meanesLye all vnlock'd to your occasions. Bass. In my schoole dayes, when I had lost one shaftI shot his fellow of the selfesame flightThe selfesame way, with more aduised watchTo finde the other forth, and by aduenturing both,I oft found both. I vrge this child-hoode proofe,Because what followes is pure innocence.I owe you much, and like a wilfull youth,That which I owe is lost: but if you pleaseTo shoote another arrow that selfe wayWhich you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,As I will watch the ayme: Or to finde both,Or bring your latter hazard backe againe, And thankfully rest debter for the first. An. You know me well, and herein spend but timeTo winde about my loue with circumstance,And out of doubt you doe more wrongIn making question of my vttermostThen if you had made waste of all I haue:Then doe but say to me what I should doeThat in your knowledge may by me be done,And I am prest vnto it: therefore speake. Bass. In Belmont is a Lady richly left,And she is faire, and fairer then that word,Of wondrous vertues, sometimes from her eyesI did receiue faire speechlesse messages:Her name is Portia, nothing vndervallewdTo Cato's daughter, Brutus Portia, Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth,For the four windes blow in from euery coastRenowned sutors, and her sunny locksHang on her temples like a golden fleece,Which makes her seat of Belmont Cholchos strond,And many Iasons come in quest of her.O my Anthonio, had I but the meanesTo hold a riuall place with one of them,I haue a minde presages me such thrift,That I should questionlesse be fortunate. Anth. Thou knowst that all my fortunes are at sea,Neither haue I money, nor commodityTo raise a present summe, therefore goe forthTry what my credit can in Venice doe,That shall be rackt euen to the vttermost,To furnish thee to Belmont to faire Portia. Goe presently enquire, and so will IWhere money is, and I no question makeTo haue it of my trust, or for my sake. Exeunt. Enter Portia with her waiting woman Nerissa. Portia. By my troth Nerrissa, my little body is a wea-rie of this great world. Ner. You would be sweet Madam, if your miserieswere in the same abundance as your good fortunes are:and yet for ought I see, they are as sicke that surfet withtoo much, as they that starue with nothing; it is no smalhappinesse therefore to bee seated in the meane, super-fluitie comes sooner by white haires, but competencieliues longer. Portia. Good sentences, and well pronounc'd. Ner. They would be better if well followed. Portia. If to doe were as easie as to know what weregood to doe, Chappels had beene Churches, and pooremens cottages Princes Pallaces: it is a good Diuine thatfollowes his owne instructions; I can easier teach twen-tie what were good to be done, then be one of the twen-tie to follow mine owne teaching: the braine may de-uise lawes for the blood, but a hot temper leapes ore acolde decree, such a hare is madnesse the youth, to skipore the meshes of good counsaile the cripple; but thisreason is not in fashion to choose me a husband: O mee,the word choose, I may neither choose whom I would,nor refuse whom I dislike, so is the wil of a liuing daugh-ter curb'd by the will of a dead father: it is not hard Ner-rissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none. Ner. Your father was euer vertuous, and holy menat their death haue good inspirations, therefore the lot-terie that hee hath deuised in these three chests of gold,siluer, and leade, whereof who chooses his meaning, chooses you, wil no doubt neuer be chosen by any right-ly, but one who you shall rightly loue: but what warmthis there in your affection towards any of these Princelysuters that are already come? Por. I pray thee ouer-name them, and as thou namestthem, I will describe them, and according to my descrip-tion leuell at my affection. Ner. First there is the Neopolitane Prince. Por. I that's a colt indeede, for he doth nothing buttalke of his horse, and hee makes it a great appropria-tion to his owne good parts that he can shoo him him-selfe: I am much afraid my Ladie his mother plaid falsewith a Smyth. Ner. Than is there the Countie Palentine. Por. He doth nothing but frowne (as who shouldsay, and you will not haue me, choose: he heares merrietales and smiles not, I feare hee will proue the weepingPhylosopher when he growes old, being so full of vn-mannerly sadnesse in his youth.) I had rather to be marri-ed to a deaths head with a bone in his mouth, then to ei-ther of these: God defend me from these two. Ner. How say you by the French Lord, Mounsier Le Boune? Por. God made him, and therefore let him passe for aman, in truth I know it is a sinne to be a mocker, but he,why he hath a horse better then the Neopolitans, a bet-ter bad habite of frowning then the Count Palentine, heis euery man in no man, if a Trassell sing, he fals straight a capring, he will fence with his owne shadow. If I shouldmarry him, I should marry twentie husbands: if heewould despise me, I would forgiue him, for if he loue meto madnesse, I should neuer requite him. Ner. What say you then to Fauconbridge, the yongBaron of England? Por. You know I say nothing to him, for hee vnder-stands not me, nor I him: he hath neither Latine, French, nor Italian, and you will come into the Court & swearethat I haue a poore pennie-worth in the English: hee is aproper mans picture, but alas who can conuerse with adumbe show? how odly he is suited, I thinke he boughthis doublet in Italie, his round hose in France, his bonnetin Germanie, and his behauiour euery where. Ner. What thinke you of the other Lord his neigh-bour? Por. That he hath a neighbourly charitie in him, forhe borrowed a boxe of the eare of the Englishman, andswore he would pay him againe when hee was able: Ithinke the Frenchman became his suretie, and seald vnderfor another. Ner. How like you the yong Germaine, the Duke of Saxonies Nephew? Por. Very vildely in the morning when hee is sober,and most vildely in the afternoone when hee is drunke:when he is best, he is a little worse then a man, and whenhe is worst, he is little better then a beast: and the worstfall that euer fell, I hope I shall make shift to go with-out him. Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the rightCasket, you should refuse to performe your Fathers will,if you should refuse to accept him. Por. Therefore for feare of the worst, I pray thee seta deepe glasse of Reinish-wine on the contrary Casket,for if the diuell be within, and that temptation without,I know he will choose it. I will doe any thing Nerrissa ere I will be married to a spunge. Ner. You neede not feare Lady the hauing any ofthese Lords, they haue acquainted me with their deter-minations, which is indeede to returne to their home,and to trouble you with no more suite, vnlesse you maybe won by some other sort then your Fathers impositi-on, depending on the Caskets. Por. If I liue to be as olde as Sibilla, I will dye aschaste as Diana: vnlesse I be obtained by the mannerof my Fathers will: I am glad this parcell of wooersare so reasonable, for there is not one among them butI doate on his verie absence: and I wish them a faire de-parture. Ner. Doe you not remember Ladie in your Fa-thers time, a Venecian, a Scholler and a Souldior thatcame hither in companie of the Marquesse of Mount-ferrat? Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio, as I thinke, so was heecall'd. Ner. True Madam, hee of all the men that euer myfoolish eyes look'd vpon, was the best deseruing a faireLady. Por. I remember him well, and I remember him wor-thy of thy praise. Enter a Seruingman. Ser. The four Strangers seeke you Madam to taketheir leaue: and there is a fore-runner come from a fift,the Prince of Moroco, who brings word the Prince hisMaister will be here to night. Por. If I could bid the fift welcome with so goodheart as I can bid the other foure farewell, I should beglad of his approach: if he haue the condition of a Saint,and the complexion of a diuell, I had rather hee shouldshriue me then wiue me. Come Nerrissa, sirra go before;whiles wee shut the gate vpon one wooer, anotherknocks at the doore. Exeunt. Enter Bassanio with Shylocke the Iew. Shy. Three thousand ducates, well. Bass. I sir, for three months. Shy. For three months, well. Bass. For the which, as I told you, Anthonio shall be bound. Shy. Anthonio shall become bound, well. Bass. May you sted me? Will you pleasure me?Shall I know your answere. Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months,and Anthonio bound. Bass. Your answere to that. Shy. Anthonio is a good man. Bass. Haue you heard any imputation to the con-trary. Shy. Ho no, no, no, no: my meaning in saying he is agood man, is to haue you vnderstand me that he is suffi-cient, yet his meanes are in supposition: he hath an Argo-sie bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies, I vnder-stand moreouer vpon the Ryalta, he hath a third at Mexi-co, a fourth for England, and other ventures hee hathsquandred abroad, but ships are but boords, Saylers butmen, there be land rats, and water rats, water theeues,and land theeues, I meane Pyrats, and then there is theperrill of waters, windes, and rocks: the man is not with-standing sufficient, three thousand ducats, I thinke I maytake his bond. Bas. Be assured you may. Iew. I will be assured I may: and that I may be assu-red, I will bethinke mee, may I speake with Antho-nio? Bass. If it please you to dine with vs. Iew. Yes, to smell porke, to eate of the habitationwhich your Prophet the Nazarite coniured the diuellinto: I will buy with you, sell with you, talke withyou, walke with you, and so following: but I willnot eate with you, drinke with you, nor pray with you.What newes on the Ryalta, who is he comes here? Enter Anthonio. Bass. This is signior Anthonio. Iew. How like a fawning publican he lookes.I hate him for he is a Christian:But more, for that in low simplicitieHe lends out money gratis, and brings downeThe rate of vsance here with vs in Venice. If I can catch him once vpon the hip,I will feede fat the ancient grudge I beare him.He hates our sacred Nation, and he railesEuen there where Merchants most doe congregateOn me, my bargaines, and my well-worne thrift,Which he cals interrest: Cursed by my TrybeIf I forgiue him. Bass. Shylock, doe you heare. Shy. I am debating of my present store,And by the neere gesse of my memorieI cannot instantly raise vp the grosseOf full three thousand ducats: what of that? Tuball a wealthy Hebrew of my TribeWill furnish me: but soft, how many monthsDoe you desire? Rest you faire good signior,Your worship was the last man in our mouthes. Ant. Shylocke, albeit I neither lend nor borrowBy taking, nor by giuing of excesse,Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend,Ile breake a custome: is he yet possestHow much he would? Shy. I, I, three thousand ducats. Ant. And for three months. Shy. I had forgot, three months, you told me so.Well then, your bond: and let me see, but heare you,Me thoughts you said, you neither lend nor borrowVpon aduantage. Ant. I doe neuer vse it. Shy. When Iacob graz'd his vncle Labans sheepe,This Iacob from our holy Abram was(As his wise mother wrought in his behalfe)The third possesser; I, he was the third. Ant. And what of him, did he take interrest? Shy. No, not take interest, not as you would sayDirectly interest, marke what Iacob did,When Laban and himselfe were compremyz'dThat all the eanelings which were streakt and piedShould fall as Iacobs hier, the Ewes being rancke,In end of Autumne turned to the Rammes,And when the worke of generation wasBetweene these woolly breeders in the act,The skilfull shepheard pil'd me certaine wands,And in the dooing of the deede of kinde,He stucke them vp before the fulsome Ewes,Who then conceauing, did in eaning timeFall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Iacobs. This was a way to thriue, and he was blest:And thrift is blessing if men steale it not. Ant. This was a venture sir that Iacob seru'd for,A thing not in his power to bring to passe,But sway'd and fashion'd by the hand of heauen.Was this inserted to make interrest good?Or is your gold and siluer Ewes and Rams? Shy. I cannot tell, I make it breede as fast,But note me signior. Ant. Marke you this Bassanio, The diuell can cite Scripture for his purpose,An euill soule producing holy witnesse,Is like a villaine with a smiling cheeke,A goodly apple rotten at the heart.O what a goodly outside falsehood hath. Shy. Three thousand ducats, 'tis a good round sum.Three months from twelue, then let me see the rate. Ant. Well Shylocke, shall we be beholding to you? Shy. Signior Anthonio, many a time and oftIn the Ryalto you haue rated meAbout my monies and my vsances:Still haue I borne it with a patient shrug,(For suffrance is the badge of all our Tribe.)You call me misbeleeuer, cut-throate dog,And spet vpon my Iewish gaberdine,And all for vse of that which is mine owne.Well then, it now appeares you neede my helpe:Goe to then, you come to me, and you say, Shylocke, we would haue moneyes, you say so:You that did voide your rume vpon my beard,And foote me as you spurne a stranger curreOuer your threshold, moneyes is your suite.What should I say to you? Should I not say,Hath a dog money? Is it possibleA curre should lend three thousand ducats? orShall I bend low, and in a bond-mans keyWith bated breath, and whispring humblenesse,Say this: Faire sir, you spet on me on Wednesday last;You spurn'd me such a day; another timeYou cald me dog: and for these curtesiesIle lend you thus much moneyes. Ant. I am as like to call thee so againe,To spet on thee againe, to spurne thee too.If thou wilt lend this money, lend it notAs to thy friends, for when did friendship takeA breede of barraine mettall of his friend?But lend it rather to thine enemie,Who if he breake, thou maist with better faceExact the penalties. Shy. Why looke you how you storme,I would be friends with you, and haue your loue,Forget the shames that you haue staind me with,Supplie your present wants, and take no doiteOf vsance for my moneyes, and youle not heare me,This is kinde I offer. Bass. This were kindnesse. Shy. This kindnesse will I showe,Goe with me to a Notarie, seale me thereYour single bond, and in a merrie sportIf you repaie me not on such a day,In such a place, such sum or sums as areExprest in the condition, let the forfeiteBe nominated for an equall poundOf your faire flesh, to be cut off and takenIn what part of your bodie it pleaseth me. Ant. Content infaith, Ile seale to such a bond,And say there is much kindnesse in the Iew. Bass. You shall not seale to such a bond for me,Ile rather dwell in my necessitie. Ant. Why feare not man, I will not forfaite it,Within these two months, that's a month beforeThis bond expires, I doe expect returneOf thrice three times the valew of this bond. Shy. O father Abram, what these Christians are,Whose owne hard dealings teaches them suspectThe thoughts of others: Praie you tell me this,If he should breake his daie, what should I gaineBy the exaction of the forfeiture?A pound of mans flesh taken from a man,Is not so estimable, profitable neitherAs flesh of Muttons, Beefes, or Goates, I sayTo buy his fauour, I extend this friendship,If he will take it, so: if not adiew,And for my loue I praie you wrong me not. Ant. Yes Shylocke, I will seale vnto this bond. Shy. Then meete me forthwith at the Notaries,Giue him direction for this merrie bond,And I will goe and purse the ducats straite.See to my house left in the fearefull gardOf an vnthriftie knaue: and presentlieIle be with you. Exit. Ant. Hie thee gentle Iew. This Hebrew will turneChristian, he growes kinde. Bass. I like not faire tearmes, and a villaines minde. Ant. Come on, in this there can be no dismaie,My Shippes come home a month before the daie. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Enter Morochus a tawnie Moore all in white, and three orfoure followers accordingly, with Portia,Nerrissa, and their traine.Flo. Cornets. Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion,The shadowed liuerie of the burnisht sunne,To whom I am a neighbour, and neere bred.Bring me the fairest creature North-ward borne,Where Phoebus fire scarce thawes the ysicles,And let vs make incision for your loue,To proue whose blood is reddest, his or mine.I tell thee Ladie this aspect of mineHath feard the valiant, (by my loue I sweare)The best regarded Virgins of our ClymeHaue lou'd it to: I would not change this hue,Except to steale your thoughts my gentle Queene. Por. In tearmes of choise I am not solie ledBy nice direction of a maidens eies:Besides, the lottrie of my destenieBars me the right of voluntarie choosing:But if my Father had not scanted me,And hedg'd me by his wit to yeelde my selfeHis wife, who wins me by that meanes I told you,Your selfe (renowned Prince) than stood as faireAs any commer I haue look'd on yetFor my affection. Mor. Euen for that I thanke you,Therefore I pray you leade me to the CasketsTo trie my fortune: By this SymitareThat slew the Sophie, and a Persian PrinceThat won three fields of Sultan Solyman,I would ore-stare the sternest eies that looke:Out-braue the heart most daring on the earth:Plucke the yong sucking Cubs from the she Beare,Yea, mocke the Lion when he rores for prayTo win the Ladie. But alas, the whileIf Hercules and Lychas plaie at diceWhich is the better man, the greater throwMay turne by fortune from the weaker hand:So is Alcides beaten by his rage,And so may I, blinde fortune leading meMisse that which one vnworthier may attaine,And die with grieuing. Port. You must take your chance,And either not attempt to choose at all,Or sweare before you choose, if you choose wrongNeuer to speake to Ladie afterwardIn way of marriage, therefore be aduis'd. Mor. Nor will not, come bring me vnto my chance. Por. First forward to the temple, after dinnerYour hazard shall be made. Mor. Good fortune then, Cornets. To make me blest or cursed'st among men. Exeunt. Enter the Clowne alone. Clo. Certainely, my conscience will serue me to runfrom this Iew my Maister: the fiend is at mine elbow,and tempts me, saying to me, Iobbe, Launcelet Iobbe, good Launcelet, or good Iobbe, or good Launcelet Iobbe, vseyour legs, take the start, run awaie: my conscience saiesno; take heede honest Launcelet, take heed honest Iobbe, or as afore-said honest Launcelet Iobbe, doe not runne,scorne running with thy heeles; well, the most coragi-ous fiend bids me packe, fia saies the fiend, away saiesthe fiend, for the heauens rouse vp a braue minde saiesthe fiend, and run; well, my conscience hanging aboutthe necke of my heart, saies verie wisely to me: my ho-nest friend Launcelet, being an honest mans sonne, or ra-ther an honest womans sonne, for indeede my Father didsomething smack, something grow too; he had a kinde oftaste; wel, my conscience saies Lancelet bouge not, bougesaies the fiend, bouge not saies my conscience, consciencesay I you counsaile well, fiend say I you counsaile well,to be rul'd by my conscience I should stay with the Iew my Maister, (who God blesse the marke) is a kinde of di-uell; and to run away from the Iew I should be ruled bythe fiend, who sauing your reuerence is the diuell him-selfe: certainely the Iew is the verie diuell incarnation,and in my conscience, my conscience is a kinde of hardconscience, to offer to counsaile me to stay with the Iew; the fiend giues the more friendly counsaile: I will runnefiend, my heeles are at your commandement, I willrunne. Enter old Gobbe with a Basket. Gob. Maister yong-man, you I praie you, which is thewaie to Maister Iewes? Lan. O heauens, this is my true begotten Father, whobeing more then sand-blinde, high grauel blinde, knowsme not, I will trie confusions with him. Gob. Maister yong Gentleman, I praie you which isthe waie to Maister Iewes. Laun. Turne vpon your right hand at the next tur-ning, but at the next turning of all on your left; marrieat the verie next turning, turne of no hand, but turn downindirectlie to the Iewes house. Gob. Be Gods sonties 'twill be a hard waie to hit, canyou tell me whether one Launcelet that dwels with himdwell with him or no. Laun. Talke you of yong Master Launcelet, markeme now, now will I raise the waters; talke you of yongMaister Launcelet? Gob. No Maister sir, but a poore mans sonne, his Fa-ther though I say't is an honest exceeding poore man,and God be thanked well to liue. Lan. Well, let his Father be what a will, wee talke ofyong Maister Launcelet. Gob. Your worships friend and Launcelet. Laun. But I praie you ergo old man, ergo I beseech you,talke you of yong Maister Launcelet. Gob. Of Launcelet, ant please your maistership. Lan. Ergo Maister Lancelet, talke not of maister Lance-let Father, for the yong gentleman according to fates anddestinies, and such odde sayings, the sisters three, & suchbranches of learning, is indeede deceased, or as youwould say in plaine tearmes, gone to heauen. Gob. Marrie God forbid, the boy was the verie staffeof my age, my verie prop. Lau. Do I look like a cudgell or a houell-post, a staffeor a prop: doe you know me Father. Gob. Alacke the day, I know you not yong Gentle-man, but I praie you tell me, is my boy God rest his soulealiue or dead. Lan. Doe you not know me Father. Gob. Alacke sir I am sand blinde, I know you not. Lan. Nay, indeede if you had your eies you mightfaile of the knowing me: it is a wise Father that knoweshis owne childe. Well, old man, I will tell you newes ofyour son, giue me your blessing, truth will come to light,murder cannot be hid long, a mans sonne may, but in theend truth will out. Gob. Praie you sir stand vp, I am sure you are not Lancelet my boy. Lan. Praie you let's haue no more fooling aboutit, but giue mee your blessing: I am Lancelet yourboy that was, your sonne that is, your childe thatshall be. Gob. I cannot thinke you are my sonne. Lan. I know not what I shall thinke of that: but I am Lancelet the Iewes man, and I am sure Margerie your wifeis my mother. Gob. Her name is Margerie indeede, Ile be sworne ifthou be Lancelet, thou art mine owne flesh and blood:Lord worshipt might he be, what a beard hast thou got;thou hast got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin myphilhorse has on his taile. Lan. It should seeme then that Dobbins tailegrowes backeward. I am sure he had more haire of histaile then I haue of my face when I last saw him. Gob. Lord how art thou chang'd: how doost thouand thy Master agree, I haue brought him a present; howgree you now? Lan. Well, well, but for mine owne part, as I haue setvp my rest to run awaie, so I will not rest till I haue runsome ground; my Maister's a verie Iew, giue him a pres-ent, giue him a halter, I am famisht in his seruice. Youmay tell euerie finger I haue with my ribs: Father I amglad you are come, giue me your present to one Maister Bassanio, who indeede giues rare new Liuories, if I seruenot him, I will run as far as God has anie ground. O rarefortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a Iew if I serue the Iew anie longer. Enter Bassanio with a follower or two. Bass. You may doe so, but let it be so hasted thatsupper be readie at the farthest by fiue of the clocke:see these Letters deliuered, put the Liueries to mak-ing, and desire Gratiano to come anone to my lodg-ing. Lan. To him Father. Gob. God blesse your worship. Bass. Gramercie, would'st thou ought with me. Gob. Here's my sonne sir, a poore boy. Lan. Not a poore boy sir, but the rich Iewes man thatwould sir as my Father shall specifie. Gob. He hath a great infection sir, as one would sayto serue. Lan. Indeede the short and the long is, I serue the Iew, and haue a desire as my Father shall specifie. Gob. His Maister and he (sauing your worships reue-rence) are scarce catercosins. Lan. To be briefe, the verie truth is, that the Iew hauing done me wrong, doth cause me as my Father be-ing I hope an old man shall frutifie vnto you. Gob. I haue here a dish of Doues that I would bestowvpon your worship, and my suite is. Lan. In verie briefe, the suite is impertinent to myselfe, as your worship shall know by this honest old man,and though I say it, though old man, yet poore man myFather. Bass. One speake for both, what would you? Lan. Serue you sir. Gob. That is the verie defect of the matter sir. Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suite, Shylocke thy Maister spoke with me this daie,And hath prefer'd thee, if it be prefermentTo leaue a rich Iewes seruice, to becomeThe follower of so poore a Gentleman. Clo. The old prouerbe is verie well parted betweenemy Maister Shylocke and you sir, you haue the grace ofGod sir, and he hath enough. Bass. Thou speak'st well; go Father with thy Son,Take leaue of thy old Maister, and enquireMy lodging out, giue him a LiuerieMore garded then his fellowes: see it done. Clo. Father in, I cannot get a seruice, no, I haue nerea tongue in my head, well: if anie man in Italie haue afairer table which doth offer to sweare vpon a booke, Ishall haue good fortune; goe too, here's a simple lineof life, here's a small trifle of wiues, alas, fifteene wiuesis nothing, a leuen widdowes and nine maides is a sim-ple comming in for one man, and then to scape drow-ning thrice, and to be in perill of my life with the edgeof a featherbed, here are simple scapes: well, if Fortunebe a woman, she's a good wench for this gere: Fathercome, Ile take my leaue of the Iew in the twinkling. Exit Clowne. Bass. I praie thee good Leonardo thinke on this,These things being bought and orderly bestowedReturne in haste, for I doe feast to nightMy best esteemd acquaintance, hie thee goe. Leon. my best endeuors shall be done herein. Exit Le. Enter Gratiano. Gra. Where's your Maister. Leon. Yonder sir he walkes. Gra. Signior Bassanio. Bas. Gratiano. Gra. I haue a sute to you. Bass. You haue obtain'd it. Gra. You must not denie me, I must goe with you toBelmont. Bass. Why then you must: but heare thee Gratiano, Thou art to wilde, to rude, and bold of voyce,Parts that become thee happily enough,And in such eyes as ours appeare not faults;But where they are not knowne, why there they showSomething too liberall, pray thee take paineTo allay with some cold drops of modestieThy skipping spirit, least through thy wilde behauiourI be misconsterd in the place I goe to,And loose my hopes. Gra. Signor Bassanio, heare me,If I doe not put on a sober habite,Talke with respect, and sweare but now and than,Weare prayer bookes in my pocket, looke demurely,Nay more, while grace is saying hood mine eyesThus with my hat, and sigh and say Amen:Vse all the obseruance of ciuillitieLike one well studied in a sad ostentTo please his Grandam, neuer trust me more. Bas. Well, we shall see your bearing. Gra. Nay but I barre to night, you shall not gage meBy what we doe to night. Bas. No that were pittie,I would intreate you rather to put onYour boldest suite of mirth, for we haue friendsThat purpose merriment: but far you well,I haue some businesse. Gra. And I must to Lorenso and the rest,But we will visite you at supper time. Exeunt. Enter Iessica and the Clowne. Ies. I am sorry thou wilt leaue my Father so,Our house is hell, and thou a merrie diuellDid'st rob it of some taste of tediousnesse;But far thee well, there is a ducat for thee,And Lancelet, soone at supper shalt thou see Lorenzo, who is thy new Maisters guest,Giue him this Letter, doe it secretly,And so farewell: I would not haue my Fathersee me talke with thee. Clo. Adue, teares exhibit my tongue, most beautifullPagan, most sweete Iew, if a Christian doe not play theknaue and get thee, I am much deceiued; but adue, thesefoolish drops doe somewhat drowne my manly spirit:adue. Exit. Ies. Farewell good Lancelet. Alacke, what hainous sinne is it in meTo be ashamed to be my Fathers childe,But though I am a daughter to his blood,I am not to his manners: O Lorenzo, If thou keepe promise I shall end this strife,Become a Christian, and thy louing wife. Exit. Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. Lor. Nay, we will slinke away in supper time,Disguise vs at my lodging, and returne all in an houre. Gra. We haue not made good preparation. Sal. We haue not spoke vs yet of Torch-bearers. Sol. 'Tis vile vnlesse it may be quaintly ordered,And better in my minde not vndertooke. Lor. 'Tis now but foure of clock, we haue two houresTo furnish vs; friend Lancelet what's the newes. Enter Lancelet with a Letter. Lan. And it shall please you to breake vp this, shall itseeme to signifie. Lor. I know the hand, in faith 'tis a faire handAnd whiter then the paper it writ on,Is the faire hand that writ. Gra. Loue newes in faith. Lan. By your leaue sir. Lor. Whither goest thou? Lan. Marry sir to bid my old Master the Iew to supto night with my new Master the Christian. Lor. Hold here, take this, tell gentle Iessica I will not faile her, speake it priuately:Go Gentlemen, will you prepare you for this Maske tonight,I am prouided of a Torch-bearer. Exit. Clowne. Sal. I marry, ile be gone about it strait. Sol. And so will I. Lor. Meete me and Gratiano at Gratianos lodgingSome houre hence. Sal. 'Tis good we do so. Exit. Gra. Was not that Letter from faire Iessica? Lor. I must needes tell thee all, she hath directedHow I shall take her from her Fathers house,What gold and iewels she is furnisht with,What Pages suite she hath in readinesse:If ere the Iew her Father come to heauen,It will be for his gentle daughters sake;And neuer dare misfortune crosse her foote,Vnlesse she doe it vnder this excuse,That she is issue to a faithlesse Iew: Come goe with me, pervse this as thou goest,Faire Iessica shall be my Torch-bearer. Exit. Enter Iew, and his man that was the Clowne. Iew. Well, thou shall see, thy eyes shall be thy iudge,The difference of old Shylocke and Bassanio; What Iessica, thou shalt not gurmandizeAs thou hast done with me: what Iessica?And sleepe, and snore, and rend apparrell out.Why Iessica I say. Clo. Why Iessica. Shy. Who bids thee call? I do not bid thee call. Clo. Your worship was wont to tell meI could doe nothing without bidding. Enter Iessica. Ies. Call you? what is your will? Shy. I am bid forth to supper Iessica, There are my Keyes: but wherefore should I go?I am not bid for loue, they flatter me,But yet Ile goe in hate, to feede vponThe prodigall Christian. Iessica my girle,Looke to my house, I am right loath to goe,There is some ill a bruing towards my rest,For I did dreame of money bags to night. Clo. I beseech you sir goe, my yong MasterDoth expect your reproach. Shy. So doe I his. Clo. And they haue conspired together, I will not sayyou shall see a Maske, but if you doe, then it was not fornothing that my nose fell a bleeding on blacke monday last, at six a clocke ith morning, falling out that yeere onashwensday was foure yeere in th' afternoone. Shy. What are their maskes? heare you me Iessica, Lock vp my doores, and when you heare the drumAnd the vile squealing of the wry-neckt Fife,Clamber not you vp to the casements then,Nor thrust your head into the publique streeteTo gaze on Christian fooles with varnisht faces:But stop my houses eares, I meane my casements,Let not the sound of shallow fopperie enterMy sober house. By Iacobs staffe I sweare,I haue no minde of feasting forth to night:But I will goe: goe you before me sirra,Say I will come. Clo. I will goe before sir,Mistris looke out at window for all this;There will come a Christian by,Will be worth a Iewes eye. Shy. What saies that foole of Hagars off-spring?ha. Ies. His words were farewell mistris, nothing else. Shy. The patch is kinde enough, but a huge feeder:Snaile-slow in profit, but he sleepes by dayMore then the wilde-cat: drones hiue not with me,Therefore I part with him, and part with himTo one that I would haue him helpe to wasteHis borrowed purse. Well Iessica goe in,Perhaps I will returne immediately;Doe as I bid you, shut dores after you, fast binde, fastfinde,A prouerbe neuer stale in thriftie minde. Exit. Ies. Farewell, and if my fortune be not crost,I haue a Father, you a daughter lost. Exit. Enter the Maskers, Gratiano and Salino. Gra. This is the penthouse vnder which Lorenzo Desired vs to make a stand. Sal. His houre is almost past. Gra. And it is meruaile he out-dwels his houre,For louers euer run before the clocke. Sal. O ten times faster Venus Pidgions flyeTo steale loues bonds new made, then they are wontTo keepe obliged faith vnforfaited. Gra. That euer holds, who riseth from a feastWith that keene appetite that he sits downe?Where is the horse that doth vntread againeHis tedious measures with the vnbated fire,That he did pace them first: all things that are,Are with more spirit chased then enioy'd.How like a yonger or a prodigallThe skarfed barke puts from her natiue bay,Hudg'd and embraced by the strumpet winde:How like a prodigall doth she returneWith ouer-wither'd ribs and ragged sailes,Leane, rent, and begger'd by the strumpet winde? Enter Lorenzo. Salino. Heere comes Lorenzo, more of this here-after. Lor. Sweete friends, your patience for my long a-bode, Not I, but my affaires haue made you wait;When you shall please to play the theeues for wiuesIle watch as long for you then: approach Here dwels my father Iew. Hoa, who's within? Iessica aboue. Iess. Who are you? tell me for more certainty,Albeit Ile sweare that I do know your tongue. Lor. Lorenzo, and thy Loue. Ies. Lorenzo certaine, and my loue indeed,For who loue I so much? and now who knowesBut you Lorenzo, whether I am yours? Lor. Heauen and thy thoughts are witness that thouart. Ies. Heere, catch this casket, it is worth the paines,I am glad 'tis night, you do not looke on me,For I am much asham'd of my exchange:But loue is blinde, and louers cannot seeThe pretty follies that themselues commit,For if they could, Cupid himselfe would blushTo see me thus transformed to a boy. Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. Ies. What, must I hold a Candle to my shames?They in themselues goodsooth are too too light.Why, 'tis an office of discouery Loue,And I should be obscur'd. Lor. So you are sweet,Euen in the louely garnish of a boy: but come at once,For the close night doth play the run-away,And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. Ies. I will make fast the doores and guild my selfeWith some more ducats, and be with you straight. Gra. Now by my hood, a gentle, and no Iew. Lor. Beshrew me but I loue her heartily.For she is wise, if I can iudge of her.And faire she is, if that mine eyes be true,And true she is, as she hath prou'd her selfe:And therefore like her selfe, wise, faire, and true,Shall she be placed in my constant soule. Enter Iessica. What, art thou come? on gentlemen, away,Our masking mates by this time for vs stay. Exit. Enter Anthonio. Ant. Who's there? Gra. Signior Anthonio? Ant. Fie, fie, Gratiano, where are all the rest?'Tis nine a clocke, our friends all stay for you,No maske to night, the winde is come about, Bassanio presently will goe aboord,I haue sent twenty out to seeke for you. Gra. I am glad on't, I desire no more delightThen to be vnder saile, and gone to night. Exeunt. Enter Portia with Morrocho, and both their traines. Por. Goe, draw aside the curtaines, and discouerThe seuerall Caskets to this noble Prince:Now make your choyse. Mor. The first of gold, who this inscription beares,Who chooseth me, shall gaine what men desire.The second siluer, which this promise carries,Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt,Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.How shall I know if I doe choose the right? How shall I know if I doe choose the right. Por. The one of them containes my picture Prince,If you choose that, then I am yours withall. Mor. Some God direct my iudgement, let me see,I will suruay the inscriptions, backe againe:What saies this leaden casket?Who chooseth me, must giue and hazard all he hath.Must giue, for what? for lead, hazard for lead?This casket threatens men that hazard allDoe it in hope of faire aduantages:A golden minde stoopes not to showes of drosse,Ile then nor giue nor hazard ought for lead.What saies the Siluer with her virgin hue?Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserues.As much as he deserues; pause there Morocho, And weigh thy value with an euen hand,If thou beest rated by thy estimationThou doost deserue enough, and yet enoughMay not extend so farre as to the Ladie:And yet to be afeard of my deseruing,Were but a weake disabling of my selfe.As much as I deserue, why that's the Lady.I doe in birth deserue her, and in fortunes,In graces, and in qualities of breeding:But more then these, in loue I doe deserue.What if I strai'd no farther, but chose here?Let's see once more this saying grau'd in gold.Who chooseth me shall gaine what many men desire:Why that's the Lady, all the world desires her:From the foure corners of the earth they comeTo kisse this shrine, this mortall breathing Saint.The Hircanion deserts, and the vaste wildesOf wide Arabia are as throughfares nowFor Princes to come view faire Portia. The waterie Kingdome, whose ambitious headSpets in the face of heauen, is no barreTo stop the forraine spirits, but they comeAs ore a brooke to see faire Portia. One of these three containes her heauenly picture.Is't like that Lead containes her? 'twere damnationTo thinke so base a thought, it were too groseTo rib her searecloath in the obscure graue:Or shall I thinke in Siluer she's immur'dBeing ten times vndervalued to tride gold;O sinfull thought, neuer so rich a IemWas set in worse then gold! They haue in EnglandA coyne that beares the figure of an AngellStampt in gold, but that's insculpt vpon:But here an Angell in a golden bedLies all within. Deliuer me the key:Here doe I choose, and thriue I as I may. Por. There take it Prince, and if my forme lye thereThen I am yours. Mor. O hell! what haue we here, a carrion death,Within whose emptie eye there is a written scroule;Ile reade the writing. All that glisters is not gold,Often haue you heard that told;Many a man his life hath soldBut my outside to behold;Guilded timber doe wormes infold:Had you beene as wise as bold,Yong in limbs, in iudgement old,Your answere had not beene inscrold,Fareyouwell, your suite is cold, Mor. Cold indeede, and labour lost,Then farewell heate, and welcome frost: Portia adew, I haue too grieu'd a heartTo take a tedious leaue: thus loosers part. Exit. Por. A gentle riddance: draw the curtaines, go:Let all of his complexion choose me so. Exeunt. Enter Salarino and Solanio. Flo. Cornets. Sal. Why man I saw Bassanio vnder sayle;With him is Gratiano gone along;And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not. Sol. The villaine Iew with outcries raisd the Duke.Who went with him to search Bassanios ship. Sal. He comes too late, the ship was vndersaile;But there the Duke was giuen to vnderstandThat in a Gondilo were seene together Lorenzo and his amorous Iessica. Besides, Anthonio certified the DukeThey were not with Bassanio in his ship. Sol. I neuer heard a passion so confusd,So strange, outragious, and so variable,As the dogge Iew did vtter in the streets;My daughter, O my ducats, O my daughter,Fled with a Christian, O my Christian ducats!Iustice, the law, my ducats, and my daughter;A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,Of double ducats, stolne from me by my daughter,And iewels, two stones, two rich and precious stones,Stolne by my daughter: iustice, finde the girle,She hath the stones vpon her, and the ducats. Sal. Why all the boyes in Venice follow him,Crying his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. Sol. Let good Anthonio looke he keepe his dayOr he shall pay for this. Sal. Marry well remembred,I reason'd with a Frenchman yesterday,Who told me, in the narrow seas that partThe French and English, there miscariedA vessell of our countrey richly fraught:I thought vpon Anthonio when he told me,And wisht in silence that it were not his. Sol. You were best to tell Anthonio what you heare.Yet doe not suddainely, for it may grieue him. Sal. A kinder Gentleman treads not the earth,I saw Bassanio and Anthonio part, Bassanio told him he would make some speedeOf his returne: he answered, doe not so,Slubber not businesse for my sake Bassanio, But stay the very riping of the time,And for the Iewes bond which he hath of me,Let it not enter in your minde of loue:Be merry, and imploy your chiefest thoughtsTo courtship, and such faire ostents of loueAs shall conueniently become you there;And euen there his eye being big with teares,Turning his face, he put his hand behinde him,And with affection wondrous sencibleHe wrung Bassanios hand, and so they parted. Sol. I thinke he onely loues the world for him,I pray thee let vs goe and finde him outAnd quicken his embraced heauinesseWith some delight or other. Sal. Doe we so. Exeunt. Enter Nerrissa and a Seruiture. Ner. Quick, quick I pray thee, draw the curtain strait, The Prince of Arragon hath tane his oath,And comes to his election presently. Enter Arragon, his traine, and Portia.Flor. Cornets. Por. Behold, there stand the caskets noble Prince,If you choose that wherein I am contain'd,Straight shall our nuptiall rights be solemniz'd:But if thou faile, without more speech my Lord,You must be gone from hence immediately. Ar. I am enioynd by oath to obserue three things;First, neuer to vnfold to any oneWhich casket 'twas I chose; next, if I faileOf the right casket, neuer in my lifeTo wooe a maide in way of marriage:Lastly, if I doe faile in fortune of my choyse,Immediately to leaue you, and be gone. Por. To these iniunctions euery one doth sweareThat comes to hazard for my worthlesse selfe. Ar. And so haue I addrest me, fortune nowTo my hearts hope: gold, siluer, and base lead.Who chooseth me must giue and hazard all he hath.You shall looke fairer ere I giue or hazard.What saies the golden chest, ha, let me see.Who chooseth me, shall gaine what many men desire:What many men desire, that many may be meantBy the foole multitude that choose by show,Not learning more then the fond eye doth teach,Which pries not to th' interior, but like the MartletBuilds in the weather on the outward wall,Euen in the force and rode of casualtie.I will not choose what many men desire,Because I will not iumpe with common spirits,And ranke me with the barbarous multitudes.Why then to thee thou Siluer treasure house,Tell me once more, what title thou doost beare;Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues:And well said too; for who shall goe aboutTo cosen Fortune, and be honourableWithout the stampe of merrit, let none presumeTo weare an vndeserued dignitie:O that estates, degrees, and offices,Were not deriu'd corruptly, and that cleare honourWere purchast by the merrit of the wearer;How many then should couer that stand bare?How many be commanded that command?How much low pleasantry would then be gleanedFrom the true seede of honor? And how much honorPickt from the chaffe and ruine of the times,To be new varnisht: Well, but to my choise.Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserues.I will assume desert; giue me a key for this,And instantly vnlocke my fortunes here. Por. Too long a pause for that which you finde there. Ar. What's here, the portrait of a blinking idiotPresenting me a scedule, I will reade it:How much vnlike art thou to Portia?How much vnlike my hopes and my deseruings?Who chooseth me, shall haue as much as he deserues.Did I deserue no more then a fooles head,Is that my prize, are my deserts no better? Por. To offend and iudge are distinct offices,And of opposed natures. Ar. What is here? The fier seauen times tried this,Seauen times tried that iudgement is,That did neuer choose amis,Some there be that shadowes kisse,Such haue but a shadowes blisse:There be fooles aliue IwisSiluer'd o're, and so was this:Take what wife you will to bed,I will euer be your head:So be gone, you are sped. Ar. Still more foole I shall appeareBy the time I linger here,With one fooles head I came to woo,But I goe away with two.Sweet adue, Ile keepe my oath,Patiently to beare my wroath. Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moath:O these deliberate fooles when they doe choose,They haue the wisdome by their wit to loose. Ner. The ancient saying is no heresie,Hanging and wiuing goes by destinie. Por. Come draw the curtaine Nerrissa. Enter Messenger. Mes. Where is my Lady? Por. Here, what would my Lord? Mes. Madam, there is a-lighted at your gateA yong Venetian, one that comes beforeTo signifie th' approaching of his Lord,From whom he bringeth sensible regreets;To wit (besides commends and curteous breath)Gifts of rich value; yet I haue not seeneSo likely an Embassador of loue.A day in Aprill neuer came so sweeteTo show how costly Sommer was at hand,As this fore-spurrer comes before his Lord. Por. No more I pray thee, I am halfe a-feardThou wilt say anone he is some kin to thee,Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him:Come, come Nerryssa, for I long to seeQuicke Cupids Post, that comes so mannerly. Ner. Bassanio Lord, loue if thy will it be. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Enter Solanio and Salarino. Sol. Now, what newes on the Ryalto? Sal. Why yet it liues there vncheckt, that Anthonio hath a ship of rich lading wrackt on the narrow Seas; theGoodwins I thinke they call the place, a very dangerousflat, and fatall, where the carcasses of many a tall ship, lyeburied, as they say, if my gossips report be an honest wo-man of her word. Sol. I would she were as lying a gossip in that, as euerknapt Ginger, or made her neighbours beleeue she weptfor the death of a third husband: but it is true, withoutany slips of prolixity, or crossing the plaine high-way oftalke, that the good Anthonio, the honest Anthonio; o thatI had a title good enough to keepe his name company! Sal. Come, the full stop. Sol. Ha, what sayest thou, why the end is, he hath losta ship. Sal. I would it might proue the end of his losses. Sol. Let me say Amen betimes, least the diuell crossemy praier, for here he comes in the likenes of a Iew. Hownow Shylocke, what newes among the Merchants? Enter Shylocke. Shy. You knew none so well, none so well as you, ofmy daughters flight. Sal. That's certaine, I for my part knew the Tailorthat made the wings she flew withall. Sol. And Shylocke for his owne part knew the bird wasfledg'd, and then it is the complexion of them al to leauethe dam. Shy. She is damn'd for it. Sal. That's certaine, if the diuell may be her Iudge. Shy. My owne flesh and blood to rebell. Sol. Out vpon it old carrion, rebels it at these yeeres. Shy. I say my daughter is my flesh and bloud. Sal. There is more difference betweene thy flesh andhers, then betweene Iet and Iuorie, more betweene yourbloods, then there is betweene red wine and rennish: buttell vs, doe you heare whether Anthonio haue had anielosse at sea or no? Shy. There I haue another bad match, a bankrout, aprodigall, who dare scarce shew his head on the Ryalto,a begger that was vsd to come so smug vpon the Mart:let him look to his bond, he was wont to call me Vsurer,let him looke to his bond, he was wont to lend moneyfor a Christian curtsie, let him looke to his bond. Sal. Why I am sure if he forfaite, thou wilt not takehis flesh, what's that good for? Shy. To baite fish withall, if it will feede nothingelse, it will feede my reuenge; he hath disgrac'd me, andhindred me halfe a million, laught at my losses, mockt atmy gaines, scorned my Nation, thwarted my bargaines,cooled my friends, heated mine enemies, and what's thereason? I am a Iewe: Hath not a Iew eyes? hath not a Iew hands, organs, dementions, sences, affections, passi-ons, fed with the same foode, hurt with the same wea-pons, subiect to the same diseases, healed by the samemeanes, warmed and cooled by the same Winter andSommer as a Christian is: if you pricke vs doe we notbleede? if you tickle vs, doe we not laugh? if you poisonvs doe we not die? and if you wrong vs shall we not re-uenge? if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble youin that. If a Iew wrong a Christian, what is his humility,reuenge? If a Christian wrong a Iew, what should his suf-ferance be by Christian example, why reuenge? The vil-lanie you teach me I will execute, and it shall goe hardbut I will better the instruction. Enter a man from Anthonio. Gentlemen, my maister Anthonio is at his house, anddesires to speake with you both. Sal. We haue beene vp and downe to seeke him. Enter Tuball. Sol. Here comes another of the Tribe, a third cannotbe matcht, vnlesse the diuell himselfe turne Iew. Exeunt Gentlemen. Shy. How now Tuball, what newes from Genowa? hastthou found my daughter? Tub. I often came where I did heare of her, but can-not finde her. Shy. Why there, there, there, there, a diamond gonecost me two thousand ducats in Franckford, the curse ne-uer fell vpon our Nation till now, I neuer felt it till now,two thousand ducats in that, and other precious, preci-ous iewels: I would my daughter were dead at my foot,and the iewels in her eare: would she were hearst at myfoote, and the duckets in her coffin: no newes of them,why so? and I know not how much is spent in the search:why thou losse vpon losse, the theefe gone with somuch, and so much to finde the theefe, and no satisfa-ction, no reuenge, nor no ill luck stirring but what lights a my shoulders, no sighes but a my breathing, no tearesbut a my shedding. Tub. Yes, other men haue ill lucke too, Anthonio as Iheard in Genowa? Shy. What, what, what, ill lucke, ill lucke. Tub. Hath an Argosie cast away comming from Tri-polis. Shy. I thanke God, I thanke God, is it true, is it true? Tub. I spoke with some of the Saylers that escapedthe wracke. Shy. I thanke thee good Tuball, good newes, goodnewes: ha, ha, here in Genowa. Tub. Your daughter spent in Genowa, as I heard, onenight fourescore ducats. Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me, I shall neuer see mygold againe, fourescore ducats at a sitting, fourescore du-cats. Tub. There came diuers of Anthonios creditors in mycompany to Venice, that sweare hee cannot choose butbreake. Shy. I am very glad of it, ile plague him, ile torturehim, I am glad of it, Tub. One of them shewed me a ring that hee had ofyour daughter for a Monkie. Shy. Out vpon her, thou torturest me Tuball, it wasmy Turkies, I had it of Leah when I was a Batcheler: Iwould not haue giuen it for a wildernesse of Monkies. Tub. But Anthonio is certainely vndone. Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true, goe Tuball, seeme an Officer, bespeake him a fortnight before, I willhaue the heart of him if he forfeit, for were he out of Ve-nice, I can make what merchandize I will: goe Tuball, and meete me at our Sinagogue, goe good Tuball, at ourSinagogue Tuball. Exeunt. Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, and all their traine. Por. I pray you tarrie, pause a day or twoBefore you hazard, for in choosing wrongI loose your companie; therefore forbeare a while,There's something tels me (but it is not loue)I would not loose you, and you know your selfe,Hate counsailes not in such a quallitie;But least you should not vnderstand me well,And yet a maiden hath no tongue, but thought,I would detaine you here some month or twoBefore you venture for me. I could teach youHow to choose right, but then I am forsworne,So will I neuer be, so may you misse me,But if you doe, youle make me wish a sinne,That I had beene forsworne: Beshrow your eyes,They haue ore-lookt me and deuided me,One halfe of me is yours, the other halfe yours,Mine owne I would say: but of mine then yours,And so all yours; O these naughtie timesPuts bars betweene the owners and their rights.And so though yours, not yours (proue it so)Let Fortune goe to hell for it, not I.I speake too long, but 'tis to peize the time,To ich it, and to draw it out in length,To stay you from election. Bass. Let me choose,For as I am, I liue vpon the racke. Por. Vpon the racke Bassanio, then confesseWhat treason there is mingled with your loue. Bass. None but that vglie treason of mistrust.Which makes me feare the enioying of my loue:There may as well be amitie and life,'Tweene snow and fire, as treason and my loue. Por. I, but I feare you speake vpon the racke,Where men enforced doth speake any thing. Bass. Promise me life, and ile confesse the truth. Por. Well then, confesse and liue. Bass. Confesse and loueHad beene the verie sum of my confession:O happie torment, when my torturerDoth teach me answers for deliuerance:But let me to my fortune and the caskets. Por. Away then, I am lockt in one of them,If you doe loue me, you will finde me out. Nerryssa and the rest, stand all aloofe,Let musicke sound while he doth make his choise,Then if he loose he makes a Swan-like end,Fading in musique. That the comparisonMay stand more proper, my eye shall be the streameAnd watrie death-bed for him: he may win,And what is musique than? Than musique isEuen as the flourish, when true subiects boweTo a new crowned Monarch: Such it is,As are those dulcet sounds in breake of day,That creepe into the dreaming bride-groomes eare,And summon him to marriage. Now he goesWith no lesse presence, but with much more loueThen yong Alcides, when he did redeemeThe virgine tribute, paied by howling Troy To the Sea-monster: I stand for sacrifice,The rest aloofe are the Dardanian wiues:With bleared visages come forth to viewThe issue of th' exploit: Goe Hercules,Liue thou, I liue with much more dismayI view the sight, then thou that mak'st the fray. Here Musicke.A Song the whilst Bassanio comments on theCaskets to himselfe. Tell me where is fancie bred,Or in the heart, or in the head:How begot, how nourished. Replie, replie.It is engendred in the eyes,With gazing fed, and Fancie dies,In the cradle where it lies:Let vs all ring Fancies knell. Ile begin it. Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell. Bass. So may the outward showes be least themseluesThe world is still deceiu'd with ornament.In Law, what Plea so tainted and corrupt,But being season'd with a gracious voice,Obscures the show of euill? In Religion,What damned error, but some sober browWill blesse it, and approue it with a text,Hiding the grosenesse with faire ornament:There is no voice so simple, but assumesSome marke of vertue on his outward parts;How manie cowards, whose hearts are all as falseAs stayers of sand, weare yet vpon their chinsThe beards of Hercules and frowning Mars, Who inward searcht, haue lyuers white as milke,And these assume but valors excrement,To render them redoubted. Looke on beautie,And you shall see 'tis purchast by the weight,Which therein workes a miracle in nature,Making them lightest that weare most of it:So are those crisped snakie golden locksWhich makes such wanton gambols with the windeVpon supposed fairenesse, often knowneTo be the dowrie of a second head,The scull that bred them in the Sepulcher.Thus ornament is but the guiled shoreTo a most dangerous sea: the beautious scarfeVailing an Indian beautie; In a word,The seeming truth which cunning times put onTo intrap the wisest. Therefore then thou gaudie gold,Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee,Nor none of thee thou pale and common drudge'Tweene man and man: but thou, thou meager leadWhich rather threatnest then dost promise ought,Thy palenesse moues me more then eloquence,And here choose I, ioy be the consequence. Por. How all the other passions fleet to ayre,As doubtfull thoughts, and rash imbrac'd despaire:And shuddring feare, and greene-eyed iealousie.O loue be moderate, allay thy extasie,In measure raine thy ioy, scant this excesse,I feele too much thy blessing, make it lesse,For feare I surfeit. Bas. What finde I here?Faire Portias counterfeit. What demie GodHath come so neere creation? moue these eies?Or whether riding on the bals of mineSeeme they in motion? Here are seuer'd lipsParted with suger breath, so sweet a barreShould sunder such sweet friends: here in her hairesThe Painter plaies the Spider, and hath wouenA golden mesh t' intrap the hearts of menFaster then gnats in cobwebs: but her eies,How could he see to doe them? hauing made one,Me thinkes it should haue power to steale both hisAnd leaue it selfe vnfurnisht: Yet looke how farreThe substance of my praise doth wrong this shadowIn vnderprising it, so farre this shadowDoth limpe behinde the substance. Here's the scroule,The continent, and summarie of my fortune. You that choose not by the viewChance as faire, and choose as true:Since this fortune fals to you,Be content, and seeke no new.If you be well pleasd with this,And hold your fortune for your blisse,Turne you where your Lady is,And claime her with a louing kisse. Bass. A gentle scroule: Faire Lady, by your leaue,I come by note to giue, and to receiue,Like one of two contending in a prizeThat thinks he hath done well in peoples eies:Hearing applause and vniuersall shout,Giddie in spirit, still gazing in a doubtWhether those peales of praise be his or no. So thrice faire Lady stand I euen so,As doubtfull whether what I see be true,Vntill confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. Por. You see my Lord Bassiano where I stand,Such as I am; though for my selfe aloneI would not be ambitious in my wish,To wish my selfe much better, yet for you,I would be trebled twenty times my selfe,A thousand times more faire, ten thousand timesMore rich, that onely to stand high in your account,I might in vertues, beauties, liuings, friends,Exceed account: but the full summe of meIs sum of nothing: which to terme in grosse,Is an vnlessoned girle, vnschool'd, vnpractiz'd,Happy in this, she is not yet so oldBut she may learne: happier then this,Shee is not bred so dull but she can learne;Happiest of all, is that her gentle spiritCommits it selfe to yours to be directed,As from her Lord, her Gouernour, her King.My selfe, and what is mine, to you and yoursIs now conuerted. But now I was the LordOf this faire mansion, master of my seruants,Queene ore my selfe: and euen now, but now,This house, these seruants, and this same my selfeAre yours, my Lord, I giue them with this ring,Which when you part from, loose, or giue away,Let it presage the ruine of your loue,And be my vantage to exclaime on you. Bass. Maddam, you haue bereft me of all words,Onely my bloud speakes to you in my vaines,And there is such confusion in my powers,As after some oration fairely spokeBy a beloued Prince, there doth appeareAmong the buzzing pleased multitude,Where euery something being blent together,Turnes to a wilde of nothing, saue of ioyExprest, and not exprest: but when this ringParts from this finger, then parts life from hence,O then be bold to say Bassanio's dead. Ner. My Lord and Lady, it is now our timeThat haue stood by and seene our wishes prosper,To cry good ioy, good ioy my Lord and Lady. Gra. My Lord Bassanio, and my gentle Lady,I wish you all the ioy that you can wish:For I am sure you can wish none from me:And when your Honours meane to solemnizeThe bargaine of your faith: I doe beseech youEuen at that time I may be married too. Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife. Gra. I thanke your Lordship, you haue got me one.My eyes my Lord can looke as swift as yours:You saw the mistres, I beheld the maid:You lou'd, I lou'd for intermission,No more pertaines to me my Lord then you;Your fortune stood vpon the caskets there,And so did mine too, as the matter falls:For wooing heere vntill I swet againe,And swearing till my very rough was dryWith oathes of loue, at last, if promise last,I got a promise of this faire one heereTo haue her loue: prouided that your fortuneAtchieu'd her mistresse. Por. Is this true Nerrissa? Ner. Madam it is so, so you stand pleas'd withall. Bass. And doe you Gratiano meane good faith? Gra. Yes faith my Lord. Bass. Our feast shall be much honored in your mar-riage. Gra. Weele play with them the first boy for a thou-sand ducats. Ner. What and stake downe? Gra. No, we shal nere win at that sport, and stakedowne.But who comes heere? Lorenzo and his Infidell?What and my old Venetian friend Salerio? Enter Lorenzo, Iessica, and Salerio. Bas. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hether,If that the youth of my new interest heereHaue power to bid you welcome: by your leaueI bid my verie friends and CountrimenSweet Portia welcome. Por. So do I my Lord, they are intirely welcome. Lor. I thanke your honor; for my part my Lord,My purpose was not to haue seene you heere,But meeting with Salerio by the way,He did intreate mee past all saying nayTo come with him along. Sal. I did my Lord,And I haue reason for it, Signior Anthonio Commends him to you. Bass. Ere I ope his LetterI pray you tell me how my good friend doth. Sal. Not sicke my Lord, vnlesse it be in minde,Nor wel, vnlesse in minde: his Letter thereWil shew you his estate. Opens the Letter. Gra. Nerrissa, cheere yond stranger, bid her welcom.Your hand Salerio, what's the newes from Venice?How doth that royal Merchant good Anthonio; I know he will be glad of our successe,We are the Iasons, we haue won the fleece. Sal. I would you had won the fleece that hee hathlost. Por. There are some shrewd contents in yond samePaper,That steales the colour from Bassianos cheeke,Some deere friend dead, else nothing in the worldCould turne so much the constitutionOf any constant man. What, worse and worse?With leaue Bassanio I am halfe your selfe,And I must freely haue the halfe of any thingThat this same paper brings you. Bass. O sweet Portia, Heere are a few of the vnpleasant'st wordsThat euer blotted paper. Gentle LadieWhen I did first impart my loue to you,I freely told you all the wealth I hadRan in my vaines: I was a Gentleman,And then I told you true: and yet deere Ladie,Rating my selfe at nothing, you shall seeHow much I was a Braggart, when I told youMy state was nothing, I should then haue told youThat I was worse then nothing: for indeedeI haue ingag'd my selfe to a deere friend,Ingag'd my friend to his meere enemieTo feede my meanes. Heere is a Letter Ladie,The paper as the bodie of my friend,And euerie word in it a gaping woundIssuing life blood. But is it true Salerio, Hath all his ventures faild, what not one hit,From Tripolis, from Mexico and England,From Lisbon, Barbary, and India,And not one vessell scape the dreadfull touchOf Merchant-marring rocks? Sal. Not one my Lord.Besides, it should appeare, that if he hadThe present money to discharge the Iew,He would not take it: neuer did I knowA creature that did beare the shape of manSo keene and greedy to confound a man.He plyes the Duke at morning and at night,And doth impeach the freedome of the stateIf they deny him iustice. Twenty Merchants,The Duke himselfe, and the MagnificoesOf greatest port haue all perswaded with him,But none can driue him from the enuious pleaOf forfeiture, of iustice, and his bond. Iessi. When I was with him, I haue heard him sweareTo Tuball and to Chus, his Countri-men,That he would rather haue Anthonio's flesh,Then twenty times the value of the summeThat he did owe him: and I know my Lord,If law, authoritie, and power denie not,It will goe hard with poore Anthonio. Por. Is it your deere friend that is thus in trouble? Bass. The deerest friend to me, the kindest man,The best condition'd, and vnwearied spiritIn doing curtesies: and one in whomThe ancient Romane honour more appearesThen any that drawes breath in Italie. Por. What summe owes he the Iew? Bass. For me three thousand ducats. Por. What, no more?Pay him sixe thousand, and deface the bond:Double sixe thousand, and then treble that,Before a friend of this descriptionShall lose a haire through Bassanio's fault.First goe with me to Church, and call me wife,And then away to Venice to your friend:For neuer shall you lie by Portias sideWith an vnquiet soule. You shall haue goldTo pay the petty debt twenty times ouer.When it is payd, bring your true friend along,My maid Nerrissa, and my selfe meane timeWill liue as maids and widdowes; come away,For you shall hence vpon your wedding day:Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheere,Since you are deere bought, I will loue you deere.But let me heare the letter of your friend. Sweet Bassanio, my ships haue all miscarried, my Credi-tors grow cruell, my estate is very low, my bond to the Iew is forfeit, and since in paying it, it is impossible I should liue, all debts are cleerd between you and I, if I might see you at my death: notwithstanding, vse your pleasure, if your loue doe notperswade you to come, let not my letter. Por. O loue! dispach all busines and be gone. Bass. Since I haue your good leaue to goe away,I will make hast; but till I come againe,No bed shall ere be guilty of my stay,Nor rest be interposer twixt vs twaine. Exeunt. Enter the Iew, and Solanio, and Anthonio,and the Iaylor. Iew. Iaylor, looke to him, tell not me of mercy,This is the foole that lends out money gratis. Iaylor, looke to him. Ant. Heare me yet good Shylok. Iew. Ile haue my bond, speake not against my bond,I haue sworne an oath that I will haue my bond:Thou call'dst me dog before thou hadst a cause,But since I am a dog, beware my phangs,The Duke shall grant me iustice, I do wonderThou naughty Iaylor, that thou art so fondTo come abroad with him at his request. Ant. I pray thee heare me speake. Iew. Ile haue my bond, I will not heare thee speake,Ile haue my bond, and therefore speake no more,Ile not be made a soft and dull ey'd foole,To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yeeldTo Christian intercessors: follow not,Ile haue no speaking, I will haue my bond. Exit Iew. Sol. It is the most impenetrable curreThat euer kept with men. Ant. Let him alone,Ile follow him no more with bootlesse prayers:He seekes my life, his reason well I know;I oft deliuer'd from his forfeituresMany that haue at times made mone to me,Therefore he hates me. Sol. I am sure the Duke will neuer grantthis forfeiture to hold. An. The Duke cannot deny the course of law:For the commoditie that strangers haueWith vs in Venice, if it be denied,Will much impeach the iustice of the State,Since that the trade and profit of the cittyConsisteth of all Nations. Therefore goe,These greefes and losses haue so bated mee,That I shall hardly spare a pound of fleshTo morrow, to my bloudy Creditor.Well Iaylor, on, pray God Bassanio comeTo see me pay his debt, and then I care not. Exeunt. Enter Portia, Nerrissa, Lorenzo, Iessica, and a man ofPortias. Lor. Madam, although I speake it in your presence,You haue a noble and a true conceitOf god-like amity, which appeares most stronglyIn bearing thus the absence of your Lord.But if you knew to whom you shew this honour,How true a Gentleman you send releefe,How deere a louer of my Lord your husband,I know you would be prouder of the workeThen customary bounty can enforce you. Por. I neuer did repent for doing good,Nor shall not now: for in companionsThat do conuerse and waste the time together,Whose soules doe beare an egal yoke of loue.There must be needs a like proportionOf lyniaments, of manners, and of spirit;Which makes me thinke that this Anthonio Being the bosome louer of my Lord,Must needs be like my Lord. If it be so,How little is the cost I haue bestowedIn purchasing the semblance of my soule;From out the state of hellish cruelty,This comes too neere the praising of my selfe,Therefore no more of it: heere other things Lorenso I commit into your hands, The husbandry and mannage of my house,Vntill my Lords returne; for mine owne partI haue toward heauen breath'd a secret vow,To liue in prayer and contemplation,Onely attended by Nerrissa heere,Vntill her husband and my Lords returne:There is a monastery too miles off,And there we will abide. I doe desire youNot to denie this imposition,The which my loue and some necessityNow layes vpon you. Lorens. Madame, with all my heart,I shall obey you in all faire commands. Por. My people doe already know my minde,And will acknowledge you and Iessica In place of Lord Bassanio and my selfe.So far you well till we shall meete againe. Lor. Faire thoughts & happy houres attend on you. Iessi. I wish your Ladiship all hearts content. Por. I thanke you for your wish, and am well pleas'dTo wish it backe on you: faryouwell Iessica. Exeunt. Now Balthaser, as I haue euer found thee honest true,So let me finde thee still: take this same letter,And vse thou all the indeauor of a man,In speed to Mantua, see thou render thisInto my cosins hand, Doctor Belario, And looke what notes and garments he doth giue thee,Bring them I pray thee with imagin'd speedVnto the Tranect, to the common FerrieWhich trades to Venice; waste no time in words,But get thee gone, I shall be there before thee. Balth. Madam, I goe with all conuenient speed. Por. Come on Nerissa, I haue worke in handThat you yet know not of; wee'll see our husbandsBefore they thinke of vs? Nerrissa. Shall they see vs? Portia. They shall Nerrissa: but in such a habit,That they shall thinke we are accomplishedWith that we lacke; Ile hold thee any wagerWhen we are both accoutered like yong men,Ile proue the prettier fellow of the two,And weare my dagger with the brauer grace,And speake betweene the change of man and boy,With a reede voyce, and turne two minsing stepsInto a manly stride; and speake of frayesLike a fine bragging youth: and tell quaint lyesHow honourable Ladies sought my loue,Which I denying, they fell sicke and died.I could not doe withall: then Ile repent,And wish for all that, that I had not kil'd them;And twentie of these punie lies Ile tell,That men shall sweare I haue discontinued schooleAboue a twelue moneth: I haue within my mindeA thousand raw tricks of these bragging Iacks,Which I will practise. Nerris. Why, shall wee turne to men? Portia. Fie, what a questions that?If thou wert nere a lewd interpreter:But come, Ile tell thee all my whole deuiceWhen I am in my coach, which stayes for vsAt the Parke gate; and therefore haste away,For we must measure twentie miles to day. Exeunt. Enter Clowne and Iessica. Clown. Yes truly; for looke you, the sinnes of the Fa-ther are to be laid vpon the children, therefore I promiseyou, I feare you, I was alwaies plaine with you, and sonow I speake my agitation of the matter: therfore be ofgood cheere, for truly I thinke you are damn'd, there isbut one hope in it that can doe you anie good, and that isbut a kinde of bastard hope neither. Iessica. And what hope is that I pray thee? Clow. Marrie you may partlie hope that your fathergot you not, that you are not the Iewes daughter. Ies. That were a kinde of bastard hope indeed, so thesins of my mother should be visited vpon me. Clow. Truly then I feare you are damned both by fa-ther and mother: thus when I shun Scilla your father, Ifall into Charibdis your mother; well, you are gone bothwaies. Ies. I shall be sau'd by my husband, he hath made mea Christian. Clow. Truly the more to blame he, we were Christi-ans enow before, e'ne as many as could wel liue one by a-nother: this making of Christians will raise the price ofHogs, if wee grow all to be porke-eaters, wee shall notshortlie haue a rasher on the coales for money. Enter Lorenzo. Ies. Ile tell my husband Lancelet what you say, heerehe comes. Loren. I shall grow iealous of you shortly Lancelet, if you thus get my wife into corners? Ies. Nay, you need not feare vs Lorenzo, Launcelet and I are out, he tells me flatly there is no mercy for meein heauen, because I am a Iewes daughter: and hee saiesyou are no good member of the common wealth, forin conuerting Iewes to Christians, you raise the priceof Porke. Loren. I shall answere that better to the Common-wealth, than you can the getting vp of the Negroes bel-lie: the Moore is with childe by you Launcelet? Clow. It is much that the Moore should be more thenreason: but if she be lesse then an honest woman, shee isindeed more then I tooke her for. Loren. How euerie foole can play vpon the word, Ithinke the best grace of witte will shortly turne into si-lence, and discourse grow commendable in none onelybut Parrats: goe in sirra, bid them prepare for dinner? Clow. That is done sir, they haue all stomacks? Loren. Goodly Lord, what a witte-snapper are you,then bid them prepare dinner. Clow. That is done to sir, onely couer is the word. Loren. Will you couer than sir? Clow. Not so sir neither, I know my dutie. Loren. Yet more quarreling with occasion, wilt thoushew the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant; I praythee vnderstand a plaine man in his plaine meaning: goeto thy fellowes, bid them couer the table, serue in themeat, and we will come in to dinner. Clow. For the table sir, it shall be seru'd in, for themeat sir, it shall bee couered, for your comming in todinner sir, why let it be as humors and conceits shall go-uerne. Exit Clowne. Lor. O deare discretion, how his words are suted,The foole hath planted in his memoryAn Armie of good words, and I doe know A many fooles that stand in better place,Garnisht like him, that for a tricksie wordDefie the matter: how cheer'st thou Iessica, And now good sweet say thy opinion, How dost thou like the Lord Bassiano's wife? Iessi. Past all expressing, it is very meeteThe Lord Bassanio liue an vpright lifeFor hauing such a blessing in his Lady,He findes the ioyes of heauen heere on earth,And if on earth he doe not meane it, itIs reason he should neuer come to heauen?Why, if two gods should play some heauenly match,And on the wager lay two earthly women,And Portia one: there must be something elsePaund with the other, for the poore rude worldHath not her fellow. Loren. Euen such a husbandHast thou of me, as she is for a wife. Ies. Nay, but aske my opinion to of that? Lor. I will anone, first let vs goe to dinner? Ies. Nay, let me praise you while I haue a stomacke? Lor. No pray thee, let it serue for table talke,Then how som ere thou speakst 'mong other things,I shall digest it? Iessi. Well, Ile set you forth. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes, Anthonio, Bassanio, andGratiano. Duke. What, is Anthonio heere? Ant. Ready, so please your grace? Duke. I am sorry for thee, thou art come to answereA stonie aduersary, an inhumane wretch,Vncapable of pitty, voyd, and emptyFrom any dram of mercie. Ant. I haue heardYour Grace hath tane great paines to qualifieHis rigorous course: but since he stands obdurate,And that no lawful meanes can carrie meOut of his enuies reach, I do opposeMy patience to his fury, and am arm'dTo suffer with a quietnesse of spirit,The very tiranny and rage of his. Du. Go one and cal the Iew into the Court. Sal. He is ready at the doore, he comes my Lord. Enter Shylocke. Du. Make roome, and let him stand before our face. Shylocke the world thinkes, and I thinke so to That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malliceTo the last houre of act, and then 'tis thoughtThou'lt shew thy mercy and remorse more strange,Than is thy strange apparant cruelty;And where thou now exact'st the penalty,Which is a pound of this poore Merchants flesh,Thou wilt not onely loose the forfeiture,But touch'd with humane gentlenesse and loue:Forgiue a moytie of the principall,Glancing an eye of pitty on his lossesThat haue of late so hudled on his backe,Enow to presse a royall Merchant downe;And plucke commiseration of his stateFrom brassie bosomes, and rough hearts of flints,From stubborne Turkes and Tarters neuer traind To offices of tender curtesie,We all expect a gentle answer Iew? Iew. I haue possest your grace of what I purpose,And by our holy Sabbath haue I sworneTo haue the due and forfeit of my bond.If you denie it, let the danger lightVpon your Charter, and your Cities freedome.You'l aske me why I rather choose to haueA weight of carrion flesh, then to receiueThree thousand Ducats? Ile not answer that:But say it is my humor; Is it answered?What if my house be troubled with a Rat,And I be pleas'd to giue ten thousand DucatesTo haue it bain'd? What, are you answer'd yet?Some men there are loue not a gaping Pigge:Some that are mad, if they behold a Cat:And others, when the bag-pipe sings i'th nose,Cannot containe their Vrine for affection.Masters of passion swayes it to the moodeOf what it likes or loaths, now for your answer:As there is no firme reason to be rendredWhy he cannot abide a gaping Pigge?Why he a harmlesse necessarie Cat?Why he a woollen bag-pipe: but of forceMust yeeld to such ineuitable shame,As to offend himselfe being offended:So can I giue no reason, nor I will not,More then a lodg'd hate, and a certaine loathingI beare Anthonio, that I follow thusA loosing suite against him? Are you answered? Bass. This is no answer thou vnfeeling man,To excuse the currant of thy cruelty. Iew. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. Bass. Do all men kil the things they do not loue? Iew. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? Bass. Euerie offence is not a hate at first. Iew. What wouldst thou haue a Serpent sting theetwice? Ant. I pray you thinke you question with the Iew:You may as well go stand vpon the beach,And bid the maine flood baite his vsuall height,Or euen as well vse question with the Wolfe,The Ewe bleate for the Lambe:You may as well forbid the Mountaine PinesTo wagge their high tops, and to make no noiseWhen they are fretted with the gusts of heauen:You may as well do any thing most hard,As seeke to soften that, then which what harder?His Iewish heart. Therefore I do beseech youMake no more offers, vse no farther meanes,But with all briefe and plaine conueniencieLet me haue iudgement, and the Iew his will. Bas. For thy three thousand Ducates heere is six. Iew. If euerie Ducat in sixe thousand DucatesWere in sixe parts, and euery part a Ducate,I would not draw them, I would haue my bond? Du. How shalt thou hope for mercie, rendring none? Iew. What iudgement shall I dread doing no wrong?You haue among you many a purchast slaue,Which like your Asses, and your Dogs and Mules,You vse in abiect and in slauish parts,Because you bought them. Shall I say to you,Let them be free, marrie them to your heires?Why sweate they vnder burthens? Let their bedsBe made as soft as yours: and let their pallatsBe season'd with such Viands: you will answer The slaues are ours. So do I answer you.The pound of flesh which I demand of himIs deerely bought, 'tis mine, and I will haue it.If you deny me; fie vpon your Law,There is no force in the decrees of Venice;I stand for iudgement, answer, Shall I haue it? Du. Vpon my power I may dismisse this Court,Vnlesse Bellario a learned Doctor,Whom I haue sent for to determine this,Come heere to day. Sal. My Lord, heere stayes withoutA Messenger with Letters from the Doctor,New come from Padua. Du. Bring vs the Letters, Call the Messengers. Bass. Good cheere Anthonio. What man, corage yet:The Iew shall haue my flesh, blood, bones, and all,Ere thou shalt loose for me one drop of blood. Ant. I am a tainted Weather of the flocke,Meetest for death, the weakest kinde of fruiteDrops earliest to the ground, and so let me;You cannot better be employ'd Bassanio, Then to liue still, and write mine Epitaph. Enter Nerrissa. Du. Came you from Padua from Bellario? Ner. From both.My Lord Bellario greets your Grace. Bas. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? Iew. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrout there. Gra. Not on thy soale: but on thy soule harsh IewThou mak'st thy knife keene: but no mettall can,No, not the hangmans Axe beare halfe the keennesseOf thy sharpe enuy. Can no prayers pierce thee? Iew. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. Gra. O be thou damn'd, inexecrable dogge,And for thy life let iustice be accus'd:Thou almost mak'st me wauer in my faith;To hold opinion with Pythagoras, That soules of Animals infuse themseluesInto the trunkes of men. Thy currish spiritGouern'd a Wolfe, who hang'd for humane slaughter,Euen from the gallowes did his fell soule fleet;And whil'st thou layest in thy vnhallowed dam,Infus'd it selfe in thee: For thy desiresAre Woluish, bloody, steru'd, and rauenous. Iew. Till thou canst raile the seale from off my bondThou but offend'st thy Lungs to speake so loud:Repaire thy wit good youth, or it will fallTo endlesse ruine. I stand heere for Law. Du. This Letter from Bellario doth commendA yong and Learned Doctor in our Court;Where is he? Ner. He attendeth heere hard byTo know your answer, whether you'l admit him. Du. With all my heart. Some three or four of youGo giue him curteous conduct to this place,Meane time the Court shall heare Bellarioes Letter. Your Grace shall vnderstand, that at the receite of your Letter I am very sicke: but in the instant that your mes-senger came, in louing visitation, was with me a yong Do-ctor of Rome, his name is Balthasar: I acquainted him with the cause in Controuersie, betweene the Iew and Anthonio the Merchant: We turn'd ore many Bookes together: hee is furnished with my opinion, which bettred with his owne lear-ning, the greatnesse whereof I cannot enough commend, comes with him at my importunity, to fill vp your Graces request in my sted. I beseech you, let his lacke of years be no impediment to let him lacke a reuerend estimation: for I neuer knewe so yong a body, with so old a head. I leaue him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his commendation. Enter Portia for Balthazar. Duke. You heare the learn'd Bellario what he writes,And heere (I take it) is the Doctor come.Giue me your hand: Came you from old Bellario? Por. I did my Lord. Du. You are welcome: take your place;Are you acquainted with the differenceThat holds this present question in the Court. Por. I am enformed throughly of the cause.Which is the Merchant heere? and which the Iew? Du. Anthonio and old Shylocke, both stand forth. Por. Is your name Shylocke? Iew. Shylocke is my name. Por. Of a strange nature is the sute you follow,Yet in such rule, that the Venetian LawCannot impugne you as you do proceed.You stand within his danger, do you not? Ant. I, so he sayes. Por. Do you confesse the bond? Ant. I do. Por. Then must the Iew be mercifull. Iew. On what compulsion must I ? Tell me that. Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd,It droppeth as the gentle raine from heauenVpon the place beneath. It is twice blest,It blesseth him that giues, and him that takes,'Tis mightiest in the mightiest, it becomesThe throned Monarch better then his Crowne.His Scepter shewes the force of temporall power,The attribute to awe and Maiestie,Wherein doth sit the dread and feare of Kings:But mercy is aboue this sceptred sway,It is enthroned in the hearts of Kings,It is an attribute to God himselfe;And earthly power doth then shew likest GodsWhen mercie seasons Iustice. Therefore Iew,Though Iustice be thy plea, consider this,That in the course of Iustice, none of vsShould see saluation: we do pray for mercie,And that same prayer, doth teach vs all to renderThe deeds of mercie. I haue spoke thus muchTo mittigate the iustice of thy plea:Which if thou follow, this strict course of VeniceMust needes giue sentence 'gainst the Merchant there. Shy. My deeds vpon my head, I craue the Law,The penaltie and forfeite of my bond. Por. Is he not able to discharge the money? Bas. Yes, heere I tender it for him in the Court,Yea, twice the summe, if that will not suffice,I will be bound to pay it ten times ore,On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:If this will not suffice, it must appeareThat malice beares downe truth. And I beseech youWrest once the Law to your authority.To do a great right, do a little wrong,And curbe this cruell diuell of his will. Por. It must not be, there is no power in VeniceCan alter a decree established:'Twill be recorded for a President, And many an error by the same example,Will rush into the state: It cannot be. Iew. A Daniel come to iudgement, yea a Daniel. O wise young Iudge, how do I honour thee. Por. I pray you let me looke vpon the bond. Iew. Heere 'tis most reuerend Doctor, heere it is. Por. Shylocke, there's thrice thy monie offered thee. Shy. An oath, an oath, I haue an oath in heauen:Shall I lay periurie vpon my soule?No not for Venice. Por. Why this bond is forfeit,And lawfully by this the Iew may claimeA pound of flesh, to be by him cut offNeerest the Merchants heart; be mercifull,Take thrice thy money, bid me teare the bond. Iew. When it is paid according to the tenure.It doth appeare you are a worthy Iudge:You know the Law, your expositionHath beene most sound. I charge you by the Law,Whereof you are a well-deseruing pillar,Proceede to iudgement: By my soule I sweare,There is no power in the tongue of manTo alter me: I stay heere on my bond. An. Most heartily I do beseech the CourtTo giue the iudgement. Por. Why then thus it is:You must prepare your bosome for his knife. Iew. O noble Iudge, O excellent yong man. Por. For the intent and purpose of the LawHath full relation to the penaltie,Which heere appeareth due vpon the bond. Iew. 'Tis verie true: O wise and vpright Iudge,How much more elder art thou then thy lookes? Por. Therefore lay bare your bosome. Iew. I, his brest,So sayes the bond, doth it not noble Iudge?Neerest his heart, those are the very words. Por. It is so: Are there ballance heere to weigh theflesh? Iew. I haue them ready. Por. Haue by some Surgeon Shylock on your chargeTo stop his wounds, least he should bleede to death. Iew. It is not nominated in the bond? Por. It is not so exprest: but what of that?'Twere good you do so much for charitie. Iew. I cannot finde it, 'tis not in the bond. Por. Come Merchant, haue you any thing to say? Ant. But little: I am arm'd and well prepar'd.Giue me your hand Bassanio, fare you well.Greeue not that I am falne to this for you:For heerein fortune shewes her selfe more kindeThen is her custome. It is still her vseTo let the wretched man out-liue his wealth,To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled browAn age of pouerty. From which lingring penanceOf such miserie, doth she cut me off:Commend me to your honourable Wife,Tell her the processe of Anthonio's end:Say how I lou'd you; speake me faire in death:And when the tale is told, bid her be iudge,Whether Bassanio had not once a Loue:Repent not you that you shall loose your friend,And he repents not that he payes your debt.For if the Iew do cut but deepe enough,Ile pay it instantly, with all my heart. Bas. Anthonio, I am married to a wife, Which is as deere to me as life it selfe,But life it selfe, my wife, and all the world,Are not with me esteem'd aboue thy life.I would loose all, I sacrifice them allHeere to this deuill, to deliuer you. Por. Your wife would giue you little thanks for thatIf she were by to heare you make the offer. Gra. I haue a wife whom I protest I loue,I would she were in heauen, so she couldIntreat some power to change this currish Iew. Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behinde her backe,The wish would make else an vnquiet house. Iew. These be the Christian husbands: I haue a daughter Would any of the stocke of Barrabas Had beene her husband, rather then a Christian.We trifle time, I pray thee pursue sentence. Por. A pound of that same marchants flesh is thine,The Court awards it, and the law doth giue it. Iew. Most rightfull Iudge. Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast,The Law allowes it, and the Court awards it. Iew. Most learned Iudge, a sentence, come prepare. Por. Tarry a little, there is something else,This bond doth giue thee heere no iot of bloud,The words expresly are a pound of flesh:Then take thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh,But in the cutting it, if thou dost shedOne drop of Christian bloud, thy lands and goodsAre by the Lawes of Venice confiscateVnto the state of Venice. Gra. O vpright Iudge,Marke Iew, o learned Iudge. Shy. Is that the law? Por. Thy selfe shalt see the Act:For as thou vrgest iustice, be assur'dThou shalt haue iustice more then thou desirest. Gra. O learned Iudge, mark Iew, a learned Iudge. Iew. I take this offer then, pay the bond thrice,And let the Christian goe. Bass. Heere is the money. Por. Soft, the Iew shall haue all iustice, soft, no haste,He shall haue nothing but the penalty. Gra. O Iew, an vpright Iudge, a learned Iudge. Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh,Shed thou no bloud, nor cut thou lesse nor moreBut iust a pound of flesh: if thou tak'st moreOr lesse then a iust pound, be it so muchAs makes it light or heauy in the substance,Or the deuision of the twentieth partOf one poore scruple, nay if the scale doe turneBut in the estimation of a hayre,Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel Iew,Now infidell I haue thee on the hip. Por. Why doth the Iew pause, take thy forfeiture. Shy. Giue me my principall, and let me goe. Bass. I haue it ready for thee, heere it is. Por. He hath refus'd it in the open Court,He shall haue meerly iustice and his bond. Gra. A Daniel still say I, a second Daniel, I thanke thee Iew for teaching me that word. Shy. Shall I not haue barely my principall? Por. Thou shalt haue nothing but the forfeiture,To be taken so at thy perill Iew. Shy. Why then the Deuill giue him good of it:Ile stay no longer question. Por. Tarry Iew,The Law hath yet another hold on you.It is enacted in the Lawes of Venice,If it be proued against an Alien,That by direct, or indirect attemptsHe seeke the life of any Citizen,The party gainst the which he doth contriue,Shall seaze one halfe his goods, the other halfeComes to the priuie coffer of the State,And the offenders life lies in the mercyOf the Duke onely, gainst all other voice.In which predicament I say thou standst:For it appeares by manifest proceeding,That indirectly, and directly to,Thou hast contriu'd against the very lifeOf the defendant: and thou hast incur'dThe danger formerly by me rehearst.Downe therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke. Gra. Beg that thou maist haue leaue to hang thy selfe,And yet thy wealth being forfeit to the state,Thou hast not left the value of a cord,Therefore thou must be hang'd at the states charge. Duk. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,I pardon thee thy life before thou aske it:For halfe thy wealth, it is Anthonio's The other halfe comes to the generall state,Which humblenesse may driue vnto a fine. Por. I for the state, not for Anthonio. Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that,You take my house, when you do take the propThat doth sustaine my house: you take my lifeWhen you doe take the meanes whereby I liue. Por. What mercy can you render him Anthonio? Gra. A halter gratis, nothing else for Gods sake. Ant. So please my Lord the Duke, and all the CourtTo quit the fine for one halfe of his goods,I am content: so he will let me haueThe other halfe in vse, to render itVpon his death, vnto the GentlemanThat lately stole his daughter.Two things prouided more, that for this fauourHe presently become a Christian:The other, that he doe record a giftHeere in the Court of all he dies possestVnto his sonne Lorenzo, and his daughter. Duk. He shall doe this, or else I doe recantThe pardon that I late pronounced heere. Por. Art thou contented Iew? what dost thou say? Shy. I am content. Por. Clarke, draw a deed of gift. Shy. I pray you giue me leaue to goe from hence,I am not well, send the deed after me,And I will signe it. Duke. Get thee gone, but doe it. Gra. In christning thou shalt haue two godfathers,Had I been iudge, thou shouldst haue had ten more,To bring thee to the gallowes, not to the font. Exit. Du. Sir I intreat you with me home to dinner. Por. I humbly doe desire your Grace of pardon,I must away this night toward Padua,And it is meete I presently set forth. Duk. I am sorry that your leysure serues you not: Anthonio, gratifie this gentleman,For in my minde you are much bound to him. Exit Duke and his traine. Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friendHaue by your wisedome beene this day acquittedOf greeuous penalties, in lieu whereof,Three thousand Ducats due vnto the IewWe freely cope your curteous paines withall. An. And stand indebted ouer and aboueIn loue and seruice to you euermore. Por. He is well paid that is well satisfied,And I deliuering you, am satisfied,And therein doe account my selfe well paid,My minde was neuer yet more mercinarie.I pray you know me when we meete againe,I wish you well, and so I take my leaue. Bass. Deare sir, of force I must attempt you further,Take some remembrance of vs as a tribute,Not as fee: grant me two things, I pray youNot to denie me, and to pardon me. Por. You presse mee farre, and therefore I will yeeld,Giue me your gloues, Ile weare them for your sake,And for your loue Ile take this ring from you,Doe not draw backe your hand, ile take no more,And you in loue shall not deny me this? Bass. This ring good sir, alas it is a trifle,I will not shame my selfe to giue you this. Por. I wil haue nothing else but onely this,And now methinkes I haue a minde to it. Bas. There's more depends on this then on the valew,The dearest ring in Venice will I giue you,And finde it out by proclamation,Onely for this I pray you pardon me. Por. I see sir you are liberall in offers,You taught me first to beg, and now me thinkesYou teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. Bas. Good sir, this ring was giuen me by my wife,And when she put it on, she made me vowThat I should neither sell, nor giue, nor lose it. Por. That scuse serues many men to saue their gifts,And if your wife be not a mad woman,And know how well I haue deseru'd this ring,Shee would not hold out enemy for euerFor giuing it to me: well, peace be with you. Exeunt. Ant. My L[ord]. Bassanio, let him haue the ring,Let his deseruings and my loue withallBe valued against your wiues commandement. Bass. Goe Gratiano, run and ouer-take him,Giue him the ring, and bring him if thou canstVnto Anthonios house, away, make haste. Exit Grati. Come, you and I will thither presently,And in the morning early will we bothFlie toward Belmont, come Anthonio. Exeunt. Enter Portia and Nerrissa. Por. Enquire the Iewes house out, giue him this deed,And let him signe it, wee'll away to night,And be a day before our husbands home:This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. Enter Gratiano. Gra. Faire sir, you are well ore-tane:My L[ord]. Bassanio vpon more aduice,Hath sent you heere this ring, and doth intreatYour company at dinner. Por. That cannot be;His ring I doe accept most thankfully,And so I pray you tell him: furthermore,I pray you shew my youth old Shylockes house. Gra. That will I doe. Ner. Sir, I would speake with you: Ile see if I can get my husbands ringWhich I did make him sweare to keepe for euer. Por. Thou maist I warrant, we shal haue old swearingThat they did giue the rings away to men;But weele out-face them, and out-sweare them to:Away, make haste, thou know'st where I will tarry. Ner. Come good sir, will you shew me to this house. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Enter Lorenzo and Iessica. Lor. The moone shines bright. In such a night as this,When the sweet winde did gently kisse the trees,And they did make no noyse, in such a night Troylus me thinkes mounted the Troian walls,And sigh'd his soule toward the Grecian tentsWhere Cressed lay that night. Ies. In such a nightDid Thisbie fearefully ore-trip the dewe,And saw the Lyons shadow ere himselfe,And ranne dismayed away. Loren. In such a nightStood Dido with a Willow in her handVpon the wilde sea bankes, and waft her LoueTo come againe to Carthage. Ies. In such a night Medea gathered the inchanted hearbsThat did renew old Eson. Loren. In such a nightDid Iessica steale from the wealthy Iewe,And with an Vnthrift Loue did runne from Venice,As farre as Belmont. Ies. In such a nightDid young Lorenzo sweare he lou'd her well,Stealing her soule with many vowes of faith,And nere a true one. Loren. In such a nightDid pretty Iessica (like a little shrow)Slander her Loue, and he forgaue it her. Iessi. I would out-night you did no body come:But harke, I heare the footing of a man. Enter Messenger. Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night? Mes. A friend. Loren. A friend, what friend? your name I pray you friend? Mes. Stephano is my name, and I bring wordMy Mistresse will before the breake of dayBe heere at Belmont, she doth stray aboutBy holy crosses where she kneeles and prayesFor happy wedlocke houres. Loren. Who comes with her? Mes. None but a holy Hermit and her maid:I pray you is my Master yet return'd? Loren. He is not, nor we haue not heard from him,But goe we in I pray thee Iessica, And ceremoniously let vs prepareSome welcome for the Mistresse of the house, Enter Clowne. Clo. Sola, sola: wo ha ho, sola, sola. Loren. Who calls? Clo. Sola, did you see M[aster]. Lorenzo, & M[aster]. Lorenzo, sola, Lor. Leaue hollowing man, heere. Clo. Sola, where, where? Lor. Heere? Clo. Tel him ther's a Post come from my Master, withhis horne full of good newes, my Master will be here eremorning sweete soule. Loren. Let's in, and there expect their comming.And yet no matter: why should we goe in?My friend Stephen, signifie pray youWithin the house, your Mistresse is at hand,And bring your musique foorth into the ayre.How sweet the moone-light sleepes vpon this banke,Heere will we sit, and let the sounds of musickeCreepe in our eares soft stilnes, and the nightBecome the tutches of sweet harmonie:Sit Iessica, looke how the floore of heauenIs thicke inlayed with pattens of bright gold,There's not the smallest orbe which thou beholdstBut in his motion like an Angell sings,Still quiring to the young eyed Cherubins;Such harmonie is in immortall soules,But whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grosly close in it, we cannot heare it:Come hoe, and wake Diana with a hymne,With sweetest tutches pearce your Mistresse eare,And draw her home with musicke. Iessi. I am neuer merry when I heare sweet musique. Play musicke. Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentiue:For doe but note a wilde and wanton heardOr race of youthful and vnhandled colts,Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud,Which is the hot condition of their bloud,If they but heare perchance a trumpet sound,Or any ayre of musicke touch their eares,You shall perceiue them make a mutuall stand,Their sauage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,By the sweet power of musicke: therefore the PoetDid faine that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods.Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,But musicke for time doth change his nature,The man that hath no musicke in himselfe,Nor is not moued with concord of sweet sounds,Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoyles,The motions of his spirit are dull as night,And his affections darke as Erobus, Let no such man be trusted: marke the musicke. Enter Portia and Nerrissa. Por. That light we see is burning in my hall:How farre that little candell throwes his beames,So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Ner. When the moone shone we did not see the can-dle? Por. So doth the greater glory dim the lesse,A substitute shines brightly as a KingVntill a King be by, and then his stateEmpties it selfe, as doth an inland brookeInto the maine of waters: musique, harke. Musicke. Ner. It is your musicke Madame of the house. Por. Nothing is good I see without respect,Methinkes it sounds much sweeter then by day? Ner. Silence bestowes that vertue on it Madam. Por. The Crow doth sing as sweetly as the Larke When neither is attended: and I thinkeThe Nightingale if she should sing by dayWhen euery Goose is cackling, would be thoughtNo better a Musitian then the Wren?How many things by season, season'd areTo their right praise, and true perfection:Peace, how the Moone sleepes with Endimion,And would not be awak'd. Musicke ceases. Lor. That is the voice,Or I am much deceiu'd of Portia. Por. He knowes me as the blinde man knowes theCuckow by the bad voice? Lor. Deere Lady welcome home? Por. We haue bene praying for our husbands welfareWhich speed we hope the better for our words,Are they return'd? Lor. Madam, they are not yet:But there is come a Messenger beforeTo signifie their comming. Por. Go in Nerrissa, Giue order to my seruants, that they takeNo note at all of our being absent hence,Nor you Lorenzo, Iessica nor you. A Tucket sounds. Lor. Your husband is at hand, I heare his Trumpet,We are no tell-tales Madam, feare you not. Por. This night methinkes is but the daylight sicke,It lookes a little paler, 'tis a day,Such as the day is, when the Sun is hid. Enter Bassanio, Anthonio, Gratiano, and theirFollowers. Bas. We should hold day with the Antipodes,If you would walke in absence of the sunne. Por. Let me giue light, but let me not be light,For a light wife doth make a heauie husband,And neuer be Bassanio so for me,But God sort all: you are welcome home my Lord. Bass. I thanke you Madam, giue welcom to my friendThis is the man, this is Anthonio, To whom I am so infinitely bound. Por. You should in all sence be much bound to him,For as I heare he was much bound for you. Anth. No more then I am wel acquitted of. Por. Sir, you are verie welcome to our house:It must appeare in other waies then words,Therefore I scant this breathing curtesie. Gra. By yonder Moone I sweare you do me wrong,Infaith I gaue it to the Iudges Clearke,Would he were gelt that had it for my part,Since you do take it Loue so much at hart. Por. A quarrel hoe alreadie, what's the matter? Gra. About a hoope of Gold, a paltry RingThat she did giue me, whose Poesie wasFor all the world like Cutlers PoetryVpon a knife; Loue mee, and leaue mee not. Ner. What talke you of the Poesie or the valew:You swore to me when I did giue it you,That you would weare it til the houre of death,And that it should lye with you in your graue,Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,You should haue beene respectiue and haue kept it.Gaue it a Iudges Clearke: but wel I knowThe Clearke wil nere weare haire on's face that had it. Gra. He wil, and if he liue to be a man. Nerrissa. I, if a Woman liue to be a man. Gra. Now by this hand I gaue it to a youth,A kinde of boy, a little scrubbed boy,No higher then thy selfe, the Iudges Clearke,A prating boy that begg'd it as a Fee,I could not for my heart deny it him. Por. You were too blame, I must be plaine with you,To part so slightly with your wiues first gift,A thing stucke on with oathes vpon your finger,And so riueted with faith vnto your flesh.I gaue my Loue a Ring, and made him sweareNeuer to part with it, and heere he stands:I dare be sworne for him, he would not leaue it,Nor plucke it from his finger, for the wealthThat the world masters. Now in faith Gratiano, You giue your wife too vnkinde a cause of greefe, And 'twere to me I should be mad at it. Bass. Why I were best to cut my left hand off,And sweare I lost the Ring defending it. Gra. My Lord Bassanio gaue his Ring awayVnto the Iudge that beg'd it, and indeedeDeseru'd it too: and then the Boy his ClearkeThat tooke some paines in writing, he begg'd mine,And neyther man nor master would take oughtBut the two Rings. Por. What Ring gaue you my Lord?Not that I hope which you receiu'd of me. Bass. If I could adde a lie vnto a fault,I would deny it: but you see my fingerHath not the Ring vpon it, it is gone. Por. Euen so voide is your false heart of truth.By heauen I wil nere come in your bedVntil I see the Ring. Ner. Nor I in yours, til I againe see mine. Bass. Sweet Portia, If you did know to whom I gaue the Ring,If you did know for whom I gaue the Ring,And would conceiue for what I gaue the Ring,And how vnwillingly I left the Ring,When nought would be accepted but the Ring,You would abate the strength of your displeasure? Por. If you had knowne the vertue of the Ring,Or halfe her worthinesse that gaue the Ring,Or your owne honour to containe the Ring,You would not then haue parted with the Ring:What man is there so much vnreasonable,If you had pleas'd to haue defended itWith any termes of Zeale: wanted the modestieTo vrge the thing held as a ceremonie: Nerrissa teaches me what to beleeue,Ile die for't, but some Woman had the Ring? Bass. No by mine honor Madam, by my souleNo Woman had it, but a ciuill Doctor,Which did refuse three thousand Ducates of me,And beg'd the Ring; the which I did denie him,And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away:Euen he that had held vp the verie lifeOf my deere friend. What should I say sweete Lady?I was inforc'd to send it after him,I was beset with shame and curtesie,My honor would not let ingratitudeSo much besmeare it. Pardon me good Lady,And by these blessed Candles of the night,Had you bene there, I thinke you would haue beg'dThe Ring of me, to giue the worthie Doctor? Por. Let not that Doctor ere come neere my house,Since he hath got the iewell that I loued,And that which you did sweare to keepe for me,I will become as liberall as you,Ile not deny him any thing I haue,No, not my body, nor my husbands bed:Know him I shall, I am well sure of it.Lie not a night from home. Watch me like Argos,If you doe not, if I be left alone,Now by mine honour which is yet mine owne,Ile haue the Doctor for my bedfellow. Nerrissa. And I his Clarke: therefore be well aduis'dHow you doe leaue me to mine owne protection. Gra. Well, doe you so: let not me take him then,For if I doe, ile mar the yong Clarks pen. Ant. I am th' vnhappy subiect of these quarrels. Por. Sir, grieue not you,You are welcome notwithstanding. Bas. Portia, forgiue me this enforced wrong,And in the hearing of these manie friendsI sweare to thee, euen by thine owne faire eyesWherein I see my selfe. Por. Marke you but that?In both my eyes he doubly sees himselfe:In each eye one, sweare by your double selfe,And there's an oath of credit. Bas. Nay, but heare me.Pardon this fault, and by my soule I sweareI neuer more will breake an oath with thee. Anth. I once did lend my bodie for thy wealth,Which but for him that had your husbands ringHad quite miscarried. I dare be bound againe,My soule vpon the forfeit, that your LordWill neuer more breake faith aduisedlie. Por. Then you shall be his suretie: giue him this,And bid him keepe it better then the other. Ant. Heere Lord Bassanio, swear to keep this ring. Bass. By heauen it is the same I gaue the Doctor. Por. I had it of him: pardon Bassanio, For by this ring the Doctor lay with me. Ner. And pardon me my gentle Gratiano, For that same scrubbed boy the Doctors ClarkeIn liew of this, last night did lye with me. Gra. Why this is like the mending of high waiesIn Sommer, where the waies are faire enough:What, are we Cuckolds ere we haue deseru'd it. Por. Speake not so grossely, you are all amaz'd;Heere is a letter, reade it at your leysure,It comes from Padua from Bellario, There you shall finde that Portia was the Doctor, Nerrissa there her Clarke. Lorenzo heereShall witnesse I set forth as soone as you,And but eu'n now return'd: I haue not yetEntred my house. Anthonio you are welcome,And I haue better newes in store for youThen you expect: vnseale this letter soone,There you shall finde three of your ArgosiesAre richly come to harbour sodainlie.You shall not know by what strange accidentI chanced on this letter. Antho. I am dumbe. Bass. Were you the Doctor, and I knew you not? Gra. Were you the Clark that is to make me cuckold. Ner. I, but the Clark that neuer meanes to doe it,Vnlesse he liue vntill he be a man. Bass. (Sweet Doctor) you shall be my bedfellow,When I am absent, then lie with my wife. An. (Sweet Ladie) you haue giuen me life & liuing;For heere I reade for certaine that my shipsAre safelie come to Rode. Por. How now Lorenzo?My Clarke hath some good comforts to for you. Ner. I, and Ile giue them him without a fee.There doe I giue to you and Iessica From the rich Iewe, a speciall deed of giftAfter his death, of all he dies possess'd of. Loren. Faire Ladies you drop Manna in the wayOf starued people. Por. It is almost morning,And yet I am sure you are not satisfiedOf these euents at full. Let vs goe in,And charge vs there vpon intergatories,And we will answer all things faithfully. Gra. Let it be so, the first intergatoryThat my Nerrissa shall be sworne on, is,Whether till the next night she had rather stay,Or goe to bed, now being two houres to day,But were the day come, I should wish it darke,Till I were couching with the Doctors Clarke.Well, while I liue, Ile feare no other thingSo sore, as keeping safe Nerrissas ring. Exeunt.
FINIS. As you Like it.
Actus primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Orlando and Adam. Orlando. As I remember Adam, it was vpon this fashionbequeathed me by will, but poore a thousandCrownes, and as thou saist, charged my bro-ther on his blessing to breed mee well: andthere begins my sadnesse: My brother Iaques he keepesat schoole, and report speakes goldenly of his profit:for my part, he keepes me rustically at home, or (to speakmore properly) staies me heere at home vnkept: for callyou that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that dif-fers not from the stalling of an Oxe? his horses are bredbetter, for besides that they are faire with their feeding,they are taught their mannage, and to that end Ridersdeerely hir'd: but I (his brother) gaine nothing vnderhim but growth, for the which his Animals on hisdunghils are as much bound to him as I: besides this no-thing that he so plentifully giues me, the something thatnature gaue mee, his countenance seemes to take fromme: hee lets mee feede with his Hindes, barres mee theplace of a brother, and as much as in him lies, mines mygentility with my education. This is it Adam thatgrieues me, and the spirit of my Father, which I thinkeis within mee, begins to mutinie against this seruitude.I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wiseremedy how to auoid it. Enter Oliuer. Adam. Yonder comes my Master, your brother. Orlan. Goe a-part Adam, and thou shalt heare howhe will shake me vp. Oli. Now Sir, what make you heere? Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. Oli. What mar you then sir? Orl. Marry sir, I am helping you to mar that whichGod made, a poore vnworthy brother of yours withidlenesse. Oliuer. Marry sir be better employed, and be naught a while. Orlan. Shall I keepe your hogs, and eat huskes withthem? what prodigall portion haue I spent, that I shouldcome to such penury? Oli. Know you where you are sir? Orl. O sir, very well: heere in your Orchard. Oli. Know you before whom sir? Orl. I, better then him I am before knowes mee: Iknow you are my eldest brother, and in the gentle con-dition of bloud you should so know me: the courtesie ofnations allowes you my better, in that you are the firstborne, but the same tradition takes not away my bloud,were there twenty brothers betwixt vs: I haue as muchof my father in mee, as you, albeit I confesse your com-ming before me is neerer to his reuerence. Oli. What Boy. Orl. Come, come elder brother, you are too yong in this. Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me villaine? Orl. I am no villaine: I am the yongest sonne of Sir Rowland de Boys, he was my father, and he is thrice a vil-laine that saies such a father begot villaines: wert thounot my brother, I would not take this hand from thythroat, till this other had puld out thy tongue for sayingso, thou hast raild on thy selfe. Adam. Sweet Masters bee patient, for your Fathersremembrance, be at accord. Oli. Let me goe I say. Orl. I will not till I please: you shall heare mee: myfather charg'd you in his will to giue me good educati-on: you haue train'd me like a pezant, obscuring andhiding from me all gentleman-like qualities: the spiritof my father growes strong in mee, and I will no longerendure it: therefore allow me such exercises as may be-come a gentleman, or giue mee the poore allottery myfather left me by testament, with that I will goe buy myfortunes. Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg when that is spent?Well sir, get you in. I will not long be troubled withyou: you shall haue some part of your will, I pray youleaue me. Orl. I will no further offend you, then becomes meefor my good. Oli. Get you with him, you olde dogge. Adam. Is old dogge my reward: most true, I hauelost my teeth in your seruice: God be with my olde ma-ster, he would not haue spoke such a word. Ex. Orl. Ad. Oli. Is it euen so, begin you to grow vpon me? I willphysicke your ranckenesse, and yet giue no thousandcrownes neyther: holla Dennis. Enter Dennis. Den. Calls your worship? Oli. Was not Charles the Dukes Wrastler heere tospeake with me? Den. So please you, he is heere at the doore, and im-portunes accesse to you. Oli. Call him in: 'twill be a good way: and to mor-row the wrastling is. Enter Charles. Cha. Good morrow to your worship. Oli. Good Mounsier Charles: what's the new newesat the new Court? Charles. There's no newes at the Court Sir, but theolde newes: that is, the old Duke is banished by his yon-ger brother the new Duke, and three or foure louing Lords haue put themselues into voluntary exile withhim, whose lands and reuenues enrich the new Duke,therefore he giues them good leaue to wander. Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind the Dukes daughter beebanished with her Father? Cha. O no; for the Dukes daughter her Cosen soloues her, being euer from their Cradles bred together,that hee would haue followed her exile, or haue died tostay behind her; she is at the Court, and no lesse belouedof her Vncle, then his owne daughter, and neuer two La-dies loued as they doe. Oli. Where will the old Duke liue? Cha. They say hee is already in the Forrest of Arden, and a many merry men with him; and there they liuelike the old Robin Hood of England: they say many yongGentlemen flocke to him euery day, and fleet the timecarelesly as they did in the golden world. Oli. What, you wrastle to morrow before the newDuke. Cha. Marry doe I sir: and I came to acquaint youwith a matter: I am giuen sir secretly to vnderstand, thatyour yonger brother Orlando hath a disposition to comein disguis'd against mee to try a fall: to morrow sir Iwrastle for my credit, and hee that escapes me withoutsome broken limbe, shall acquit him well: your brotheris but young and tender, and for your loue I would beeloth to foyle him, as I must for my owne honour if heecome in: therefore out of my loue to you, I came hitherto acquaint you withall, that either you might stay himfrom his intendment, or brooke such disgrace well as heshall runne into, in that it is a thing of his owne search,and altogether against my will. Oli. Charles , I thanke thee for thy loue to me, whichthou shalt finde I will most kindly requite: I had myselfe notice of my Brothers purpose heerein, and haue byvnder-hand meanes laboured to disswade him from it;but he is resolute. Ile tell thee Charles, it is the stubbor-nest yong fellow of France, full of ambition, an enuiousemulator of euery mans good parts, a secret & villanouscontriuer against mee his naturall brother: therefore vsethy discretion, I had as liefe thou didst breake his neckeas his finger. And thou wert best looke to't; for if thoudost him any slight disgrace, or if hee doe not mightiliegrace himselfe on thee, hee will practise against thee bypoyson, entrap thee by some treacherous deuise, and ne-uer leaue thee till he hath tane thy life by some indirectmeanes or other: for I assure thee, (and almost withteares I speake it) there is not one so young, and so vil-lanous this day liuing. I speake but brotherly of him,but should I anathomize him to thee, as hee is, I mustblush, and weepe, and thou must looke pale andwonder. Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: if heecome to morrow, Ile giue him his payment: if euer heegoe alone againe, Ile neuer wrastle for prize more: andso God keepe your worship. Exit. Farewell good Charles. Now will I stirre this Game-ster: I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soule (yetI know not why) hates nothing more then he: yet hee'sgentle, neuer school'd, and yet learned, full of nobledeuise, of all sorts enchantingly beloued, and indeedso much in the heart of the world, and especially of myowne people, who best know him, that I am altogethermisprised: but it shall not be so long, this wrastler shallcleare all: nothing remaines, but that I kindle the boythither, which now Ile goe about. Exit.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Rosalind, and Cellia. Cel. I pray thee Rosalind, sweet my Coz, be merry. Ros. Deere Cellia; I show more mirth then I am mi-stresse of, and would you yet were merrier: vnlesse youcould teach me to forget a banished father, you must notlearne mee how to remember any extraordinary plea-sure. Cel. Heerein I see thou lou'st mee not with the fullwaight that I loue thee; if my Vncle thy banished fatherhad banished thy Vncle the Duke my Father, so thouhadst beene still with mee, I could haue taught my loueto take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truthof thy loue to me were so righteously temper'd, as mineis to thee. Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate,to reioyce in yours. Cel. You know my Father hath no childe, but I, nornone is like to haue; and truely when he dies, thou shaltbe his heire; for what hee hath taken away from thy fa-ther perforce, I will render thee againe in affection: bymine honor I will, and when I breake that oath, let meeturne monster: therefore my sweet Rose, my deare Rose, be merry. Ros. From henceforth I will Coz, and deuise sports:let me see, what thinke you of falling in Loue? Cel. Marry I prethee doe, to make sport withall: butloue no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport ney-ther, then with safety of a pure blush, thou maist in ho-nor come off againe. Ros. What shall be our sport then? Cel. Let vs sit and mocke the good houswife For-tune from her wheele, that her gifts may henceforth beebestowed equally. Ros. I would wee could doe so: for her benefits aremightily misplaced, and the bountifull blinde womandoth most mistake in her gifts to women. Cel. 'Tis true, for those that she makes faire, she scarcemakes honest, & those that she makes honest, she makesvery illfauouredly. Ros. Nay now thou goest from Fortunes office to Na-tures: Fortune reignes in gifts of the world, not in thelineaments of Nature. Enter Clowne. Cel. No; when Nature hath made a faire creature,may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? though naturehath giuen vs wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortunesent in this foole to cut off the argument? Ros. Indeed there is fortune too hard for nature, whenfortune makes natures naturall, the cutter off of natureswitte. Cel. Peraduenture this is not Fortunes work neither,but Natures, who perceiueth our naturall wits too dullto reason of such goddesses, hath sent this Naturall forour whetstone: for alwaies the dulnesse of the foole, isthe whetstone of the wits. How now Witte, whetherwander you? Clow. Mistresse, you must come away to your father. Cel. Were you made the messenger? Clo. No by mine honor, but I was bid to come for you Ros. Where learned you that oath foole? Clo. Of a certaine Knight, that swore by his Honourthey were good Pan-cakes, and swore by his Honor theMustard was naught: Now Ile stand to it, the Pancakeswere naught, and the Mustard was good, and yet wasnot the Knight forsworne. Cel. How proue you that in the great heape of yourknowledge? Ros. I marry, now vnmuzzle your wisedome. Clo. Stand you both forth now: stroke your chinnes,and sweare by your beards that I am a knaue. Cel. By our beards (if we had them) thou art. Clo. By my knauerie (if I had it) then I were: but ifyou sweare by that that is not, you are not forsworn: nomore was this knight swearing by his Honor, for he ne-uer had anie; or if he had, he had sworne it away, beforeeuer he saw those Pancakes, or that Mustard. Cel. Prethee, who is't that thou means't? Clo. One that old Fredericke your Father loues. Ros. My Fathers loue is enough to honor him enough;speake no more of him, you'l be whipt for taxation oneof these daies. Clo. The more pittie that fooles may not speak wise-ly, what Wisemen do foolishly. Cel. By my troth thou saiest true: For, since the littlewit that fooles haue was silenced, the little foolerie thatwise men haue makes a great shew; Heere comes Mon-sieur the Beu. Enter le Beau. Ros. With his mouth full of newes. Cel. Which he will put on vs, as Pigeons feed theiryoung. Ros. Then shal we be newes-cram'd. Cel. All the better: we shalbe the more Marketable. Boon-iour Monsieur le Beu, what's the newes? Le Beu. Faire Princesse,you haue lost much good sport. Cel. Sport: of what colour? Le Beu. What colour Madame? How shall I aun-swer you? Ros. As wit and fortune will. Clo. Or as the destinies decrees. Cel. Well said, that was laid on with a trowell. Clo. Nay, if I keepe not my ranke. Ros. Thou loosest thy old smell. Le Beu. You amaze me Ladies: I would haue toldyou of good wrastling, which you haue lost the sight of. Ros. Yet tell vs the manner of the Wrastling. Le Beu. I wil tell you the beginning: and if it pleaseyour Ladiships, you may see the end, for the best is yetto doe, and heere where you are, they are comming toperforme it. Cel. Well, the beginning that is dead and buried. Le Beu. There comes an old man, and his three sons. Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. Le Beu. Three proper yong men, of excellent growthand presence. Ros. With bils on their neckes: Be it knowne vntoall men by these presents. Le Beu. The eldest of the three, wrastled with Charles the Dukes Wrastler, which Charles in a moment threwhim, and broke three of his ribbes, that there is littlehope of life in him: So he seru'd the second, and so thethird: yonder they lie, the poore old man their Father,making such pittiful dole ouer them, that all the behol-ders take his part with weeping. Ros. Alas. Clo. But what is the sport Monsieur, that the Ladieshaue lost? Le Beu. Why this that I speake of. Clo. Thus men may grow wiser euery day. It is thefirst time that euer I heard breaking of ribbes was sportfor Ladies. Cel. Or I, I promise thee. Ros. But is there any else longs to see this brokenMusicke in his sides? Is there yet another doates vponrib-breaking? Shall we see this wrastling Cosin? Le Beu. You must if you stay heere, for heere is theplace appointed for the wrastling, and they are ready toperforme it. Cel. Yonder sure they are comming. Let vs now stayand see it. Flourish. Enter Duke, Lords, Orlando, Charles,and Attendants. Duke. Come on, since the youth will not be intreatedHis owne perill on his forwardnesse. Ros. Is yonder the man? Le Beu. Euen he, Madam. Cel. Alas, he is too yong: yet he looks successefully Du. How now daughter, and Cousin:Are you crept hither to see the wrastling? Ros. I my Liege, so please you giue vs leaue. Du. You wil take little delight in it, I can tell youthere is such oddes in the man: In pitie of the challen-gers youth, I would faine disswade him, but he will notbee entreated. Speake to him Ladies, see if you canmooue him. Cel. Call him hether good Monsieuer Le Beu. Duke. Do so: Ile not be by. Le Beu. Monsieur the Challenger, the Princesse calsfor you. Orl. I attend them with all respect and dutie. Ros. Young man, haue you challeng'd Charles theWrastler? Orl. No faire Princesse: he is the generall challenger,I come but in as others do, to try with him the strengthof my youth. Cel. Yong Gentleman, your spirits are too bold foryour yeares: you haue seene cruell proofe of this mansstrength, if you saw your selfe with your eies, or knewyour selfe with your iudgment, the feare of your aduen-ture would counsel you to a more equall enterprise. Wepray you for your owne sake to embrace your own safe-tie, and giue ouer this attempt. Ros. Do yong Sir, your reputation shall not thereforebe misprised: we wil make it our suite to the Duke, thatthe wrastling might not go forward. Orl. I beseech you, punish mee not with your hardethoughts, wherein I confesse me much guiltie to denieso faire and excellent Ladies anie thing. But let yourfaire eies, and gentle wishes go with mee to my triall;wherein if I bee foil'd, there is but one sham'd that wasneuer gracious: if kil'd, but one dead that is willing tobe so: I shall do my friends no wrong, for I haue none tolament me: the world no iniurie, for in it I haue nothing:onely in the world I fil vp a place, which may bee bettersupplied, when I haue made it emptie. Ros. The little strength that I haue, I would it werewith you. Cel. And mine to eeke out hers. Ros. Fare you well: praie heauen I be deceiu'd in you. Cel. Your hearts desires be with you. Char. Come, where is this yong gallant, that is sodesirous to lie with his mother earth? Orl. Readie Sir, but his will hath in it a more modestworking. Duk. You shall trie but one fall. Cha. No, I warrant your Grace you shall not entreathim to a second, that haue so mightilie perswaded himfrom a first. Orl. You meane to mocke me after: you should nothaue mockt me before: but come your waies. Ros. Now Hercules, be thy speede yong man. Cel. I would I were inuisible, to catch the strong fel-low by the legge. Wrastle. Ros. Oh excellent yong man. Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eie, I can tell whoshould downe. Shout. Duk. No more, no more. Orl. Yes I beseech your Grace, I am not yet wellbreath'd. Duk. How do'st thou Charles? Le Beu. He cannot speake my Lord. Duk. Beare him awaie:What is thy name yong man? Orl. Orlando my Liege, the yongest sonne of Sir Ro-land de Boys. Duk. I would thou hadst beene son to some man else,The world esteem'd thy father honourable,But I did finde him still mine enemie:Thou should'st haue better pleas'd me with this deede,Hadst thou descended from another house:But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth,I would thou had'st told me of another Father. Exit Duke. Cel. Were I my Father (Coze) would I do this? Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rolands sonne,His yongest sonne, and would not change that callingTo be adopted heire to Fredricke. Ros. My Father lou'd Sir Roland as his soule,And all the world was of my Fathers minde,Had I before knowne this yong man his sonne,I should haue giuen him teares vnto entreaties,Ere he should thus haue ventur'd. Cel. Gentle Cosen,Let vs goe thanke him, and encourage him:My Fathers rough and enuious dispositionSticks me at heart: Sir, you haue well deseru'd,If you doe keepe your promises in loue;But iustly as you haue exceeded all promise,Your Mistris shall be happie. Ros. Gentleman,Weare this for me: one out of suites with fortuneThat could giue more, but that her hand lacks meanes.Shall we goe Coze? Cel. I: fare you well faire Gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thanke you? My better partsAre all throwne downe, and that which here stands vpIs but a quintine, a meere liuelesse blocke. Ros. He cals vs back: my pride fell with my fortunes,Ile aske him what he would: Did you call Sir?Sir, you haue wrastled well, and ouerthrowneMore then your enemies. Cel. Will you goe Coze? Ros. Haue with you: fare you well. Exit. Orl. What passion hangs these waights vpo[n] my toong?I cannot speake to her, yet she vrg'd conference. Enter Le Beu. O poore Orlando! thou art ouerthrowneOr Charles, or something weaker masters thee. Le Beu. Good Sir, I do in friendship counsaile youTo leaue this place; Albeit you haue deseru'dHigh commendation, true applause, and loue;Yet such is now the Dukes condition,That he misconsters all that you haue done:The Duke is humorous, what he is indeedeMore suites you to conceiue, then I to speake of. Orl. I thanke you Sir; and pray you tell me this,Which of the two was daughter of the Duke,That here was at the Wrastling? Le Beu. Neither his daughter, if we iudge by manners,But yet indeede the taller is his daughter,The other is daughter to the banish'd Duke,And here detain'd by her vsurping VncleTo keepe his daughter companie, whose louesAre deerer then the naturall bond of Sisters:But I can tell you, that of late this DukeHath tane displeasure 'gainst his gentle Neece,Grounded vpon no other argument,But that the people praise her for her vertues,And pittie her, for her good Fathers sake;And on my life his malice 'gainst the LadyWill sodainly breake forth: Sir, fare you well,Hereafter in a better world then this,I shall desire more loue and knowledge of you. Orl. I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.Thus must I from the smoake into the smother,From tyrant Duke, vnto a tyrant Brother.But heauenly Rosaline. Exit
Scena Tertius. Enter Celia and Rosaline. Cel. Why Cosen, why Rosaline: Cupid haue mercie,Not a word? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast awayvpon curs, throw some of them at me; come lame meewith reasons. Ros. Then there were two Cosens laid vp, when theone should be lam'd with reasons, and the other madwithout any. Cel. But is all this for your Father? Ros. No, some of it is for my childes Father: Ohhow full of briers is this working day world. Cel. They are but burs, Cosen, throwne vpon theein holiday foolerie, if we walke not in the trodden pathsour very petty-coates will catch them. Ros. I could shake them off my coate, these burs arein my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try if I could cry hem, and haue him. Cel. Come, come, wrastle with thy affections. Ros. O they take the part of a better wrastler thenmy selfe. Cel. O, a good wish vpon you: you will trie in time in dispight of a fall: but turning these iests out of seruice,let vs talke in good earnest: Is it possible on such a so-daine, you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Roulands yongest sonne? Ros. The Duke my Father lou'd his Father deerelie. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should loue hisSonne deerelie? By this kinde of chase, I should hatehim, for my father hated his father deerely; yet I hatenot Orlando. Ros. No faith, hate him not for my sake. Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserue well? Enter Duke with Lords. Ros. Let me loue him for that, and do you loue himBecause I doe. Looke, here comes the Duke. Cel. With his eies full of anger. Duk. Mistris, dispatch you with your safest haste,And get you from our Court. Ros. Me Vncle. Duk. You Cosen,Within these ten daies if that thou beest foundSo neere our publike Court as twentie miles,Thou diest for it. Ros. I doe beseech your GraceLet me the knowledge of my fault beare with me:If with my selfe I hold intelligence,Or haue acquaintance with mine owne desires,If that I doe not dreame, or be not franticke,(As I doe trust I am not) then deere Vncle,Neuer so much as in a thought vnborne,Did I offend your highnesse. Duk. Thus doe all Traitors,If their purgation did consist in words,They are as innocent as grace it selfe;Let is suffice thee that I trust thee not. Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a Traitor;Tell me whereon the likelihoods depends? Duk. Thou art thy Fathers daughter, there's enough. Ros. So was I when your highnes took his Dukdome,So was I when your highnesse banisht him;Treason is not inherited my Lord,Or if we did deriue it from our friends,What's that to me, my Father was no Traitor,Then good my Leige, mistake me not so much,To thinke my pouertie is treacherous. Cel. Deere Soueraigne heare me speake. Duk. I Celia, we staid her for your sake,Else had she with her Father rang'd along. Cel. I did not then intreat to haue her stay,It was your pleasure, and your owne remorse,I was too yong that time to value her,But now I know her: if she be a Traitor,Why so am I: we still haue slept together,Rose at an instant, learn'd, plaid, eate together,And wheresoere we went, like Iunos Swans,Still we went coupled and inseperable. Duk. She is too subtile for thee, and her smoothnes;Her verie silence, and her patience,Speake to the people, and they pittie her:Thou art a foole, she robs thee of thy name,And thou wilt show more bright, & seem more vertuousWhen she is gone: then open not thy lipsFirme, and irreuocable is my doombe,Which I haue past vpon her, she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me my Leige,I cannot liue out of her companie. Duk. You are a foole: you Neice prouide your selfe,If you out-stay the time, vpon mine honor,And in the greatnesse of my word you die. Exit Duke, &c. Cel. O my poore Rosaline, whether wilt thou goe?Wilt thou change Fathers? I will giue thee mine:I charge thee be not thou more grieu'd then I am. Ros. I haue more cause. Cel. Thou hast not Cosen,Prethee be cheerefull; know'st thou not the DukeHath banish'd me his daughter? Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No, hath not? Rosaline lacks then the loueWhich teacheth thee that thou and I am one,Shall we be sundred? shall we part sweete girle?No, let my Father seeke another heire:Therefore deuise with me how we may flieWhether to goe, and what to beare with vs,And doe not seeke to take your change vpon you,To beare your griefes your selfe, and leaue me out:For by this heauen, now at our sorrowes pale;Say what thou canst, Ile goe along with thee. Ros. Why, whether shall we goe? Cel. To seeke my Vncle in the Forrest of Arden. Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to vs,(Maides as we are) to trauell forth so farre?Beautie prouoketh theeues sooner then gold. Cel. Ile put my selfe in poore and meane attire,And with a kinde of vmber smirch my face,The like doe you, so shall we passe along,And neuer stir assailants. Ros. Were it not better,Because that I am more then common tall,That I did suite me all points like a man,A gallant curtelax vpon my thigh,A bore-speare in my hand, and in my heartLye there what hidden womans feare there will,Weele haue a swashing and a marshall outside,As manie other mannish cowards haue,That doe outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art a man? Ros. Ile haue no worse a name then Ioues owne Page,And therefore looke you call me Ganimed. But what will you be call'd? Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state:No longer Celia, but Aliena. Ros. But Cosen, what if we assaid to stealeThe clownish Foole out of your Fathers Court:Would he not be a comfort to our trauaile? Cel. Heele goe along ore the wide world with me,Leaue me alone to woe him; Let's awayAnd get our Iewels and our wealth together,Deuise the fittest time, and safest wayTo hide vs from pursuite that will be madeAfter my flight: now goe in we contentTo libertie, and not to banishment. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scoena Prima. Enter Duke Senior: Amyens, and two or three Lordslike Forresters. Duk.Sen. Now my Coe-mates, and brothers in exile:Hath not old custome made this life more sweete Then that of painted pompe? Are not these woodsMore free from perill then the enuious Court?Heere feele we not the penaltie of Adam, The seasons difference, as the Icie phangeAnd churlish chiding of the winters winde,Which when it bites and blowes vpon my bodyEuen till I shrinke with cold, I smile, and sayThis is no flattery: these are counsellorsThat feelingly perswade me what I am:Sweet are the vses of aduersitieWhich like the toad, ougly and venemous,Weares yet a precious Iewell in his head:And this our life exempt from publike haunt,Findes tongues in trees, bookes in the running brookes,Sermons in stones, and good in euery thing. Amien. I would not change it, happy is your GraceThat can translate the stubbornnesse of fortuneInto so quiet and so sweet a stile. Du.Sen. Come, shall we goe and kill vs venison?And yet it irkes me the poore dapled foolesBeing natiue Burgers of this desert City,Should in their owne confines with forked headsHaue their round hanches goard. 1.Lord. Indeed my LordThe melancholy Iaques grieues at that,And in that kinde sweares you doe more vsurpeThen doth your brother that hath banish'd you:To day my Lord of Amiens, and my selfe,Did steale behinde him as he lay alongVnder an oake, whose anticke roote peepes outVpon the brooke that brawles along this wood,To the which place a poore sequestred StagThat from the Hunters aime had tane a hurt,Did come to languish; and indeed my LordThe wretched annimall heau'd forth such groanesThat their discharge did stretch his leatherne coatAlmost to bursting, and the big round tearesCours'd one another downe his innocent noseIn pitteous chase: and thus the hairie foole,Much marked of the melancholie Iaques, Stood on th' extremest verge of the swift brooke,Augmenting it with teares. Du.Sen. But what said Iaques?Did he not moralize this spectacle? 1.Lord. O yes, into a thousand similies.First, for his weeping into the needlesse streame;Poore Deere quoth he, thou mak'st a testamentAs worldlings doe, giuing thy sum of moreTo that which had too much: then being there alone,Left and abandoned of his veluet friend;'Tis right quoth he, thus miserie doth partThe Fluxe of companie: anon a carelesse HeardFull of the pasture, iumps along by himAnd neuer staies to greet him: I quoth Iaques, Sweepe on you fat and greazie Citizens,'Tis iust the fashion; wherefore doe you lookeVpon that poore and broken bankrupt there?Thus most inuectiuely he pierceth throughThe body of Countrie, Citie, Court,Yea, and of this our life, swearing that weAre meere vsurpers, tyrants, and whats worseTo fright the Annimals, and to kill them vpIn their assign'd and natiue dwelling place. D.Sen. And did you leaue him in this contemplation? 2.Lord. We did my Lord, weeping and commentingVpon the sobbing Deere. Du.Sen. Show me the place,I loue to cope him in these sullen fits,For then he's full of matter. 1.Lor. Ile bring you to him strait. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Duke, with Lords. Duk. Can it be possible that no man saw them?It cannot be, some villaines of my CourtAre of consent and sufferance in this. 1.Lo. I cannot heare of any that did see her,The Ladies her attendants of her chamberSaw her a bed, and in the morning early,They found the bed vntreasur'd of their Mistris. 2.Lor. My Lord, the roynish Clown, at whom so oft,Your Grace was wont to laugh is also missing, Hisperia the Princesse GentlewomanConfesses that she secretly ore-heardYour daughter and her Cosen much commendThe parts and graces of the WrastlerThat did but lately foile the synowie Charles, And she beleeues where euer they are goneThat youth is surely in their companie. Duk. Send to his brother, fetch that gallant hither,If he be absent, bring his Brother to me,Ile make him finde him: do this sodainly;And let not search and inquisition quaile,To bring againe these foolish runawaies. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Orlando and Adam. Orl. Who's there? Ad. What my yong Master, oh my gentle master,Oh my sweet master, O you memorieOf old Sir Rowland; why, what make you here?Why are you vertuous? Why do people loue you?And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant?Why would you be so fond to ouercomeThe bonnie priser of the humorous Duke?Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.Know you not Master, to seeme kinde of men,Their graces serue them but as enemies,No more doe yours: your vertues gentle MasterAre sanctified and holy traitors to you:Oh what a world is this, when what is comelyEnuenoms him that beares it?Why, what's the matter? Ad. O vnhappie youth,Come not within these doores: within this roofeThe enemie of all your graces liuesYour brother, no, no brother, yet the sonne(Yet not the son, I will not call him son)Of him I was about to call his Father,Hath heard your praises, and this night he meanes,To burne the lodging where you vse to lye,And you within it: if he faile of that He will haue other meanes to cut you off;I ouerheard him: and his practises:This is no place, this house is but a butcherie;Abhorre it, feare it, doe not enter it. Ad. Why whether Adam would'st thou haue me go? Ad. No matter whether, so you come not here. Orl. What, would'st thou haue me go & beg my food,Or with a base and boistrous Sword enforceA theeuish liuing on the common rode?This I must do, or know not what to do:Yet this I will not do, do how I can,I rather will subiect me to the maliceOf a diuerted blood, and bloudie brother. Ad. But do not so: I haue fiue hundred Crownes,The thriftie hire I saued vnder your Father,Which I did store to be my foster Nurse,When seruice should in my old limbs lie lame,And vnregarded age in corners throwne,Take that, and he that doth the Rauens feede,Yea prouidently caters for the Sparrow,Be comfort to my age: here is the gold,All this I giue you, let me be your seruant,Though I looke old, yet I am strong and lustie;For in my youth I neuer did applyHot, and rebellious liquors in my bloud,Nor did not with vnbashfull forehead woe,The meanes of weaknesse and debilitie,Therefore my age is as a lustie winter,Frostie, but kindely; let me goe with you,Ile doe the seruice of a yonger manIn all your businesse and necessities. Orl. Oh good old man, how well in thee appearesThe constant seruice of the antique world,When seruice sweate for dutie, not for meede:Thou art not for the fashion of these times,Where none will sweate, but for promotion,And hauing that do choake their seruice vp,Euen with the hauing, it is not so with thee:But poore old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,That cannot so much as a blossome yeelde,In lieu of all thy paines and husbandrie,But come thy waies, weele goe along together,And ere we haue thy youthfull wages spent,Weele light vpon some setled low content. Ad. Master goe on, and I will follow theeTo the last gaspe with truth and loyaltie,From seauentie yeeres, till now almost fourescoreHere liued I, but now liue here no moreAt seauenteene yeeres, many their fortunes seekeBut at fourescore, it is too late a weeke,Yet fortune cannot recompence me betterThen to die well, and not my Masters debter. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Rosaline for Ganimed, Celia for Aliena, andClowne, alias Touchstone. Ros. O Iupiter, how merry are my spirits? Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legges were notwearie. Ros. I could finde in my heart to disgrace my mansapparell, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfortthe weaker vessell, as doublet and hose ought to show itselfe coragious to petty-coate; therefore courage, good Aliena. Cel. I pray you beare with me, I cannot goe no fur-ther. Clo. For my part, I had rather beare with you, thenbeare you: yet I should beare no crosse if I did beareyou, for I thinke you haue no money in your purse. Ros. Well, this is the Forrest of Arden. Clo. I, now am I in Arden, the more foole I, when Iwas at home I was in a better place, but Trauellers mustbe content. Enter Corin and Siluius. Ros. I, be so good Touchstone: Look you, who comeshere, a yong man and an old in solemne talke. Cor. That is the way to make her scorne you still. Sil. Oh Corin, that thou knew'st how I do loue her. Cor. I partly guesse: for I haue lou'd ere now. Sil. No Corin, being old, thou canst not guesse,Though in thy youth thou wast as true a louerAs euer sigh'd vpon a midnight pillow:But if thy loue were euer like to mine,As sure I thinke did neuer man loue so:How many actions most ridiculous,Hast thou beene drawne to by thy fantasie? Cor. Into a thousand that I haue forgotten. Sil. Oh thou didst then neuer loue so hartily,If thou remembrest not the slightest folly,That euer loue did make thee run into,Thou hast not lou'd.Or if thou hast not sat as I doe now,Wearing thy hearer in thy Mistris praise,Thou hast not lou'd.Or if thou hast not broke from companie,Abruptly as my passion now makes me,Thou hast not lou'd.O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe. Exit. Ros. Alas poore Shepheard searching of they would,I haue by hard aduenture found mine owne. Clo. And I mine: I remember when I was in loue, Ibroke my sword vpon a stone, and bid him take that forcomming a night to Iane Smile, and I remember the kis-sing of her batler, and the Cowes dugs that her prettiechopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooingof a peascod instead of her, from whom I tooke twocods, and giuing her them againe, said with weepingteares, weare these for my sake: wee that are true Lo-uers, runne into strange capers; but as all is mortall innature, so is all nature in loue, mortall in folly. Ros. Thou speak'st wiser then thou art ware of. Clo. Nay, I shall nere be ware of mine owne wit, tillI breake my shins against it. Ros. Ioue, Ioue, this Shepherds passion,Is much vpon my fashion. Clo. And mine, but it growes something stale withmee. Cel. I pray you, one of you question yon'd man,If he for gold will giue vs any foode,I faint almost to death. Clo. Holla; you Clowne. Ros. Peace foole, he's not thy kinsman. Cor. Who cals? Clo. Your betters Sir. Cor. Else are they very wretched. Ros. Peace I say; good euen to your friend. Cor. And to you gentle Sir, and to you all. Ros. I prethee Shepheard, if that loue or goldCan in this desert place buy entertainment,Bring vs where we may rest our selues, and feed:Here's a yong maid with trauaile much oppressed,And faints for succour. Cor. Faire Sir, I pittie her,And wish for her sake more then for mine owne,My fortunes were more able to releeue her:But I am shepheard to another man,And do not sheere the Fleeces that I graze:My master is of churlish disposition,And little wreakes to finde the way to heauenBy doing deeds of hospitalitie.Besides his Coate, his Flockes, and bounds of feedeAre now on sale, and at our sheep-coat nowBy reason of his absence there is nothingThat you will feed on: but what is, come see,And in my voice most welcome shall you be. Ros. What is he that shall buy his flocke and pasture? Cor. That yong Swaine that you saw heere but ere-while, That little cares for buying any thing. Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honestie,Buy thou the Cottage, pasture, and the flocke,And thou shalt haue to pay for it of vs. Cel. And we will mend thy wages:I like this place, and willingly couldWaste my time in it. Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold:Go with me, if you like vpon report,The soile, the profit, and this kinde of life,I will your very faithfull Feeder be,And buy it with your Gold right sodainly. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter, Amyens, Iaques, & others. Song. Vnder the greene wood tree,who loues to lye with mee,And turne his merrie Note,vnto the sweet Birds throte:Come hither, come hither, come hither:Heere shall he see no enemie,But Winter and rough Weather. Iaq. More, more, I pre'thee more. Amy. It will make you melancholly Monsieur Iaques Iaq. I thanke it: More, I prethee more,I can sucke melancholly out of a song,As a Weazel suckes egges: More, I pre'thee more. Amy. My voice is ragged, I know I cannot pleaseyou. Iaq. I do not desire you to please me,I do desire you to sing:Come, more, another stanzo: Cal you 'em stanzo's? Amy. What you wil Monsieur Iaques. Iaq. Nay, I care not for their names, they owe meenothing. Wil you sing? Amy. More at your request, then to please my selfe. Iaq. Well then, if euer I thanke any man, Ile thankeyou: but that they cal complement is like th' encounterof two dog-Apes. And when a man thankes me hartily,me thinkes I haue giuen him a penie, and he renders methe beggerly thankes. Come sing; and you that wil nothold your tongues. Amy. Wel, Ile end the song. Sirs, couer the while,the Duke wil drinke vnder this tree; he hath bin all thisday to looke you. Iaq. And I haue bin all this day to auoid him:He is too disputeable for my companie:I thinke of as many matters as he, but I giueHeauen thankes, and make no boast of them.Come, warble, come. Song. Altogether heere. Who doth ambition shunne,and loues to liue i'th Sunne:Seeking the food he eates,and pleas'd with what he gets:Come hither, come hither, come hither,Heere shall he see. &c. Iaq. Ile giue you a verse to this note,That I made yesterday in despight of my Inuention. Amy. And Ile sing it. Amy. Thus it goes. If it do come to passe, that any man turne Asse:Leauing his wealth and ease,A stubborne will to please,Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:Heere shall he see, grosse fooles as he, And if he will come to me. Amy. What's that Ducdame? Iaq. 'Tis a Greeke inuocation, to call fools into a cir-cle. Ile go sleepe if I can: if I cannot, Ile raile against allthe first borne of Egypt. Amy. And Ile go seeke the Duke,His banket is prepar'd. Exeunt
Scena Sexta. Enter Orlando, & Adam. Adam. Deere Master, I can go no further:O I die for food. Heere lie I downe,And measure out my graue. Farwel kinde master. Orl. Why how now Adam? No greater heart in thee:Liue a little, comfort a little, cheere thy selfe a little.If this vncouth Forrest yeeld any thing sauage,I wil either be food for it, or bring it for foode to thee:Thy conceite is neerer death, then thy powers.For my sake be comfortable, hold death a whileAt the armes end: I wil heere be with thee presently,And if I bring thee not something to eate,I wil giue thee leaue to die: but if thou diestBefore I come, thou art a mocker of my labor.Wel said, thou look'st cheerely,And Ile be with thee quickly: yet thou liestIn the bleake aire. Come, I wil beare theeTo some shelter, and thou shalt not dieFor lacke of a dinner,If there liue any thing in this Desert.Cheerely good Adam. Exeunt
Scena Septima. Enter Duke Sen. & Lord, like Out-lawes. Du.Sen. I thinke he be transform'd into a beast,For I can no where finde him, like a man. 1.Lord. My Lord, he is but euen now gone hence,Heere was he merry, hearing of a Song. Du.Sen. If he compact of iarres, grow Musicall,We shall haue shortly discord in the Spheares:Go seeke him, tell him I would speake with him. Enter Iaques. 1.Lord. He saues my labor by his owne approach. Du.Sen. Why how now Monsieur, what a life is thisThat your poore friends must woe your companie,What, you looke merrily. Iaq. A Foole, a foole: I met a foole i'th Forrest,A motley Foole (a miserable world:)As I do liue by foode, I met a foole,Who laid him downe, and bask'd him in the Sun,And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good termes,In good set termes, and yet a motley foole.Good morrow foole (quoth I:) no Sir, quoth he,Call me not foole, till heauen hath sent me fortune,And then he drew a diall from his poake,And looking on it, with lacke-lustre eye,Sayes, very wisely, it is ten a clocke:Thus we may see (quoth he) how the world wagges:'Tis but an houre agoe, since it was nine,And after one houre more, 'twill be eleuen,And so from houre to houre, we ripe, and ripe,And then from houre to houre, we rot, and rot,And thereby hangs a tale. When I did heareThe motley Foole, thus morall on the time,My Lungs began to crow like Chanticleere,That Fooles should be so deepe contemplatiue:And I did laugh, sans intermissionAn houre by his diall. Oh noble foole,A worthy foole: Motley's the onely weare. Du.Sen. What foole is this? Iaq. O worthie Foole: One that hath bin a CourtierAnd sayes, if Ladies be but yong, and faire,They haue the gift to know it: and in his braine,Which is as drie as the remainder bisketAfter a voyage: He hath strange places cram'dWith obseruation, the which he ventsIn mangled formes. O that I were a foole,I am ambitious for a motley coat. Du.Sen. Thou shalt haue one. Iaq. It is my onely suite,Prouided that you weed your better iudgementsOf all opinion that growes ranke in them,That I am wise. I must haue libertyWithall, as large a Charter as the winde,To blow on whom I please, for so fooles haue:And they that are most gauled with my folly,They most must laugh: And why sir must they so?The why is plaine, as way to Parish Church:Hee, that a Foole doth very wisely hit,Doth very foolishly, although he smartSeeme senselesse of the bob. If not,The Wise-mans folly is anathomiz'dEuen by the squandring glances of the foole.Inuest me in my motley: Giue me leaueTo speake my minde, and I will through and throughCleanse the foule bodie of th' infected world,If they will patiently receiue my medicine. Du.Sen. Fie on thee. I can tell what thou wouldst do. Iaq. What, for a Counter, would I do, but good? Du.Sen. Most mischeeuous foule sin, in chiding sin:For thou thy selfe hast bene a Libertine,As sensuall as the brutish sting it selfe,And all th' imbossed sores, and headed euils,That thou with license of free foot hast caught,Would'st thou disgorge into the generall world. Iaq. Why who cries out on pride,That can therein taxe any priuate party:Doth it not flow as hugely as the Sea,Till that the wearie verie meanes do ebbe.What woman in the Citie do I name,When that I say the City woman bearesThe cost of Princes on vnworthy shoulders?Who can come in, and say that I meane her,When such a one as shee, such is her neighbor?Or what is he of basest function,That sayes his brauerie is not on my cost,Thinking that I meane him, but therein suitesHis folly to the mettle of my speech,There then, how then, what then, let me see whereinMy tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,Then he hath wrong'd himselfe: if he be free,Why then my taxing like a wild-goose fliesVnclaim'd of any man. But who come here? Enter Orlando. Orl. Forbeare, and eate no more. Iaq. Why I haue eate none yet. Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be seru'd. Iaq. Of what kinde should this Cocke come of? Du.Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd man by thy distres?Or else a rude despiser of good manners,That in ciuility thou seem'st so emptie? Orl. You touch'd my veine at first, the thorny pointOf bare distresse, hath tane from me the shewOf smooth ciuility: yet am I in-land bred,And know some nourture: But forbeare, I say,He dies that touches any of this fruite,Till I, and my affaires are answered. Iaq. And you will not be answer'd with reason,I must dye. Du.Sen. What would you haue?Your gentlenesse shall force, more then your forceMoue vs to gentlenesse. Orl. I almost die for food, and let me haue it. Du.Sen. Sit downe and feed, & welcom to our table Orl. Speake you so gently? Pardon me I pray you,I thought that all things had bin sauage heere,And therefore put I on the countenanceOf sterne command'ment. But what ere you areThat in this desert inaccessible,Vnder the shade of melancholly boughes,Loose, and neglect the creeping houres of time:If euer you haue look'd on better dayes:If euer beene where bels haue knoll'd to Church:If euer sate at any good mans feast:If euer from your eye-lids wip'd a teare,And know what 'tis to pittie, and be pittied:Let gentlenesse my strong enforcement be,In the which hope, I blush, and hide my Sword. Du.Sen. True is it, that we haue seene better dayes,And haue with holy bell bin knowld to Church,And sat at good mens feasts, and wip'd our eiesOf drops, that sacred pity hath engendred:And therefore sit you downe in gentlenesse,And take vpon command, what helpe we haueThat to your wanting may be ministred. Orl. Then but forbeare your food a little while:Whiles (like a Doe) I go to finde my Fawne,And giue it food. There is an old poore man,Who after me, hath many a weary steppeLimpt in pure loue: till he be first suffic'd,Opprest with two weake euils, age, and hunger,I will not touch a bit. Duke Sen. Go finde him out,And we will nothing waste till you returne. Orl. I thanke ye, and be blest for your good comfort. Du.Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone vnhappie:This wide and vniuersall TheaterPresents more wofull Pageants then the SceaneWherein we play in. Ia. All the world's a stage,And all the men and women, meerely Players;They haue their Exits and their Entrances,And one man in his time playes many parts,His Acts being seuen ages. At first the Infant,Mewling, and puking in the Nurses armes:Then, the whining Schoole-boy with his SatchellAnd shining morning face, creeping like snaileVnwillingly to schoole. And then the Louer,Sighing like Furnace, with a wofull balladMade to his Mistresse eye-brow. Then, a Soldier,Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard,Ielous in honor, sodaine, and quicke in quarrell,Seeking the bubble ReputationEuen in the Canons mouth: And then, the IusticeIn faire round belly, with good Capon lin'd,With eyes seuere, and beard of formall cut,Full of wise sawes, and moderne instances,And so he playes his part. The sixt age shiftsInto the leane and slipper'd Pantaloone,With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,His youthfull hose well sau'd, a world too wide,For his shrunke shanke, and his bigge manly voice,Turning againe toward childish trebble pipes,And whistles in his sound. Last Scene of all,That ends this strange euentfull historie,Is second childishnesse, and meere obliuion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans euery thing. Enter Orlando with Adam. Du.Sen. Welcome: set downe your venerable bur-then, and let him feede. Orl. I thanke you most for him. Ad. So had you neede,I scarce can speake to thanke you for my selfe. Du.Sen. Welcome, fall too: I wil not trouble you,As yet to question you about your fortunes:Giue vs some Musicke, and good Cozen, sing. Song. Blow, blow, thou winter winde,Thou art not so vnkinde, as mans ingratitudeThy tooth is not so keene, because thou art not seene,although thy breath be rude.Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, vnto the greene holly,Most frendship, is fayning; most Louing, meere folly:The heigh ho, the holly,This Life is most iolly.Freize, freize, thou bitter skie that dost not bight so nighas benefitts forgot:Though thou the waters warpe, thy sting is not so sharpe,as freind remembred not.Heigh ho, sing, &c. Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowlands son,As you haue whisper'd faithfully you were,And as mine eye doth his effigies witnesse,Most truly limn'd, and liuing in your face,Be truly welcome hither: I am the DukeThat lou'd your Father, the residue of your fortune,Go to my Caue, and tell mee. Good old man,Thou art right welcome, as thy masters is:Support him by the arme: giue me your hand,And let me all your fortunes vnderstand. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer. Du. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:But were I not the better part made mercie,I should not seeke an absent argumentOf my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it,Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is,Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuingWithin this tweluemonth, or turne thou no moreTo seeke a liuing in our Territorie.Thy Lands and all things that thou dost call thine,Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands,Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth,Of what we thinke against thee. Ol. Oh that your Highnesse knew my heart in this:I neuer lou'd my brother in my life. Duke. More villaine thou. Well push him out of doresAnd let my officers of such a natureMake an extent vpon his house and Lands:Do this expediently, and turne him going. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Orlando. Orl. Hang there my verse, in witnesse of my loue,And thou thrice crowned Queene of night surueyWith thy chaste eye, from thy pale spheare aboueThy Huntresse name, that my full life doth sway.O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Bookes,And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter,That euerie eye, which in this Forrest lookes,Shall see thy vertue witnest euery where.Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree,The faire, the chaste, and vnexpressiue shee. Exit Enter Corin & Clowne. Co. And how like you this shepherds life Mr Touchstone? Clow. Truely Shepheard, in respect of it selfe, it is agood life; but in respect that it is a shepheards life, it isnaught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it verie well:but in respect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Nowin respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth mee well: but inrespect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a sparelife (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is nomore plentie in it, it goes much against my stomacke. Has't any Philosophie in thee shepheard? Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sickens,the worse at ease he is: and that hee that wants money,meanes, and content, is without three good frends. Thatthe propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: Thatgood pasture makes fat sheepe: and that a great cause ofthe night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath lear-ned no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of goodbreeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Clo. Such a one is a naturall Philosopher: Was't euer in Court, Shepheard? Cor. No truly. Clo. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope. Clo. Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roasted Egge,all on one side. Cor. For not being at Court? your reason. Clo. Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuersaw'st good manners: if thou neuer saw'st good maners,then thy manners must be wicked, and wickednes is sin,and sinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state shep-heard. Cor. Not a whit Touchstone, those that are good ma-ners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, asthe behauiour of the Countrie is most mockeable at theCourt. You told me, you salute not at the Court, butyou kisse your hands; that courtesie would be vncleanlieif Courtiers were shepheards. Clo. Instance, briefly: come, instance. Cor. Why we are still handling our Ewes, and theirFels you know are greasie. Clo. Why do not your Courtiers hands sweate? andis not the grease of a Mutton, as wholesome as the sweatof a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance I say:Come. Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. Clo. Your lips wil feele them the sooner. Shallow a-gen: a more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the surgeryof our sheepe: and would you haue vs kisse Tarre? TheCourtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet. Clo. Most shallow man: Thou wormes meate in re-spect of a good peece of flesh indeed: learne of the wiseand perpend: Ciuet is of a baser birth then Tarre, theverie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the instance Shep-heard. Cor. You haue too Courtly a wit, for me, Ile rest. Clo. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God helpe thee shallowman: God make incision in thee, thou art raw. Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: getthat I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happi-nesse: glad of other mens good content with my harme:and the greatest of my pride, is to see my Ewes graze, &my Lambes sucke. Clo. That is another simple sinne in you, to bring theEwes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get yourliuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be bawd to a Bel-weather, and to betray a shee-Lambe of a tweluemonthto a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of allreasonable match. If thou bee'st not damn'd for this, thediuell himselfe will haue no shepherds, I cannot see elsehow thou shouldst scape. Cor. Heere comes yong Mr Ganimed, my new Mistris-ses Brother. Enter Rosalind. Ros. From the east to westerne Inde,no iewel is like Rosalinde,Hir worth being mounted on the winde,through all the world beares Rosalinde.All the pictures fairest Linde,are but blacke to Rosalinde:Let no face bee kept in mind,but the faire of Rosalinde. Clo. Ile rime you so, eight yeares together; dinners,and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the rightButter-womens ranke to Market. Ros. Out Foole. Clo. For a taste. If a Hart doe lacke a Hinde,Let him seeke out Rosalinde:If the Cat will after kinde,so be sure will Rosalinde:Wintred garments must be linde,so must slender Rosalinde:They that reap must sheafe and binde,then to cart with Rosalinde.Sweetest nut, hath sowrest rinde,such a nut is Rosalinde.He that sweetest rose will finde,must finde Loues pricke, & Rosalinde. This is the verie false gallop of Verses, why doe you in-fect your selfe with them? Ros. Peace you dull foole, I found them on a tree. Clo. Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite. Ros. Ile graffe it with you, and then I shall graffe itwith a Medler: then it will be the earliest fruit i'th coun-try: for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that'sthe right vertue of the Medler. Clo. You haue said: but whether wisely or no, let theForrest iudge. Enter Celia with a writing. Ros. Peace, here comes my sister reading, stand aside. Cel. Why should this Desert bee,for it is vnpeopled? Noe:Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree,that shall ciuill sayings shoe.Some, how briefe the Life of manruns his erring pilgrimage,That the stretching of a span,buckles in his summe of age.Some of violated vowes,twixt the soules of friend, and friend:But vpon the fairest bowes,or at euerie sentence end; Will I Rosalinda write,teaching all that reade, to knowThe quintessence of euerie sprite,heauen would in little show.Therefore heauen Nature charg'd,that one bodie should be fill'dWith all Graces wide enlarg'd,nature presently distill'd Helens cheeke, but not his heart, Cleopatra's Maiestie: Attalanta's better part,sad Lucrecia's Modestie.Thus Rosalinde of manie parts,by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd,Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts,to haue the touches deerest pris'd.Heauen would that shee these gifts should haue,and I to liue and die her slaue. Ros. O most gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie ofLoue haue you wearied your parishioners withall, andneuer cri'de, haue patience good people. Cel. How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a lit-tle: go with him sirrah. Clo. Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable re-treit, though not with bagge and baggage, yet withscrip and scrippage. Exit. Cel. Didst thou heare these verses? Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for someof them had in them more feete then the Verses wouldbeare. Cel. That's no matter: the feet might beare the verses. Ros. I, but the feet were lame, and could not bearethemselues without the verse, and therefore stood lame-ly in the verse. Cel. But didst thou heare without wondering, howthy name should be hang'd and carued vpon these trees? Ros. I was seuen of the nine daies out of the wonder,before you came: for looke heere what I found on aPalme tree; I was neuer so berim'd since Pythagoras timethat I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Tro you, who hath done this? Ros. Is it a man? Cel. And a chaine that you once wore about his neck:change you colour? Ros. I pre'thee who? Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends tomeete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earth-quakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible? Ros. Nay, I pre'thee now, with most petitionary ve-hemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderfull, wonderfull, and most wonderfullwonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that outof all hooping. Ros. Good my complection, dost thou think thoughI am caparison'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hose inmy disposition? One inch of delay more, is a South-seaof discouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, andspeake apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thoumight'st powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, asWine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either toomuch at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corkeout of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of Gods making? What manner of man?Is his head worth a hat? Or his chin worth a beard? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Ros. Why God will send more, if the man will beethankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thoudelay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel. It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wrastlersheeles, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the diuell take mocking: speake saddebrow, and true maid. Cel. I'faith (Coz) tis he. Ros. Orlando? Cel. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet &hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What saydehe? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes heeheere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? Howparted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him a-gaine? Answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Gargantuas mouth first:'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages size, tosay I and no, to these particulars, is more then to answerin a Catechisme. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this Forrest, andin mans apparrell? Looks he as freshly, as he did the dayhe Wrastled? Cel. It is as easie to count Atomies as to resolue thepropositions of a Louer: but take a taste of my findinghim, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found himvnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne. Ros. It may wel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppesforth fruite. Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam. Ros. Proceed. Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Woundedknight. Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it wellbecomes the ground. Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettesvnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter. Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen, thoubring'st me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke,I must speake: sweet, say on. Enter Orlando & Iaques. Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere? Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him. Iaq. I thanke you for your company, but good faithI had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone. Orl. And so had I: but yet for fashion sakeI thanke you too, for your societie. Iaq. God buy you, let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Iaq. I pray you marre no more trees with WritingLoue-songs in their barkes. Orl. I pray you marre no moe of my verses with rea-ding them ill-fauouredly. Iaq. Rosalinde is your loues name? Orl. Yes, Iust. Iaq. I do not like her name. Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when shewas christen'd. Iaq. What stature is she of? Orl. Iust as high as my heart. Iaq. You are ful of prety answers: haue you not bin ac-quainted with goldsmiths wiues, & cond the[m] out of rings Orl. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloath,from whence you haue studied your questions. Iaq. You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of Attalanta's heeles. Will you sitte downe with me, andwee two, will raile against our Mistris the world, and allour miserie. Orl. I wil chide no breather in the world but my selfe against whom I know most faults. Iaq. The worst fault you haue, is to be in loue. Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change, for your best ver-tue: I am wearie of you. Iaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a Foole, when Ifound you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, andyou shall see him. Iaq. There I shal see mine owne figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher. Iaq. Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good sig-nior Loue. Orl. I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Mon-sieur Melancholly. Ros. I wil speake to him like a sawcie Lacky, and vn-der that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forrester. Orl. Verie wel, what would you? Ros. I pray you, what i'st a clocke? Orl. You should aske me what time o' day: there's noclocke in the Forrest. Ros. Then there is no true Louer in the Forrest, elsesighing euerie minute, and groaning euerie houre wolddetect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke. Orl. And why not the swift foote of time? Had notthat bin as proper? Ros. By no meanes sir; Time trauels in diuers paces,with diuers persons: Ile tel you who Time ambles with-all, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal,and who he stands stil withall. Orl. I prethee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, betweenthe contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnizd:if the interim be but a sennight, Times pace is so hard,that it seemes the length of seuen yeare. Orl. Who ambles Time withal? Ros. With a Priest that lacks Latine, and a rich manthat hath not the Gowt: for the one sleepes easily be-cause he cannot study, and the other liues merrily, be-cause he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen ofleane and wasteful Learning; the other knowing no bur-then of heauie tedious penurie. These Time ambleswithal. Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a theefe to the gallowes: for though heego as softly as foot can fall, he thinkes himselfe too soonthere. Orl. Who staies it stil withal? Ros. With Lawiers in the vacation: for they sleepebetweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue nothow time moues. Orl. Where dwel you prettie youth? Ros. With this Shepheardesse my sister: heere in theskirts of the Forrest, like fringe vpon a petticoat. Orl. Are you natiue of this place? Ros. As the Conie that you see dwell where shee iskindled. Orl. Your accent is something finer, then you couldpurchase in so remoued a dwelling. Ros. I haue bin told so of many: but indeed, an oldereligious Vnckle of mine taught me to speake, who wasin his youth an inland man, one that knew Courtship toowell: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read ma-ny Lectors against it, and I thanke God, I am not a Wo-man to be touch'd with so many giddie offences as heehath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. Orl. Can you remember any of the principall euils,that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. There were none principal, they were all likeone another, as halfepence are, euerie one fault seemingmonstrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it. Orl. I prethee recount some of them. Ros. No: I wil not cast away my physick, but on thosethat are sicke. There is a man haunts the Forrest, that a-buses our yong plants with caruing Rosalinde on theirbarkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies onbrambles; all (forsooth) defying the name of Rosalinde. If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue himsome good counsel, for he seemes to haue the Quotidianof Loue vpon him. Orl. I am he that is so Loue-shak'd, I pray you telme your remedie. Ros. There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you:he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cageof rushes, I am sure you art not prisoner. Orl. What were his markes? Ros. A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eieand sunken, which you haue not: an vnquestionable spi-rit, which you haue not: a beard neglected, which youhaue not: (but I pardon you for that, for simply your ha-uing in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then yourhose should be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, yoursleeue vnbutton'd, your shoo vnti'de, and euerie thingabout you, demonstrating a carelesse desolation: but youare no such man; you are rather point deuice in your ac-coustrements, as louing your selfe, then seeming the Lo-uer of any other. Orl. Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue. Ros. Me beleeue it? You may assoone make her thatyou Loue beleeue it, which I warrant she is apter to do,then to confesse she do's: that is one of the points, in thewhich women stil giue the lie to their consciences. Butin good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on theTrees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? Orl. I sweare to thee youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in loue, as your rimes speak? Orl. Neither rime nor reason can expresse how much. Ros. Loue is meerely a madnesse, and I tel you, de-serues as wel a darke house, and a whip, as madmen do:and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, isthat the Lunacie is so ordinarie, that the whippers are inloue too: yet I professe curing it by counsel. Orl. Did you euer cure any so? Ros. Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to ima-gine me his Loue, his Mistris: and I set him euerie dayto woe me. At which time would I, being but a moonishyouth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, andliking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, fulof teares, full of smiles; for euerie passion something, andfor no passion truly any thing, as boyes and women arefor the most part, cattle of this colour: would now likehim, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forswearhim: now weepe for him, then spit at him; that I drauemy Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humorof madnes, which was to forsweare the ful stream of the world,and to liue in a nooke meerly Monastick: and thus I cur'dhim, and this way wil I take vpon mee to wash your Li-uer as cleane as a sound sheepes heart, that there shal notbe one spot of Loue in't. Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosa-lind, and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me. Orlan. Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel mewhere it is. Ros. Go with me to it, and Ile shew it you: and bythe way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue:Wil you go? Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister,will you go? Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques. Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp yourGoates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet?Doth my simple feature content you? Aud. Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features? Clo. I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the mostcapricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes. Iaq. O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then Ioue ina thatch'd house. Clo. When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nora mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vn-derstanding: it strikes a man more dead then a great rec-koning in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods haddemade thee poeticall. Aud. I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest indeed and word: is it a true thing? Clo. No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most fai-ning, and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what theysweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne. Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made mePoeticall? Clow. I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art ho-nest: Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hopethou didst feigne. Aud. Would you not haue me honest? Clo. No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: forhonestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce toSugar. Iaq. A materiall foole. Aud. Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray theGods make me honest. Clo. Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a fouleslut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes Iam foule. Clo. Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; slut-tishnesse may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee,I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hathpromis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and tocouple vs. Iaq. I would faine see this meeting. Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy. Clo. Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart,stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Templebut the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But whatthough? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are neces-sarie. It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods;right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no endof them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis noneof his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone:No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Ras-call: Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'dTowne is more worthier then a village, so is the fore-head of a married man, more honourable then the barebrow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is bet-ter then no skill, by so much is a horne more preciousthen to want. Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text. Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you arewel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, orshal we go with you to your Chappell? Ol. Is there none heere to giue the woman? Clo. I wil not take her on guift of any man. Ol. Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is notlawfull. Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her. Clo. Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do youSir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your lastcompanie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in handheere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd. Iaq. Wil you be married, Motley? Clo. As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb,and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and asPigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling. Iaq. And wil you (being a man of your breeding) bemarried vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church,and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is,this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyneWainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell,and like greene timber, warpe, warpe. Clo. I am not in the minde, but I were better to beemarried of him then of another, for he is not like to mar-rie me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a goodexcuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife. Iaq. Goe thou with mee,And let me counsel thee. Ol. Come sweete Audrey, We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey:Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, beegone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee. Ol. 'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of themall shal flout me out of my calling. Exeunt
Scoena Quarta. Enter Rosalind & Celia. Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe. Cel. Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider,that teares do not become a man. Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe? Cel. As good cause as one would desire,Therefore weepe. Ros. His very haireIs of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner then Iudasses:Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children. Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour:Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour: Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie,As the touch of holy bread. Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: aNun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie,the very yce of chastity is in them. Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come thismorning, and comes not? Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him. Ros. Doe you thinke so? Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer,but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him asconcaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut. Ros. Not true in loue? Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in. Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was. Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is nostronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both theconfirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the for-rest on the Duke your father. Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much que-stion with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; Itold him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe.But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a manas Orlando? Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses,speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakesthem brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his lo-uer, as a puisny Tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side,breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue thatyouth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere? Enter Corin. Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquiredAfter the Shepheard that complain'd of loue,Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph,Praising the proud disdainfull ShepherdesseThat was his Mistresse. Cel. Well: and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaidBetweene the pale complexion of true Loue,And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine,Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct youIf you will marke it. Ros. O come, let vs remoue,The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue:Bring vs to this sight, and you shall sayIle proue a busie actor in their play. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Siluius and Phebe. Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe Say that you loue me not, but say not soIn bitternesse; the common executionerWhose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hardFalls not the axe vpon the humbled neck,But first begs pardon: will you sterner beThen he that dies and liues by bloody drops? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. Phe. I would not be thy executioner,I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee:Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye,'Tis pretty sure, and very probable,That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things,Who shut their coward gates on atomyes,Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers.Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart,And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe,Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame,Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers:Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee,Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remainesSome scarre of it: Leane vpon a rushThe Cicatrice and capable impressureThy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyesWhich I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not,Nor I am sure there is no force in eyesThat can doe hurt. Sil. O deere Phebe, If euer (as that euer may be neere)You meet in some fresh cheeke the power of fancie,Then shall you know the wounds inuisibleThat Loues keene arrows make. Phe. But till that timeCome not thou neere me: and when that time comes,Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not,As till that time I shall not pitty thee. Ros. And why I pray you? who might be your motherThat you insult, exult, and all at onceOuer the wretched? what though you haue no beautyAs by my faith, I see no more in youThen without Candle may goe darke to bed:Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse?Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me?I see no more in you then in the ordinaryOf Natures sale-worke? 'ods my little life,I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too:No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it,'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire,Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creameThat can entame my spirits to your worship:You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow herLike foggy South, puffing with winde and raine,You are a thousand times a properer manThen she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as youThat makes the world full of ill-fauourd children:'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her,And out of you she sees her selfe more properThen any of her lineaments can show her:But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your kneesAnd thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue;For I must tell you friendly in your eare,Sell when you can, you are not for all markets:Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer,Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer.So take her to thee Shepheard, fareyouwell. Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together,I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe. Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'llFall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fastAs she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauceHer with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me? Phe. For no ill will I beare you. Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee,For I am falser then vowes made in wine:Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house,'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by:Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard: Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him betterAnd be not proud, though all the world could see,None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.Come, to our flocke, Exit. Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight? Sil. Sweet Phebe. Phe. Hah: what saist thou Siluius? Sil. Sweet Phebe pitty me. Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius. Sil. Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be:If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue,By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefeWere both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would haue you. Phe. Why that were couetousnesse: Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee;And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue,But since that thou canst talke of loue so well,Thy company, which erst was irkesome to meI will endure; and Ile employ thee too:But doe not looke for further recompenceThen thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd. Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my loue,And I in such a pouerty of grace,That I shall thinke it a most plenteous cropTo gleane the broken eares after the manThat the maine haruest reapes: loose now and thenA scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon. Phe. Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yere-while? Sil. Not very well, but I haue met him oft,And he hath bought the Cottage and the boundsThat the old Carlot once was Master of. Phe. Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him,'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well,But what care I for words? yet words do wellWhen he that speakes them pleases those that heare:It is a pretty youth, not very prettie,But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in himIs his complexion: and faster then his tongueDid make offence, his eye did heale it vp:He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall:His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well:There was a pretty rednesse in his lip,A little riper, and more lustie redThen that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the differenceBetwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske.There be some women Siluius, had they markt himIn parcells as I did, would haue gone neereTo fall in loue with him: but for my partI loue him not, nor hate him not: and yetHaue more cause to hate him then to loue him,For what had he to doe to chide at me?He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke,And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me:I maruell why I answer'd not againe,But that's all one: omittance is no quittance:Ile write to him a very tanting Letter,And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius? Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. Phe. Ile write it strait:The matter's in my head, and in my heart,I will be bitter with him, and passing short;Goe with me Siluius. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques. Iaq. I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquaintedwith thee. Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow. Iaq. I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing. Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abho-minable fellowes, and betray themselues to euery mo-derne censure, worse then drunkards. Iaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste. Iaq. I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, whichis emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall;nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers,which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick:nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, whichis all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, com-pounded of many simples, extracted from many obiects,and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, inwhich by often rumination, wraps me in a most humo-rous sadnesse. Ros. A Traueller: by my faith you haue great rea-son to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands,to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to hauenothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands. Iaq. Yes, I haue gain'd my experience. Enter Orlando. Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had ra-ther haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience tomake me sad, and to trauaile for it too. Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind. Iaq. Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blankeverse. Ros. Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke youlispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefitsof your owne Countrie: be out of loue with yournatiuitie, and almost chide God for making you thatcountenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haueswam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, wherehaue you bin all this while? you a louer? and youserue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sightmore. Orl. My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of mypromise. Ros. Breake an houres promise in loue? hee thatwill diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breakebut a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairsof loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapthim oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole. Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind. Ros. Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in mysight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile. Orl. Of a Snaile? Ros. I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, heecarries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinkethen you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiniewith him. Orl. What's that? Ros. Why hornes: which such as you are faine to be be-holding to your wiues for: but he comes armed in hisfortune, and preuents the slander of his wife. Orl. Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Rosalind isvertuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so: but he hath a Rosa-lind of a better leere then you. Ros. Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in aholy-day humor, and like enough to consent: Whatwould you say to me now, and I were your verie, verie Rosalind? Orl. I would kisse before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speake first, and when youwere grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take oc-casion to kisse: verie good Orators when they are out,they will spit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs)matter, the cleanliest shift is to kisse. Orl. How if the kisse be denide? Ros. Then she puts you to entreatie, and there beginsnew matter. Orl. Who could be out, being before his belouedMistris? Ros. Marrie that should you if I were your Mistris,or I should thinke my honestie ranker then my wit. Orl. What, of my suite? Ros. Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of yoursuite:Am not I your Rosalind? Orl. I take some ioy to say you are, because I wouldbe talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person, I say I will not haue you. Orl. Then in mine owne person, I die. Ros. No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world isalmost six thousand yeeres old, and in all this time therewas not anie man died in his owne person (videlicet) ina loue cause: Troilous had his braines dash'd out with aGrecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before,and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he wouldhaue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'dNun; if it had not bin for a hot Midsomer-night, for(good youth) he went but forth to wash him in the Hel-lespont, and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd,and the foolish Chronoclers of that age, found it was Hero of Cestos. But these are all lies, men haue diedfrom time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but notfor loue. Orl. I would not haue my right Rosalind of this mind,for I protest her frowne might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come,now I will be your Rosalind in a more comming-on dis-position: and aske me what you will, I will grant it. Orl. Then loue me Rosalind. Ros. Yes faith will I, fridaies and saterdaies, and all. Orl. And wilt thou haue me? Ros. I, and twentie such. Orl. What saiest thou? Ros. Are you not good? Orl. I hope so. Rosalind. Why then, can one desire too much of agood thing: Come sister, you shall be the Priest, andmarrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe yousay sister? Orl. Pray thee marrie vs. Cel. I cannot say the words. Ros. You must begin, will you Orlando. Cel. Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Ro-salind? Orl. I will. Ros. I, but when? Orl. Why now, as fast as she can marrie vs. Ros. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind forwife. Orl. I take thee Rosalind for wife. Ros. I might aske you for your Commission,But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's agirle goes before the Priest, and certainely a Womansthought runs before her actions. Orl. So do all thoughts, they are wing'd. Ros. Now tell me how long you would haue her, af-ter you haue possest her? Orl. For euer, and a day. Ros. Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, menare Aprill when they woe, December when they wed:Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky chan-ges when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous ofthee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, moreclamorous then a Parrat against raine, more new-fang-led then an ape, more giddy in my desires, then a mon-key: I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Foun-taine, & I wil do that when you are dispos'd to be merry:I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'dto sleepe. Orl. But will my Rosalind doe so? Ros. By my life, she will doe as I doe. Orl. O but she is wise. Ros. Or else shee could not haue the wit to doe this:the wiser, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a wo-mans wit, and it will out at the casement: shut that, and'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill flie with thesmoake out at the chimney. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he mightsay, wit whether wil't? Ros. Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till youmet your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed. Orl. And what wit could wit haue, to excuse that? Rosa. Marry to say, she came to seeke you there: youshall neuer take her without her answer, vnlesse you takeher without her tongue: o that woman that cannotmake her fault her husbands occasion, let her neuer nurseher childe her selfe, for she will breed it like a foole. Orl. For these two houres Rosalinde, I wil leaue thee. Ros. Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres. Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner, by two a clockI will be with thee againe. Ros. I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew whatyou would proue, my friends told mee as much, and Ithought no lesse: that flattering tongue of yours wonneme: 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: two o'clocke is your howre. Orl. I, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so Godmend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dange-rous, if you breake one iot of your promise, or come oneminute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the mostpatheticall breake-promise, and the most hollow louer,and the most vnworthy of her you call Rosalinde, thatmay bee chosen out of the grosse band of the vnfaith-full: therefore beware my censure, and keep your pro-mise. Orl. With no lesse religion, then if thou wert indeedmy Rosalind: so adieu. Ros. Well, Time is the olde Iustice that examines allsuch offenders, and let time try: adieu. Exit. Cel. You haue simply misus'd our sexe in your loue-prate: we must haue your doublet and hose pluckt oueryour head, and shew the world what the bird hath doneto her owne neast. Ros. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thoudidst know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: butit cannot bee sounded: my affection hath an vnknownebottome, like the Bay of Portugall. Cel. Or rather bottomlesse, that as fast as you poureaffection in, it runs out. Ros. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that wasbegot of thought, conceiu'd of spleene, and borne ofmadnesse, that blinde rascally boy, that abuses eueryones eyes, because his owne are out, let him bee iudge,how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot beout of the sight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a shadow, andsigh till he come. Cel. And Ile sleepe. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters. Iaq. Which is he that killed the Deare? Lord. Sir, it was I. Iaq. Let's present him to the Duke like a RomaneConquerour, and it would doe well to set the Deareshorns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue youno song Forrester for this purpose? Lord. Yes Sir. Iaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, so itmake noyse enough. Musicke, Song. What shall he haue that kild the Deare?His Leather skin, and hornes to weare:Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this burthen;Take thou no scorne to weare the horne,It was a crest ere thou wast borne,Thy fathers father wore it,And thy father bore it,The horne, the horne, the lusty horne,Is not a thing to laugh to scorne. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Rosalind and Celia. Ros. How say you now, is it not past two a clock?And heere much Orlando. Cel. I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain, Enter Siluius. He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forthTo sleepe: looke who comes heere. Sil. My errand is to you, faire youth,My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this:I know not the contents, but as I guesseBy the sterne brow, and waspish actionWhich she did vse, as she was writing of it,It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,I am but as a guiltlesse messenger. Ros. Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,She calls me proud, and that she could not loue meWere man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will,Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,This is a Letter of your owne deuice. Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents, Phebe did write it. Ros. Come, come, you are a foole,And turn'd into the extremity of loue.I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand,A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinkeThat her old gloues were on, but twas her hands:She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter:I say she neuer did inuent this letter,This is a mans inuention, and his hand. Sil. Sure it is hers. Ros. Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile,A stile for challengers: why, she defies me,Like Turke to Christian: womens gentle braineCould not drop forth such giant rude inuention,Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effectThen in their countenance: will you heare the letter? Sil. So please you, for I neuer heard it yet:Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie. Ros. She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant writes. Read. Art thou god, to Shepherd turn'd?That a maidens heart hath burn'd. Can a woman raile thus? Sil. Call you this railing? Ros. Read. Why, thy godhead laid a part,War'st thou with a womans heart? Did you euer heare such railing? Whiles the eye of man did wooe me,That could do no vengeance to me. Meaning me a beast. If the scorne of your bright eineHaue power to raise such loue in mine,Alacke, in me, what strange effectWould they worke in milde aspect?Whiles you chid me, I did loue,How then might your praiers moue?He that brings this loue to thee,Little knowes this Loue in me:And by him seale vp thy minde,Whether that thy youth and kinde Will the faithfull offer takeOf me, and all that I can make,Or else by him my loue denie,And then Ile studie how to die. Sil. Call you this chiding? Cel. Alas poore Shepheard. Ros. Doe you pitty him? No, he deserues no pitty:wilt thou loue such a woman? what to make thee an in-strument, and play false straines vpon thee? not to be en-dur'd.Well, goe your way to her; (for I see Loue hathmade thee a tame snake) and say this to her; That if sheloue me, I charge her to loue thee: if she will not, I willneuer haue her, vnlesse thou intreat for her: if you bee atrue louer hence, and not a word; for here comes morecompany. Exit. Sil. Enter Oliuer. Oliu. Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you know) Where in the Purlews of this Forrest, stands A sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Oliue-trees. Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor bottomThe ranke of Oziers, by the murmuring streameLeft on your right hand, brings you to the place:But at this howre, the house doth keepe it selfe,There's none within. Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,Then should I know you by description,Such garments, and such yeeres: the boy is faire,Of femall fauour, and bestowes himselfeLike a ripe sister: the woman lowAnd browner then her brother: are not youThe owner of the house I did enquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both,And to that youth hee calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloudy napkin; are you he? Ros. I am: what must we vnderstand by this? Oli. Some of my shame, if you will know of meWhat man I am, and how, and why, and whereThis handkercher was stain'd. Cel. I pray you tell it. Oli. When last the yong Orlando parted from you,He left a promise to returne againeWithin an houre, and pacing through the Forrest,Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancie,Loe what befell: he threw his eye aside,And marke what obiect did present it selfeVnder an old Oake, whose bows were moss'd with ageAnd high top, bald with drie antiquitie:A wretched ragged man, ore-growne with haireLay sleeping on his back; about his neckeA greene and guilded snake had wreath'd it selfe,Who with her head, nimble in threats approach'dThe opening of his mouth: but sodainlySeeing Orlando, it vnlink'd it selfe,And with indented glides, did slip awayInto a bush, vnder which bushes shadeA Lyonnesse, with vdders all drawne drie,Lay cowching head on ground, with catlike watchWhen that the sleeping man should stirre; for 'tisThe royall disposition of that beastTo prey on nothing, that doth seeme as dead:This seene, Orlando did approach the man,And found it was his brother, his elder brother. Cel. O I haue heard him speake of that same brother,And he did render him the most vnnaturallThat liu'd amongst men. Oli. And well he might so doe,For well I know he was vnnaturall. Ros. But to Orlando: did he leaue him thereFood to the suck'd and hungry Lyonnesse? Oli. Twice did he turne his backe, and purpos'd so:But kindnesse, nobler euer then reuenge,And Nature stronger then his iust occasion,Made him giue battell to the Lyonnesse:Who quickly fell before him, in which hurtlingFrom miserable slumber I awaked. Cel. Are you his brother? Ros. Was't you he rescu'd? Cel. Was't you that did so oft contriue to kill him? Oli. 'Twas I: but 'tis not I: I doe not shameTo tell you what I was, since my conuersionSo sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. Ros. But for the bloody napkin? Oli. By and by:When from the first to last betwixt vs two,Teares our recountments had most kindely bath'd,As how I came into that Desert place.In briefe, he led me to the gentle Duke,Who gaue me fresh aray, and entertainment,Committing me vnto my brothers loue,Who led me instantly vnto his Caue,There stript himselfe, and heere vpon his armeThe Lyonnesse had torne some flesh away,Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,And cride in fainting vpon Rosalinde. Briefe, I recouer'd him, bound vp his wound,And after some small space, being strong at heart,He sent me hither, stranger as I amTo tell this story, that you might excuseHis broken promise, and to giue this napkinDied in this bloud, vnto the Shepheard youth,That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. Cel. Why how now Ganimed, sweet Ganimed. Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on bloud. Cel. There is more in it; Cosen Ganimed. Oli. Looke, he recouers. Ros. I would I were at home. Cel. Wee'll lead you thither:I pray you will you take him by the arme. Oli. Be of good cheere youth: you a man?You lacke a mans heart. Ros. I doe so, I confesse it:Ah, sirra, a body would thinke this was well counterfei-ted, I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfei-ted: heigh-ho. Oli. This was not counterfeit, there is too great te-stimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of ear-nest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit tobe a man. Ros. So I doe: but yfaith, I should haue beene a wo-man by right. Cel. Come, you looke paler and paler: pray you drawhomewards: good sir, goe with vs. Oli. That will I: for I must beare answere backeHow you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall deuise something: but I pray you com-mend my counterfeiting to him: will you goe? Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter Clowne and Awdrie. Clow. We shall finde a time Awdrie, patience gen-tle Awdrie. Awd. Faith the Priest was good enough, for all theolde gentlemans saying. Clow. A most wicked Sir Oliuer, Awdrie, a most vile Mar-text. But Awdrie, there is a youth heere in theForrest layes claime to you. Awd. I, I know who 'tis: he hath no interest in meein the world: here comes the man you meane. Enter William. Clo. It is meat and drinke to me to see a Clowne, by my troth, we that haue good wits, haue much to answerfor: we shall be flouting: we cannot hold. Will. Good eu'n Audrey. Aud. God ye good eu'n William. Will. And good eu'n to you Sir. Clo. Good eu'n gentle friend. Couer thy head, couerthy head: Nay prethee bee couer'd. How olde are youFriend? Will. Fiue and twentie Sir. Clo. A ripe age: Is thy name William? Will. William, sir. Clo. A faire name. Was't borne i'th Forrest heere? Will. I sir, I thanke God. Clo. Thanke God: A good answer:Art rich? Will. 'Faith sir, so, so. Cle. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:and yet it is not, it is but so, so:Art thou wise? Will. I sir, I haue a prettie wit. Clo. Why, thou saist well. I do now remember a say-ing: The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wisemanknowes himselfe to be a Foole. The Heathen Philoso-pher, when he had a desire to eate a Grape, would openhis lips when he put it into his mouth, meaning there-by, that Grapes were made to eate, and lippes to open.You do loue this maid? Will. I do sir. Clo. Giue me your hand: Art thou Learned? Will. No sir. Clo. Then learne this of me, To haue, is to haue. Forit is a figure in Rhetoricke, that drink being powr'd outof a cup into a glasse, by filling the one, doth empty theother. For all your Writers do consent, that ipse is hee:now you are not ipse, for I am he. Will. Which he sir? Clo. He sir, that must marrie this woman: Thereforeyou Clowne, abandon: which is in the vulgar, leaue thesocietie: which in the boorish, is companie, of this fe-male: which in the common, is woman: which toge-ther, is, abandon the society of this Female, or Clownethou perishest: or to thy better vnderstanding, dyest; or(to wit) I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life in-to death, thy libertie into bondage: I will deale in poy-son with thee, or in bastinado, or in steele: I will bandywith thee in faction, I will ore-run thee with policie: Iwill kill thee a hundred and fifty wayes, therefore trem-ble and depart. Aud. Do good William. Will. God rest you merry sir. Exit Enter Corin. Cor. Our Master and Mistresse seekes you: come a-way, away. Clo. Trip Audry, trip Audry, I attend,I attend. Exeunt
Scoena Secunda. Enter Orlando & Oliuer. Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance youshould like her? that, but seeing, you should loue her?And louing woo? and wooing, she should graunt? Andwill you perseuer to enioy her? Ol. Neither call the giddinesse of it in question; thepouertie of her, the small acquaintance, my sodaine wo-ing, nor sodaine consenting: but say with mee, I loue Aliena: say with her, that she loues mee; consent withboth, that we may enioy each other: it shall be to yourgood: for my fathers house, and all the reuennew, thatwas old Sir Rowlands will I estate vpon you, and heereliue and die a Shepherd. Enter Rosalind. Orl. You haue my consent.Let your Wedding be to morrow: thither will IInuite the Duke, and all's contented followers:Go you, and prepare Aliena; for looke you,Heere comes my Rosalinde. Ros. God saue you brother. Ol. And you faire sister. Ros. Oh my deere Orlando, how it greeues me to seethee weare thy heart in a scarfe. Orl. It is my arme. Ros. I thought thy heart had beene wounded withthe clawes of a Lion. Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a Lady. Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeytedto sound, when he shew'd me your handkercher? Orl. I, and greater wonders then that. Ros. O, I know where you are: nay, tis true: therewas neuer any thing so sodaine, but the sight of twoRammes, and Cesars Thrasonicall bragge of I came, saw,and ouercome. For your brother, and my sister, no soo-ner met, but they look'd: no sooner look'd, but theylou'd; no sooner lou'd, but they sigh'd: no sooner sigh'dbut they ask'd one another the reason: no sooner knewthe reason, but they sought the remedie: and in thesedegrees, haue they made a paire of staires to marriage,which they will climbe incontinent, or else bee inconti-nent before marriage; they are in the verie wrath ofloue, and they will together. Clubbes cannot partthem. Orl. They shall be married to morrow: and I willbid the Duke to the Nuptiall. But O, how bitter a thingit is, to looke into happines through another mans eies:by so much the more shall I to morrow be at the heightof heart heauinesse, by how much I shal thinke my bro-ther happie, in hauing what he wishes for. Ros. Why then to morrow, I cannot serue your turnefor Rosalind? Orl. I can liue no longer by thinking. Ros. I will wearie you then no longer with idle tal-king. Know of me then (for now I speake to some pur-pose) that I know you are a Gentleman of good conceit:I speake not this, that you should beare a good opinionof my knowledge: insomuch (I say) I know you are: nei-ther do I labor for a greater esteeme then may in somelittle measure draw a beleefe from you, to do your selfegood, and not to grace me. Beleeue then, if you please,that I can do strange things: I haue since I was threeyeare old conuerst with a Magitian, most profound inhis Art, and yet not damnable. If you do loue Rosalinde so neere the hart, as your gesture cries it out: when yourbrother marries Aliena, shall you marrie her. I know in-to what straights of Fortune she is driuen, and it is notimpossible to me, if it appeare not inconuenient to you, to set her before your eyes to morrow, humane as she is,and without any danger. Orl. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? Ros. By my life I do, which I tender deerly, thoughI say I am a Magitian: Therefore put you in your best a-ray, bid your friends: for if you will be married to mor-row, you shall: and to Rosalind if you will. Enter Siluius & Phebe. Looke, here comes a Louer of mine, and a louer of hers. Phe. Youth, you haue done me much vngentlenesse,To shew the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not if I haue: it is my studieTo seeme despightfull and vngentle to you:you are there followed by a faithful shepheard,Looke vpon him, loue him: he worships you. Phe. Good shepheard, tell this youth what 'tis to loue Sil. It is to be all made of sighes and teares,And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganimed. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of faith and seruice,And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And I for Ganimed. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman. Sil. It is to be all made of fantasie,All made of passion, and all made of wishes,All adoration, dutie, and obseruance,All humblenesse, all patience, and impatience,All puritie, all triall, all obseruance:And so am I for Phebe. Phe. And so am I for Ganimed. Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Ros. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to loue you? Ros. Why do you speake too, Why blame you meeto loue you. Orl. To her, that is not heere, nor doth not heare. Ros. Pray you no more of this, 'tis like the howlingof Irish Wolues against the Moone: I will helpe youif I can: I would loue you if I could: To morrow meetme altogether: I wil marrie you, if euer I marrie Wo-man, and Ile be married to morrow: I will satisfie you,if euer I satisfi'd man, and you shall bee married to mor-row. I wil content you, if what pleases you contentsyou, and you shal be married to morrow: As you loue Rosalind meet, as you loue Phebe meet, and as I loue nowoman, Ile meet: so fare you wel: I haue left you com-mands. Sil. Ile not faile, if I liue. Phe. Nor I. Orl. Nor I. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Clowne and Audrey. Clo. To morrow is the ioyfull day Audrey, to morowwill we be married. Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and I hope it isno dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of the world?Heere come two of the banish'd Dukes Pages. Enter two Pages. 1.Pa. Wel met honest Gentleman. Clo. By my troth well met: come, sit, sit, and a song. 2.Pa. We are for you, sit i'th middle. 1.Pa. Shal we clap into't roundly, without hauking,or spitting, or saying we are hoarse, which are the onelyprologues to a bad voice. 2.Pa. I faith, y'faith, and both in a tune like twogipsies on a horse. Song. It was a Louer, and his lasse,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o're the greene corne feild did passe,In the spring time, the onely pretty rang time.When Birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.Sweet Louers loue the spring,And therefore take the present time.With a hey, & a ho, and a hey nonino,For loue is crowned with the prime.In spring time, &c.Betweene the acres of the Rie,With a hey, and a ho, & a hey nonino:These prettie Country folks would lie.In spring time, &c. This Carroll they began that houre,With a hey and a ho, & a hey nonino:How that a life was but a Flower,In spring time, &c. Clo. Truly yong Gentlemen, though there was nogreat matter in the dittie, yet the note was very vntunable 1.Pa. you are deceiu'd Sir, we kept time, we lost notour time. Clo. By my troth yes: I count it but time lost to hearesuch a foolish song. God buy you, and God mend yourvoices. Come Audrie. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Duke Senior, Amyens, Iaques, Orlan-do, Oliuer, Celia. Du.Sen. Dost thou beleeue Orlando, that the boyCan do all this that he hath promised? Orl. I sometimes do beleeue, and somtimes do not,As those that feare they hope, and know they feare. Enter Rosalinde, Siluius, & Phebe. Ros. Patience once more, whiles our co[m]pact is vrg'd:You say, if I bring in your Rosalinde, You wil bestow her on Orlando heere? Du.Se. That would I, had I kingdoms to giue with hir. Ros. And you say you wil haue her, when I bring hir? Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdomes King. Ros. You say, you'l marrie me, if I be willing. Phe. That will I, should I die the houre after. Ros. But if you do refuse to marrie me,You'l giue your selfe to this most faithfull Shepheard. Phe. So is the bargaine. Ros. You say that you'l haue Phebe if she will. Sil. Though to haue her and death, were both onething. Ros. I haue promis'd to make all this matter euen:Keepe you your word, O Duke, to giue your daughter,You yours Orlando, to receiue his daughter:Keepe you your word Phebe, that you'l marrie me,Or else refusing me to wed this shepheard:Keepe your word Siluius, that you'l marrie herIf she refuse me, and from hence I goTo make these doubts all euen. Exit Ros. and Celia. Du.Sen. I do remember in this shepheard boy,Some liuely touches of my daughters fauour. Orl. My Lord, the first time that I euer saw him,Me thought he was a brother to your daughter:But my good Lord, this Boy is Forrest borne,And hath bin tutor'd in the rudimentsOf many desperate studies, by his vnckle,Whom he reports to be a great Magitian. Enter Clowne and Audrey. Obscured in the circle of this Forrest. Iaq. There is sure another flood toward, and thesecouples are comming to the Arke. Here comes a payreof verie strange beasts, which in all tongues, are call'dFooles. Clo. Salutation and greeting to you all. Iaq. Good my Lord, bid him welcome: This is theMotley-minded Gentleman, that I haue so often met inthe Forrest: he hath bin a Courtier he sweares. Clo. If any man doubt that, let him put mee to mypurgation, I haue trod a measure, I haue flattred a Lady,I haue bin politicke with my friend, smooth with mineenemie, I haue vndone three Tailors, I haue had fourequarrels, and like to haue fought one. Iaq. And how was that tane vp? Clo. 'Faith we met, and found the quarrel was vponthe seuenth cause. Iaq. How seuenth cause? Good my Lord, like thisfellow. Du.Se. I like him very well. Clo. God'ild you sir, I desire you of the like: I pressein heere sir, amongst the rest of the Country copulatiuesto sweare, and to forsweare, according as mariage bindsand blood breakes: a poore virgin sir, an il-fauor'd thingsir, but mine owne, a poore humour of mine sir, to takethat that no man else will: rich honestie dwels like a mi-ser sir, in a poore house, as your Pearle in your foule oy-ster. Du.Se. By my faith, he is very swift, and sententious Clo. According to the fooles bolt sir, and such dulcetdiseases. Iaq. But for the seuenth cause. How did you findethe quarrell on the seuenth cause? Clo. Vpon a lye, seuen times remoued: (beare yourbodie more seeming Audry) as thus sir: I did dislike thecut of a certaine Courtiers beard: he sent me word, if Isaid his beard was not cut well, hee was in the minde itwas: this is call'd the retort courteous. If I sent himword againe, it was not well cut, he wold send me wordhe cut it to please himselfe: this is call'd the quip modest.If againe, it was not well cut, he disabled my iudgment:this is called, the reply churlish. If againe it was not wellcut, he would answer I spake not true: this is call'd thereproofe valiant. If againe, it was not well cut, he woldsay, I lie: this is call'd the counter-checke quarrelsome:and so to lye circumstantiall, and the lye direct. Iaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not wellcut? Clo. I durst go no further then the lye circumstantial:nor he durst not giue me the lye direct: and so wee mea-sur'dswords, and parted. Iaq. Can you nominate in order now, the degrees ofthe lye. Clo. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the booke: as youhaue bookes for good manners: I will name you the de-grees. The first, the Retort courteous: the second, theQuip-modest: the third, the reply Churlish: the fourth,the Reproofe valiant: the fift, the Counterchecke quar-relsome: the sixt, the Lye with circumstance: the sea-uenth, the Lye direct: all these you may auoyd, but theLye direct: and you may auoide that too, with an If. Iknew when seuen Iustices could not take vp a Quarrell,but when the parties were met themselues, one of themthought but of an If; as if you saide so, then I saide so:and they shooke hands, and swore brothers. Your If, isthe onely peace-maker: much vertue in if. Iaq. Is not this a rare fellow my Lord? He's as goodat any thing, and yet a foole. Du.Se. He vses his folly like a stalking-horse, and vn-der the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia. Still Musicke. Hymen. Then is there mirth in heauen,When earthly things made eauenattone together.Good Duke receiue thy daughter,Hymen from Heauen brought her,Yea brought her hether.That thou mightst ioyne his hand with his,Whose heart within his bosome is. Ros. To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours.To you I giue my selfe, for I am yours. Du.Se. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. Phe. If sight & shape be true, why then my loue adieu Ros. Ile haue no Father, if you be not he:Ile haue no Husband, if you be not he:Nor ne're wed woman, if you be not shee. Hy. Peace hoa: I barre confusion,'Tis I must make conclusionOf these most strange euents:Here's eight that must take hands,To ioyne in Hymens bands,If truth holds true contents.You and you, no crosse shall part;You and you, are hart in hart:You, to his loue must accord,Or haue a Woman to your Lord.You and you, are sure together,As the Winter to fowle Weather:Whiles a Wedlocke Hymne we sing,Feede your selues with questioning:That reason, wonder may diminishHow thus we met, and these things finish. Song. Wedding is great Iunos crowne,O blessed bond of boord and bed:'Tis Hymen peoples euerie towne,High wedlock then be honored:Honor, high honor and renowneTo Hymen, God of euerie Towne. Du.Se. O my deere Neece, welcome thou art to me,Euen daughter welcome, in no lesse degree. Phe. I wil not eate my word, now thou art mine,Thy faith, my fancie to thee doth combine. Enter Second Brother. 2.Bro. Let me haue audience for a word or two:I am the second sonne of old Sir Rowland, That bring these tidings to this faire assembly. Duke Frederick hearing how that euerie dayMen of great worth resorted to this forrest,Addrest a mightie power, which were on footeIn his owne conduct, purposely to takeHis brother heere, and put him to the sword:And to the skirts of this wilde Wood he came;Where, meeting with an old Religious man,After some question with him, was conuertedBoth from his enterprize, and from the world:His crowne bequeathing to his banish'd Brother,And all their Lands restor'd to him againeThat were with him exil'd. This to be true,I do engage my life. Du.Se. Welcome yong man:Thou offer'st fairely to thy brothers wedding:To one his lands with-held, and to the otherA land it selfe at large, a potent Dukedome.First, in this Forrest, let vs do those endsThat heere were well begun, and wel begot:And after, euery of this happie numberThat haue endur'd shrew'd daies, and nights with vs,Shal share the good of our returned fortune,According to the measure of their states.Meane time, forget this new-falne dignitie,And fall into our Rusticke Reuelrie:Play Musicke, and you Brides and Bride-groomes all,With measure heap'd in ioy, to'th Measures fall. Iaq. Sir, by your patience: if I heard you rightly,The Duke hath put on a Religious life,And throwne into neglect the pompous Court. 2.Bro. He hath. Iaq. To him will I: out of these conuertites,There is much matter to be heard, and learn'd:you to your former Honor, I bequeathyour patience, and your vertue, well deserues it.you to a loue, that your true faith doth merit:you to your land, and loue, and great allies:you to a long, and well-deserued bed:And you to wrangling, for thy louing voyageIs but for two moneths victuall'd: So to your pleasures,I am for other, then for dancing meazures. Du.Se. Stay, Iaques, stay. Iaq. To see no pastime, I: what you would haue,Ile stay to know, at your abandon'd caue. Exit. Du.Se. Proceed, proceed: wee'l begin these rights,As we do trust, they'l end in true delights. Exit Ros. It is not the fashion to see the Ladie the Epi-logue: but it is no more vnhandsome, then to see theLord the Prologue. If it be true, that good wine needsno bush, 'tis true, that a good play needes no Epilogue.Yet to good wine they do vse good bushes: and goodplayes proue the better by the helpe of good Epilogues:What a case am I in then, that am neither a good Epi-logue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalfe of agood play? I am not furnish'd like a Begger, thereforeto begge will not become mee. My way is to coniureyou, and Ile begin with the Women. I charge you (Owomen) for the loue you beare to men, to like as muchof this Play, as please you: And I charge you (O men)for the loue you beare to women (as I perceiue by yoursimpring, none of you hates them) that betweene you,and the women, the play may please. If I were a Wo-man, I would kisse as many of you as had beards thatpleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths thatI defi'de not: And I am sure, as many as haue goodbeards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will for my kindoffer, when I make curt'sie, bid me farewell. Exit.
FINIS. THE Taming of the Shrew.
Actus primus. Scaena Prima. Enter Begger and Hostes, Christophero Sly. Begger. Ile pheeze you infaith. Host. A paire of stockes you rogue. Beg. Y'are a baggage, the Slies are noRogues. Looke in the Chronicles, we camein with Richard Conqueror: therefore Pau-cas pallabris, let the world slide: Sessa. Host. You will not pay for the glasses you haue burst? Beg. No, not a deniere: go by S[aint]. Ieronimie, goe to thycold bed, and warme thee. Host. I know my remedie, I must go fetch the Head-borough. Beg. Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, Ile answerehim by Law. Ile not budge an inch boy: Let him come,and kindly. Falles asleepe. Winde hornes. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his traine. Lo. Huntsman I charge thee, tender wel my hounds,Brach Meriman, the poore Curre is imbost,And couple Clowder with the deepe-mouth'd brach,Saw'st thou not boy how Siluer made it goodAt the hedge corner, in the couldest fault,I would not loose the dogge for twentie pound. Hunts. Why Belman is as good as he my Lord,He cried vpon it at the meerest losse,And twice to day pick'd out the dullest sent,Trust me, I take him for the better dogge. Lord. Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete,I would esteeme him worth a dozen such:But sup them well, and looke vnto them all,To morrow I intend to hunt againe. Hunts. I will my Lord. Lord. What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See dothhe breath? 2.Hun. He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'dwith Ale, this were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Lord. Oh monstrous beast, how like a swine he lyes.Grim death, how foule and loathsome is thine image:Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.What thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed,Wrap'd in sweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers:A most delicious banquet by his bed,And braue attendants neere him when he wakes,Would not the begger then forget himselfe? 1.Hun. Beleeue me Lord, I thinke he cannot choose. 2.H. It would seem strange vnto him when he wak'd Lord. Euen as a flatt'ring dreame, or worthles fancie.Then take him vp, and manage well the iest:Carrie him gently to my fairest Chamber,And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:Balme his foule head in warme distilled waters,And burne sweet Wood to make the Lodging sweete:Procure me Musicke readie when he wakes,To make a dulcet and a heauenly sound:And if he chance to speake, be readie straight(And with a lowe submissiue reuerence)Say, what is it your Honor wil command:Let one attend him with a siluer BasonFull of Rose-water, and bestrew'd with Flowers,Another beare the Ewer: the third a Diaper,And say wilt please your Lordship coole your hands.Some one be readie with a costly suite,And aske him what apparrel he will weare:Another tell him of his Hounds and Horse,And that his Ladie mournes at his disease,Perswade him that he hath bin Lunaticke,And when he sayes he is, say that he dreames,For he is nothing but a mightie Lord:This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs,It wil be pastime passing excellent,If it be husbanded with modestie. 1.Hunts. My Lord I warrant you we wil play our partAs he shall thinke by our true diligenceHe is no lesse then what we say he is. Lord. Take him vp gently, and to bed with him,And each one to his office when he wakes. Sound trumpets. Sirrah, go see what Trumpet 'tis that sounds,Belike some Noble Gentleman that meanes(Trauelling some iourney) to repose him heere. Enter Seruingman. How now? who is it? Ser. An't please your Honor, PlayersThat offer seruice to your Lordship. Enter Players. Lord. Bid them come neere:Now fellowes, you are welcome. Players. We thanke your Honor. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to night? 2.Player. So please your Lordshippe to accept ourdutie. Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,Since once he plaide a Farmers eldest sonne,'Twas where you woo'd the Gentlewoman so well:I haue forgot your name: but sure that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. Sincklo. I thinke 'twas Soto that your honor meanes. Lord. 'Tis verie true, thou didst it excellent:Well you are come to me in happie time,The rather for I haue some sport in hand,Wherein your cunning can assist me much.There is a Lord will heare you play to night;But I am doubtfull of your modesties,Least (ouer-eying of his odde behauiour,For yet his honor neuer heard a play)You breake into some merrie passion,And so offend him: for I tell you sirs,If you should smile, he growes impatient. Plai. Feare not my Lord, we can contain our selues,Were he the veriest anticke in the world. Lord. Go sirra, take them to the Butterie,And giue them friendly welcome euerie one,Let them want nothing that my house affoords. Exit one with the Players. Sirra go you to Bartholmew my Page,And see him drest in all suites like a Ladie:That done, conduct him to the drunkards chamber,And call him Madam, do him obeisance:Tell him from me (as he will win my loue)He beare himselfe with honourable action,Such as he hath obseru'd in noble LadiesVnto their Lords, by them accomplished,Such dutie to the drunkard let him do:With soft lowe tongue, and lowly curtesie,And say: What is't your Honor will command,Wherein your Ladie, and your humble wife,May shew her dutie, and make knowne her loue.And then with kinde embracements, tempting kisses,And with declining head into his bosomeBid him shed teares, as being ouer-ioyedTo see her noble Lord restor'd to health,Who for this seuen yeares hath esteemed himNo better then a poore and loathsome begger: And if the boy haue not a womans guiftTo raine a shower of commanded teares,An Onion wil do well for such a shift,Which in a Napkin (being close conuei'd)Shall in despight enforce a waterie eie:See this dispatch'd with all the hast thou canst,Anon Ile giue thee more instructions. Exit a seruingman. I know the boy will wel vsurpe the grace,Voice, gate, and action of a Gentlewoman:I long to heare him call the drunkard husband,And how my men will stay themselues from laughter,When they do homage to this simple peasant,Ile in to counsell them: haply my presenceMay well abate the ouer-merrie spleene,Which otherwise would grow into extreames. Enter aloft the drunkard with attendants, some with apparel,Bason and Ewer, & other appurtenances, & Lord. Beg. For Gods sake a pot of small Ale. 1.Ser. Wilt please your Lord drink a cup of sacke? 2.Ser. Wilt please your Honor taste of these Con-serues? 3.Ser. What raiment wil your honor weare to day. Beg. I am Christophero Sly, call not mee Honour norLordship: I ne're drank sacke in my life: and if you giueme any Conserues, giue me conserues of Beefe: nere askme what raiment Ile weare, for I haue no more doub-lets then backes: no more stockings then legges: norno more shooes then feet, nay sometime more feete thenshooes, or such shooes as my toes looke through the o-uer-leather. Lord. Heauen cease this idle humor in your Honor.Oh that a mightie man of such discent,Of such possessions, and so high esteemeShould be infused with so foule a spirit. Beg. What would you make me mad? Am not I Chri-stopher Slie, old Slies sonne of Burton-heath, by byrth aPedler, by education a Cardmaker, by transmutation aBeare-heard, and now by present profession a Tinker.Aske Marrian Hacket the fat Alewife of Wincot, if sheeknow me not: if she say I am not xiiii.d. on the score forsheere Ale, score me vp for the lyingst knaue in Christendome. What I am not bestraught: here's—— 3.Man. Oh this it is that makes your Ladie mourne. 2.Man. Oh this is it that makes your seruants droop. Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shuns your house As beaten hence by your strange Lunacie.Oh Noble Lord, bethinke thee of thy birth,Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,And banish hence these abiect lowlie dreames:Looke how thy seruants do attend on thee,Each in his office readie at thy becke.Wilt thou haue Musicke? Harke Apollo plaies, Musick And twentie caged Nightingales do sing.Or wilt thou sleepe? Wee'l haue thee to a Couch,Softer and sweeter then the lustfull bedOn purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis.Say thou wilt walke: we wil bestrow the ground.Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shal be trap'd,Their harnesse studded all with Gold and Pearle.Dost thou loue hawking? Thou hast hawkes will soareAboue the morning Larke. Or wilt thou hunt,Thy hounds shall make the Welkin answer themAnd fetch shrill ecchoes from the hollow earth. 1.Man. Say thou wilt course, thy gray-hounds are as swift As breathed Stags: I fleeter then the Roe. 2.M. Dost thou loue pictures? we wil fetch thee straitAdonis painted by a running brooke,And Citherea all in sedges hid,Which seeme to moue and wanton with her breath,Euen as the wauing sedges play with winde. Lord. Wee'l shew thee Io, as she was a Maid,And how she was beguiled and surpriz'd,As liuelie painted, as the deede was done. 3.Man. Or Daphne roming through a thornie wood,Scratching her legs, that one shal sweare she bleeds,And at that sight shal sad Apollo weepe,So workmanlie the blood and teares are drawne. Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord:Thou hast a Ladie farre more Beautifull,Then any woman in this waining age. 1.Man. And til the teares that she hath shed for thee,Like enuious flouds ore-run her louely face,She was the fairest creature in the world,And yet shee is inferiour to none. Beg. Am I a Lord, and haue I such a Ladie?Or do I dreame? Or haue I dream'd till now?I do not sleepe: I see, I heare, I speake:I smel sweet sauours, and I feele soft things:Vpon my life I am a Lord indeede,And not a Tinker, nor Christopher Slie.Well, bring our Ladie hither to our sight,And once againe a pot o'th smallest Ale. 2.Man. Wilt please your mightinesse to wash yourhands:Oh how we ioy to see your wit restor'd,Oh that once more you knew but what you are:These fifteene yeeres you haue bin in a dreame,Or when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. Beg. These fifteene yeeres, by my fay, a goodly nap,But did I neuer speake of all that time. 1.Man. Oh yes my Lord, but verie idle words,For though you lay heere in this goodlie chamber,Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of doore,And raile vpon the Hostesse of the house,And say you would present her at the Leete,Because she brought stone-Iugs, and no seal'd quarts:Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. Beg. I, the womans maide of the house. 3.Man. Why sir you know no house, nor no such maidNor no such men as you haue reckon'd vp,As Stephen Slie, and old Iohn Naps of Greece,And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell, And twentie more such names and men as these,Which neuer were, nor no man euer saw. Beg. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends. All. Amen. Enter Lady with Attendants. Beg. I thanke thee, thou shalt not loose by it. Lady. How fares my noble Lord? Beg. Marrie I fare well, for heere is cheere enough.Where is my wife? La. Heere noble Lord, what is thy will with her? Beg. Are you my wife, and will not cal me husband?My men should call me Lord, I am your good-man. La. My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husbandI am your wife in all obedience. Beg. I know it well, what must I call her? Lord. Madam. Beg. Alce Madam, or Ione Madam? Lord. Madam, and nothing else, so Lords cal Ladies Beg. Madame wife, they say that I haue dream'd,And slept aboue some fifteene yeare or more. Lady. I, and the time seeme's thirty vnto me,Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. Beg. 'Tis much, seruants leaue me and her alone:Madam vndresse you, and come now to bed. La. Thrice noble Lord, let me intreat of youTo pardon me yet for a night or two:Or if not so, vntill the Sun be set.For your Physitians haue expressely charg'd,In perill to incurre your former malady,That I should yet absent me from your bed:I hope this reason stands for my excuse. Beg. I, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long:But I would be loth to fall into my dreames againe: Iwil therefore tarrie in despight of the flesh & the blood Enter a Messenger. Mes. Your Honors Players hearing your amendment,Are come to play a pleasant Comedie,For so your doctors hold it very meete,Seeing too much sadnesse hath congeal'd your blood,And melancholly is the Nurse of frenzie,Therefore they thought it good you heare a play,And frame your minde to mirth and merriment,Which barres a thousand harmes, and lengthens life. Beg. Marrie I will let them play, it is not a Comon-tie, a Christmas gambold, or a tumbling tricke? Lady. No my good Lord, it is more pleasing stuffe. Beg. What, houshold stuffe. Lady. It is a kinde of history. Beg. Well, we'l see't:Come Madam wife sit by my side,And let the world slip, we shall nere be yonger. Flourish. Enter Lucentio, and his man Triano. Luc. Tranio, since for the great desire I hadTo see faire Padua, nurserie of Arts,I am arriu'd for fruitfull Lumbardie, The pleasant garden of great Italy, And by my fathers loue and leaue am arm'dWith his good will, and thy good companie.My trustie seruant well approu'd in all,Heere let vs breath, and haply instituteA course of Learning, and ingenious studies. Pisa renowned for graue CitizensGaue me my being, and my father firstA Merchant of great Trafficke through the world: Vincentio's come of the Bentiuolij,Vincentio's sonne, brought vp in Florence, It shall become to serue all hopes conceiu'dTo decke his fortune with his vertuous deedes:And therefore Tranio, for the time I studie,Vertue and that part of PhilosophieWill I applie, that treats of happinesse,By vertue specially to be atchieu'd.Tell me thy minde, for I haue Pisa left,And am to Padua come, as he that leauesA shallow plash, to plunge him in the deepe,And with sacietie seekes to quench his thirst. Tra. Me Pardonato, gentle master mine:I am in all affected as your selfe,Glad that you thus continue your resolue,To sucke the sweets of sweete Philosophie.Onely (good master) while we do admireThis vertue, and this morall discipline,Let's be no Stoickes, nor no stockes I pray,Or so deuote to Aristotles checkesAs Ouid; be an out-cast quite abiur'd:Balke Lodgicke with acquaintance that you haue,And practise Rhetoricke in your common talke,Musicke and Poesie vse, to quicken you,The Mathematickes, and the MetaphysickesFall to them as you finde your stomacke serues you:No profit growes, where is no pleasure tane:In briefe sir, studie what you most affect. Luc. Gramercies Tranio, well dost thou aduise,If Biondello thou wert come ashore,We could at once put vs in readinesse,And take a Lodging fit to entertaineSuch friends (as time) in Padua shall beget.But stay a while, what companie is this? Tra. Master some shew to welcome vs to Towne. Enter Baptista with his two daughters, Katerina & Bianca, Gremio a Pantelowne, Hortentio sister to Bianca.Lucen. Tranio, stand by. Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther,For how I firmly am resolu'd you know:That is, not to bestow my yongest daughter,Before I haue a husband for the elder:If either of you both loue Katherina, Because I know you well, and loue you well,Leaue shall you haue to court her at your pleasure. Gre. To cart her rather. She's to rough for mee,There, there Hortensio, will you any Wife? Kate. I pray you sir, is it your will To make a stale of me amongst these mates? Hor. Mates maid, how meane you that?No mates for you,Vnlesse you were of gentler milder mould. Kate. I'faith sir, you shall neuer neede to feare,I-wis it is not halfe way to her heart:But if it were, doubt not, her care should be,To combe your noddle with a three-legg'd stoole,And paint your face, and vse you like a foole. Hor. From all such diuels, good Lord deliuer vs. Gre. And me too, good Lord. Tra. Husht master, heres some good pastime toward;That wench is starke mad, or wonderfull froward. Lucen. But in the others silence do I see,Maids milde behauiour and sobrietie.Peace Tranio. Tra. Well said Mr, mum, and gaze your fill. Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soone make goodWhat I haue said, Bianca get you in,And let it not displease thee good Bianca, For I will loue thee nere the lesse my girle. Kate. A pretty peate, it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why. Bian. Sister content you, in my discontent.Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:My bookes and instruments shall be my companie,On them to looke, and practise by my selfe. Luc. Harke Tranio, thou maist heare Minerua speak. Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange,Sorrie am I that our good will effects Bianca's greefe. Gre. Why will you mew her vp(Signior Baptista) for this fiend of hell,And make her beare the pennance of her tongue. Bap. Gentlemen content ye: I am resolud:Go in Bianca. And for I know she taketh most delightIn Musicke, Instruments, and Poetry,Schoolemasters will I keepe within my house,Fit to instruct her youth. If you Hortensio, Or signior Gremio you know any such,Preferre them hither: for to cunning men,I will be very kinde and liberall,To mine owne children, in good bringing vp,And so farewell: Katherina you may stay,For I haue more to commune with Bianca. Exit. Kate. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?What shall I be appointed houres, as though(Belike) I knew not what to take,And what to leaue? Ha. Exit Gre. You may go to the diuels dam: your guifts areso good heere's none will holde you: Their loue is notso great Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together,and fast it fairely out. Our cakes dough on both sides.Farewell: yet for the loue I beare my sweet Bianca, ifI can by any meanes light on a fit man to teach her thatwherein she delights, I will wish him to her father. Hor. So will I signiour Gremio: but a word I pray:Though the nature of our quarrell yet neuer brook'dparle, know now vpon aduice, it toucheth vs both: thatwe may yet againe haue accesse to our faire Mistris, andbe happie riuals in Bianca's loue, to labour and effectone thing specially. Gre. What's that I pray? Hor. Marrie sir to get a husband for her Sister. Gre. A husband: a diuell. Hor. I say a husband. Gre. I say, a diuell: Think'st thou Hortensio, thoughher father be verie rich, any man is so verie a foole to bemarried to hell? Hor. Tush Gremio: though it passe your patience &mine to endure her lowd alarums, why man there beegood fellowes in the world, and a man could light onthem, would take her with all faults, and mony enough. Gre. I cannot tell: but I had as lief take her dowriewith this condition; To be whipt at the hie crosse eueriemorning. Hor. Faith (as you say) there's small choise in rottenapples: but come, since this bar in law makes vs friends,it shall be so farre forth friendly maintain'd, till by hel-ping Baptistas eldest daughter to a husband, wee set hisyongest free for a husband, and then haue too't afresh:Sweet Bianca, happy man be his dole: hee that runnesfastest, gets the Ring: How say you signior Gremio? Grem. I am agreed, and would I had giuen him thebest horse in Padua to begin his woing that would tho-roughly woe her, wed her, and bed her, and ridde thehouse of her. Come on. Exeunt ambo. Manet Tranio and Lucentio Tra. I pray sir tel me, is it possibleThat loue should of a sodaine take such hold. Luc. Oh Tranio, till I found it to be true,I neuer thought it possible or likely.But see, while idely I stood looking on,I found the effect of Loue in idlenesse,And now in plainnesse do confesse to theeThat art to me as secret and as deereAs Anna to the Queene of Carthage was: Tranio I burne, I pine, I perish Tranio, If I atchieue not this yong modest gyrle:Counsaile me Tranio, for I know thou canst:Assist me Tranio, for I know thou wilt. Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now,Affection is not rated from the heart:If loue haue touch'd you, naught remaines but so, Redime te captam quam queas minimo. Luc. Gramercies Lad: Go forward, this contents,The rest wil comfort, for thy counsels sound. Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maide,Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. Luc. Oh yes, I saw sweet beautie in her face,Such as the daughter of Agenor had,That made great Ioue to humble him to her hand,When with his knees he kist the Cretan strond. Tra. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how hir sisterBegan to scold, and raise vp such a storme,That mortal eares might hardly indure the din. Luc. Tranio, I saw her corrall lips to moue,And with her breath she did perfume the ayre,Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. Tra. Nay, then 'tis time to stirre him fro[m] his trance:I pray awake sir: if you loue the Maide,Bend thoughts and wits to atcheeue her. Thus it stands:Her elder sister is so curst and shrew'd,That til the Father rid his hands of her,Master, your Loue must liue a maide at home,And therefore has he closely meu'd her vp, Because she will not be annoy'd with suters. Luc. Ah Tranio, what a cruell Fathers he:But art thou not aduis'd, he tooke some careTo get her cunning Schoolemasters to instruct her. Tra. I marry am I sir, and now 'tis plotted. Luc. I haue it Tranio. Tra. Master, for my hand,Both our inuentions meet and iumpe in one. Luc. Tell me thine first. Tra. You will be schoole-master,And vndertake the teaching of the maid:That's your deuice. Luc. It is: May it be done? Tra. Not possible: for who shall beare your part,And be in Padua heere Vincentio's sonne,Keepe house, and ply his booke, welcome his friends,Visit his Countrimen, and banquet them? Luc. Basta, content thee: for I haue it full.We haue not yet bin seene in any house,Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces,For man or master: then it followes thus;Thou shalt be master, Tranio in my sted:Keepe house, and port, and seruants, as I should,I will some other be, some Florentine, Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so: Tranio at onceVncase thee: take my Coulord hat and cloake,When Biondello comes, he waites on thee,But I will charme him first to keepe his tongue. Tra. So had you neede:In breefe Sir, sith it your pleasure is,And I am tyed to be obedient,For so your father charg'd me at our parting:Be seruiceable to my sonne (quoth he)Although I thinke 'twas in another sense,I am content to bee Lucentio, Because so well I loue Lucentio. Luc. Tranio be so, because Lucentio loues,And let me be a slaue, t' atchieue that maide,Whose sodaine sight hath thral'd my wounded eye. Enter Biondello. Heere comes the rogue. Sirra, where haue you bin? Bion. Where haue I beene? Nay how now, whereare you? Maister, ha's my fellow Tranio stolne yourcloathes, or you stolne his, or both? Pray what's thenewes? Luc. Sirra come hither, 'tis no time to iest,And therefore frame your manners to the timeYour fellow Tranio heere to saue my life,Puts my apparrell, and my count'nance on,And I for my escape haue put on his:For in a quarrell since I came a-shore,I kil'd a man, and feare I was descried:Waite you on him, I charge you, as becomes:While I make way from hence to saue my life:You vnderstand me? Bion. I sir, ne're a whit. Luc. And not a iot of Tranio in your mouth, Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. Bion. The better for him, would I were so too. Tra. So could I 'faith boy, to haue the next wish af-ter, that Lucentio indeede had Baptistas yongest daugh-ter. But sirra, not for my sake, but your masters, I ad-uise you vse your manners discreetly in all kind of com-panies: When I am alone, why then I am Tranio: but inall places else, your master Lucentio. Luc. Tranio let's go:One thing more rests, that thy selfe execute,To make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why,Sufficeth my reasons are both good and waighty. Exeunt. The Presenters aboue speakes. 1.Man. My Lord you nod, you do not minde theplay. Beg. Yes by Saint Anne do I, a good matter surely:Comes there any more of it? Lady. My Lord, 'tis but begun. Beg. 'Tis a verie excellent peece of worke, MadameLadie: would 'twere done. They sit and marke. Enter Petruchio, and his man Grumio. Petr. Verona, for a while I take my leaue,To see my friends in Padua; but of allMy best beloued and approued friend Hortensio: & I trow this is his house:Heere sirra Grumio, knocke I say. Gru. Knocke sir? whom should I knocke? Is thereany man ha's rebus'd your worship? Petr. Villaine I say, knocke me heere soundly. Gru. Knocke you heere sir? Why sir, what am I sir,that I should knocke you heere sir. Petr. Villaine I say, knocke me at this gate,And rap me well, or Ile knocke your knaues pate. Gru. My Mr is growne quarrelsome:I should knocke you first,And then I know after who comes by the worst. Petr. Will it not be?'Faith sirrah, and you'l not knocke, Ile ring it,Ile trie how you can Sol, Fa, and sing it. He rings him by the eares Gru. Helpe mistris helpe, my master is mad. Petr. Now knocke when I bid you: sirrah villaine. Enter Hortensio. Hor. How now, what's the matter? My olde friend Grumio, and my good friend Petruchio? How do you allat Verona? Petr. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? Contutti le core bene trobatto, may I say. Hor. Alla nostra casa bene venuto multo honorata signi-or mio Petruchio. Rise Grumio rise, we will compound this quarrell. Gru. Nay 'tis no matter sir, what he leges in Latine.If this be not a lawfull cause for me to leaue his seruice,looke you sir: He bid me knocke him, & rap him sound-ly sir. Well, was it fit for a seruant to vse his master so,being perhaps (for ought I see) two and thirty, a peepeout? Whom would to God I had well knockt at first,then had not Grumio come by the worst. Petr. A sencelesse villaine: good Hortensio, I bad the rascall knocke vpon your gate,And could not get him for my heart to do it. Gru. Knocke at the gate? O heauens: spake you notthese words plaine? Sirra, Knocke me heere: rappe meheere: knocke me well, and knocke me soundly? Andcome you now with knocking at the gate? Petr. Sirra be gone, or talke not I aduise you. Hor. Petruchio patience, I am Grumio's pledge:Why this a heauie chance twixt him and you,Your ancient trustie pleasant seruant Grumio: And tell me now (sweet friend) what happie galeBlowes you to Padua heere, from old Verona? Petr. Such wind as scatters yongmen throgh the world, To seeke their fortunes farther then at home,Where small experience growes but in a few.Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me, Antonio my father is deceast,And I haue thrust my selfe into this maze,Happily to wiue and thriue, as best I may:Crownes in my purse I haue, and goods at home,And so am come abroad to see the world. Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee,And wish thee to a shrew'd ill-fauour'd wife?Thou'dst thanke me but a little for my counsell:And yet Ile promise thee she shall be rich,And verie rich: but th'art too much my friend,And Ile not wish thee to her. Petr. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as wee,Few words suffice: and therefore, if thou knowOne rich enough to be Petruchio's wife:(As wealth is burthen of my woing dance)Be she as foule as was Florentius Loue,As old as Sibell, and as curst and shrow'dAs Socrates Zentippe, or a worse:She moues me not, or not remoues at leastAffections edge in me. Were she is as roughAs are the swelling Adriaticke seas.I come to wiue it wealthily in Padua: If wealthily, then happily in Padua. Gru. Nay looke you sir, hee tels you flatly what hisminde is: why giue him Gold enough, and marrie himto a Puppet or an Aglet babie, or an old trot with ne're atooth in her head, though she haue as manie diseases astwo and fiftie horses. Why nothing comes amisse, somonie comes withall. Hor. Petruchio, since we are stept thus farre in,I will continue that I broach'd in iest,I can Petruchio helpe thee to a wifeWith wealth enough, and yong and beautious,Brought vp as best becomes a Gentlewoman.Her onely fault, and that is faults enough,Is, that she is intollerable curst,And shrow'd, and froward, so beyond all measure,That were my state farre worser then it is,I would not wed her for a mine of Gold. Petr. Hortensio peace: thou knowst not golds effect,Tell me her fathers name, and 'tis enough:For I will boord her, though she chide as loudAs thunder, when the clouds in Autumne cracke. Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous Gentleman,Her name is Katherina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. Petr. I know her father, though I know not her,And he knew my deceased father well:I wil not sleepe Hortensio til I see her,And therefore let me be thus bold with you,To giue you ouer at this first encounter,Vnlesse you wil accompanie me thither. Gru . I pray you Sir let him go while the humor lasts. A my word, and she knew him as wel as I do, she wouldthinke scolding would doe little good vpon him. Sheemay perhaps call him halfe a score Knaues, or so: Whythat's nothing; and he begin once, hee'l raile in his ropetrickes. Ile tell you what sir, and she stand him but a li-tle, he wil throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure hirwith it, that shee shal haue no more eies to see withallthen a Cat: you know him not sir. Hor. Tarrie Petruchio, I must go with thee,For in Baptistas keepe my treasure is:He hath the Iewel of my life in hold,His yongest daughter, beautiful Bianca, And her with-holds from me. Other moreSuters to her, and riuals in my Loue:Supposing it a thing impossible,For those defects I haue before rehearst,That euer Katherina wil be woo'd:Therefore this order hath Baptista tane,That none shal haue accesse vnto Bianca, Til Katherine the Curst, haue got a husband. Gru. Katherine the curst,A title for a maide, of all titles the worst. Hor. Now shal my friend Petruchio do me grace,And offer me disguis'd in sober robes,To old Baptista as a schoole-masterWell seene in Musicke, to instruct Bianca, That so I may by this deuice at leastHaue leaue and leisure to make loue to her,And vnsuspected court her by her selfe. Enter Gremio and Lucentio disguised. Gru. Heere's no knauerie. See, to beguile the olde-folkes,how the young folkes lay their heads together.Master, master, looke about you: Who goes there? ha. Hor. Peace Grumio, it is the riuall of my Loue. Petruchio stand by a while. Grumio. A proper stripling, and an amorous. Gremio. O very well, I haue perus'd the note:Hearke you sir, Ile haue them verie fairely bound,All bookes of Loue, see that at any hand,And see you reade no other Lectures to her:You vnderstand me. Ouer and besideSignior Baptistas liberalitie,Ile mend it with a Largesse. Take your paper too,And let me haue them verie wel perfum'd;For she is sweeter then perfume it selfeTo whom they go to: what wil you reade to her. Luc. What ere I reade to her, Ile pleade for you,As for my patron, stand you so assur'd,As firmely as your selfe were still in place,Yea and perhaps with more successefull wordsThen you; vnlesse you were a scholler sir. Gre. Oh this learning, what a thing it is. Gru. Oh this Woodcocke, what an Asse it is. Petru. Peace sirra. Hor. Grumio mum: God saue you signior Gremio. Gre. And you are wel met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola, I promist to enquire carefullyAbout a schoolemaster for the faire Bianca, And by good fortune I haue lighted wellOn this yong man: For learning and behauiourFit for her turne, well read in PoetrieAnd other bookes, good ones, I warrant ye. Hor. 'Tis well: and I haue met a GentlemanHath promist me to helpe one to another,A fine Musitian to instruct our Mistris,So shal I no whit be behinde in dutieTo faire Bianca, so beloued of me. Gre. Beloued of me, and that my deeds shal proue. Gru. And that his bags shal proue. Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our loue,Listen to me, and if you speake me faire,Ile tel you newes indifferent good for either.Heere is a Gentleman whom by chance I met Vpon agreement from vs to his liking,Will vndertake to woo curst Katherine, Yea, and to marrie her, if her dowrie please. Gre. So said, so done, is well: Hortensio, haue you told him all her faults? Petr. I know she is an irkesome brawling scold:If that be all Masters, I heare no harme. Gre. No, sayst me so, friend? What Countreyman? Petr. Borne in Verona, old Butonios sonne:My father dead, my fortune liues for me,And I do hope, good dayes and long, to see. Gre. Oh sir, such a life with such a wife, were strange:But if you haue a stomacke, too't a Gods name,You shal haue me assisting you in all.But will you woo this Wilde-cat? Petr. Will I liue? Gru. Wil he woo her? I: or Ile hang her. Petr. Why came I hither, but to that intent?Thinke you, a little dinne can daunt mine eares?Haue I not in my time heard Lions rore?Haue I not heard the sea, puft vp with windes,Rage like an angry Boare, chafed with sweat?Haue I not heard great Ordnance in the field?And heauens Artillerie thunder in the skies?Haue I not in a pitched battell heardLoud larums, neighing steeds, & trumpets clangue?And do you tell me of a womans tongue?That giues not halfe so great a blow to heare,As wil a Chesse-nut in a Farmers fire.Tush, tush, feare boyes with bugs. Gru. For he feares none. Grem. Hortensio hearke:This Gentleman is happily arriu'd,My minde presumes for his owne good, and yours. Hor. I promist we would be Contributors,And beare his charge of wooing whatsoere. Gremio. And so we wil, prouided that he win her. Gru. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. Enter Tranio braue, and Biondello. Tra. Gentlemen God saue you. If I may be boldTell me I beseech you, which is the readiest wayTo the house of Signior Baptista Minola? Bion. He that ha's the two faire daughters: ist he youmeane? Tra. Euen he Biondello. Gre. Hearke you sir, you meane not her to—— Tra. Perhaps him and her sir, what haue you to do? Petr. Not her that chides sir, at any hand I pray. Tranio. I loue no chiders sir: Biondello, let's away. Luc. Well begun Tranio. Hor. Sir, a word ere you go:Are you a sutor to the Maid you talke of, yea or no? Tra. And if I be sir, is it any offence? Gremio. No: if without more words you will get youhence. Tra. Why sir, I pray are not the streets as freeFor me, as for you? Gre. But so is not she. Tra. For what reason I beseech you. Gre. For this reason if you'l kno,That she's the choise loue of Signior Gremio. Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. Tra. Softly my Masters: If you be GentlemenDo me this right: heare me with patience. Baptista is a noble Gentleman,To whom my Father is not all vnknowne,And were his daughter fairer then she is,She may more sutors haue, and me for one.Faire Laedaes daughter had a thousand wooers,Then well one more may faire Bianca haue;And so she shall: Lucentio shal make one,Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. Gre. What, this Gentleman will out-talke vs all. Luc. Sir giue him head, I know hee'l proue a Iade. Petr. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as aske you,Did you yet euer see Baptistas daughter? Tra. No sir, but heare I do that he hath two:The one, as famous for a scolding tongue,As is the other, for beauteous modestie. Petr. Sir, sir, the first's for me, let her go by. Gre. Yea, leaue that labour to great Hercules, And let it be more then Alcides twelue. Petr. Sir vnderstand you this of me (insooth)The yongest daughter whom you hearken for,Her father keepes from all accesse of sutors,And will not promise her to any man,Vntill the elder sister first be wed.The yonger then is free, and not before. Tranio. If it be so sir, that you are the manMust steed vs all, and me amongst the rest:And if you breake the ice, and do this seeke,Atchieue the elder: set the yonger free,For our accesse, whose hap shall be to haue her,Wil not so gracelesse be, to be ingrate. Hor. Sir you say wel, and wel you do conceiue,And since you do professe to be a sutor,You must as we do, gratifie this Gentleman,To whom we all rest generally beholding. Tranio. Sir, I shal not be slacke, in signe whereof,Please ye we may contriue this afternoone,And quaffe carowses to our Mistresse health,And do as aduersaries do in law,Striue mightily, but eate and drinke as friends. Gru. Bion. Oh excellent motion: fellowes let's be gon. Hor. The motions good indeed, and be it so, Petruchio, I shal be your Been venuto. Exeunt. Enter Katherina and Bianca. Bian. Good sister wrong me not, nor wrong your self,To make a bondmaide and a slaue of mee,That I disdaine: but for these other goods,Vnbinde my hands, Ile pull them off my selfe,Yea all my raiment, to my petticoate,Or what you will command me, wil I do,So well I know my dutie to my elders. Kate. Of all thy sutors heere I charge telWhom thou lou'st best: see thou dissemble not. Bianca. Beleeue me sister, of all the men aliue,I neuer yet beheld that speciall face,Which I could fancie, more then any other. Kate. Minion thou lyest: Is't not Hortensio? Bian. If you affect him sister, heere I sweareIle pleade for you my selfe, but you shal haue him. Kate. Oh then belike you fancie riches more,You wil haue Gremio to keepe you faire. Bian. Is it for him you do enuie me so?Nay then you iest, and now I wel perceiueYou haue but iested with me all this while:I prethee sister Kate, vntie my hands. Ka. If that be iest, then all the rest was so. Strikes her Enter Baptista. Bap. Why how now Dame, whence growes this in-solence? Bianca stand aside, poore gyrle she weepes:Go ply thy Needle, meddle not with her.For shame thou Hilding of a diuellish spirit,Why dost thou wrong her, that did nere wrong thee?When did she crosse thee with a bitter word? Kate. Her silence flouts me, and Ile be reueng'd. Flies after Bianca Bap. What in my sight? Bianca get thee in. Exit. Kate. What will you not suffer me: Nay now I seeShe is your treasure, she must haue a husband,I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day,And for your loue to her, leade Apes in hell.Talke not to me, I will go sit and weepe,Till I can finde occasion of reuenge. Bap. Was euer Gentleman thus greeu'd as I?But who comes heere. Enter Gremio, Lucentio, in the habit of a meane man,Petruchio with Tranio, with his boybearing a Lute and Bookes. Gre. Good morrow neighbour Baptista. Bap. Good morrow neighbour Gremio: God saueyou Gentlemen. Pet. And you good sir: pray haue you not a daugh-ter, cal'd Katerina, faire and vertuous. Bap. I haue a daughter sir, cal'd Katerina. Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. Pet. You wrong me signior Gremio, giue me leaue.I am a Gentleman of Verona sir,That hearing of her beautie, and her wit,Her affability and bashfull modestie:Her wondrous qualities, and milde behauiour,Am bold to shew my selfe a forward guestWithin your house, to make mine eye the witnesseOf that report, which I so oft haue heard,And for an entrance to my entertainment,I do present you with a man of mineCunning in Musicke, and the Mathematickes,To instruct her fully in those sciences,Whereof I know she is not ignorant,Accept of him, or else you do me wrong.His name is Litio, borne in Mantua. Bap. Y'are welcome sir, and he for your good sake.But for my daughter Katerine, this I know,She is not for your turne, the more my greefe. Pet. I see you do not meane to part with her,Or else you like not of my companie. Bap. Mistake me not, I speake but as I finde,Whence are you sir? What may I call your name. Pet. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's sonne,A man well knowne throughout all Italy. Bap. I know him well: you are welcome for his sake. Gre. Sauing your tale Petruchio, I pray let vs that arepoore petitioners speake too? Bacare, you are meruay-lous forward. Pet. Oh, Pardon me signior Gremio, I would faine bedoing. Gre. I doubt it not sir. But you will curseYour wooing neighbors: this is a guiftVery gratefull, I am sure of it, to expresseThe like kindnesse my selfe, that haue beeneMore kindely beholding to you then any:Freely giue vnto this yong Scholler, that hathBeene long studying at Rhemes, as cunningIn Greeke, Latine, and other Languages,As the other in Musicke and Mathematickes:His name is Cambio: pray accept his seruice. Bap. A thousand thankes signior Gremio: Welcome good Cambio. But gentle sir,Me thinkes you walke like a stranger,May I be so bold, to know the cause of your comming? Tra. Pardon me sir, the boldnesse is mine owne,That being a stranger in this Cittie heere,Do make my selfe a sutor to your daughter,Vnto Bianca, faire and vertuous:Nor is your firme resolue vnknowne to me,In the preferment of the eldest sister.This liberty is all that I request,That vpon knowledge of my Parentage,I may haue welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,And free accesse and fauour as the rest.And toward the education of your daughters:I heere bestow a simple instrument,And this small packet of Greeke and Latine bookes:If you accept them, then their worth is great: Bap. Lucentio is your name, of whence I pray. Tra. Of Pisa sir, sonne to Vincentio. Bap. A mightie man of Pisa by report,I know him well: you are verie welcome sir:Take you the Lute, and you the set of bookes,You shall go see your Pupils presently.Holla, within. Enter a Seruant. Sirrah, leade these GentlemenTo my daughters, and tell them bothThese are their Tutors, bid them vse them well,We will go walke a little in the Orchard,And then to dinner: you are passing welcome,And so I pray you all to thinke your selues. Pet. Signior Baptista, my businesse asketh haste,And euerie day I cannot come to woo,You knew my father well, and in him me,Left solie heire to all his Lands and goods,Which I haue bettered rather then decreast,Then tell me, if I get your daughters loue,What dowrie shall I haue with her to wife. Bap. After my death, the one halfe of my Lands,And in possession twentie thousand Crownes. Pet. And for that dowrie, Ile assure her ofHer widdow-hood, be it that she suruiue meIn all my Lands and Leases whatsoeuer,Let specialties be therefore drawne betweene vs,That couenants may be kept on either hand. Bap. I, when the speciall thing is well obtain'd,That is her loue: for that is all in all. Pet. Why that is nothing: for I tell you father,I am as peremptorie as she proud minded:And where two raging fires meete together,They do consume the thing that feedes their furie.Though little fire growes great with little winde,Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:So I to her, and so she yeelds to me,For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. Bap. Well maist thou woo, and happy be thy speed:But be thou arm'd for some vnhappie words. Pet. I to the proofe, as Mountaines are for windes,That shakes not, though they blow perpetually. Enter Hortensio with his head broke. Bap. How now my friend, why dost thou looke sopale? Hor. For feare I promise you, if I looke pale. Bap. What, will my daughter proue a good Musiti-an? Hor. I thinke she'l sooner proue a souldier,Iron may hold with her, but neuer Lutes. Bap. Why then thou canst not break her to the Lute? Hor. Why no, for she hath broke the Lute to me:I did but tell her she mistooke her frets,And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering,When (with a most impatient diuellish spirit)Frets call you these? (quoth she) Ile fume with them:And with that word she stroke me on the head,And through the instrument my pate made way,And there I stood amazed for a while,As on a Pillorie, looking through the Lute,While she did call me Rascall, Fidler,And twangling Iacke, with twentie such vilde tearmes,As had she studied to misvse me so. Pet. Now by the world, it is a lustie Wench,I loue her ten times more then ere I did,Oh how I long to haue some chat with her. Bap. Wel go with me, and be not so discomfited.Proceed in practise with my yonger daughter,She's apt to learne, and thankefull for good turnes:Signior Petruchio, will you go with vs,Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you. Exit. Manet Petruchio. Pet. I pray you do. Ile attend her heere,And woo her with some spirit when she comes,Say that she raile, why then Ile tell her plaine,She sings as sweetly as a Nightinghale:Say that she frowne, Ile say she lookes as cleereAs morning Roses newly washt with dew:Say she be mute, and will not speake a word,Then Ile commend her volubility,And say she vttereth piercing eloquence:If she do bid me packe, Ile giue her thankes,As though she bid me stay by her a weeke:If she denie to wed, Ile craue the dayWhen I shall aske the banes, and when be married.But heere she comes, and now Petruchio speake. Enter Katerina. Good morrow Kate, for thats your name I heare. Kate. Well haue you heard, but something hard ofhearing:They call me Katerine, that do talke of me. Pet. You lye infaith, for you are call'd plaine Kate, And bony Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst:But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendome, Kate of Kate-hall, my super-daintie Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore Kate Take this of me, Kate of my consolation,Hearing thy mildnesse prais'd in euery Towne,Thy vertues spoke of, and thy beautie sounded,Yet not so deepely as to thee belongs,My selfe am moou'd to woo thee for my wife. Kate. Mou'd, in good time, let him that mou'd youhetherRemoue you hence: I knew you at the firstYou were a mouable. Pet. Why, what's a mouable? Kat. A ioyn'd stoole. Pet. Thou hast hit it: come sit on me. Kate. Asses are made to beare, and so are you. Pet. Women are made to beare, and so are you. Kate. No such Iade as you, if me you meane. Pet. Alas good Kate, I will not burthen thee,For knowing thee to be but yong and light. Kate. Too light for such a swaine as you to catch,And yet as heauie as my waight should be. Pet. Shold be, should: buzze. Kate. Well tane, and like a buzzard. Pet. Oh slow-wing'd Turtle, shal a buzard take thee? Kat. I for a Turtle, as he takes a buzard. Pet. Come, come you Waspe, y'faith you are tooangrie. Kate. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. Pet. My remedy is then to plucke it out. Kate. I, if the foole could finde it where it lies. Pet. Who knowes not where a Waspe does wearehis sting? In his taile. Kate. In his tongue? Pet. Whose tongue. Kate. Yours if you talke of tales, and so farewell. Pet. What with my tongue in your taile.Nay, come againe, good Kate, I am a Gentleman, Kate. That Ile trie. she strikes him Pet. I sweare Ile cuffe you, if you strike againe. Kate. So may you loose your armes,If you strike me, you are no Gentleman,And if no Gentleman, why then no armes. Pet. A Herald Kate? Oh put me in thy bookes. Kate. What is your Crest, a Coxcombe? Pet. A comblesse Cocke, so Kate will be my Hen. Kate. No Cocke of mine, you crow too like a crauen Pet. Nay come Kate, come: you must not looke sosowre. Kate. It is my fashion when I see a Crab. Pet. Why heere's no crab, and therefore looke notsowre. Kate. There is, there is. Pet. Then shew it me. Kate. Had I a glasse, I would. Pet. What, you meane my face. Kate. Well aym'd of such a yong one. Pet. Now by S[aint]. George I am too yong for you. Kate. Yet you are wither'd. Pet. 'Tis with cares. Kate. I care not. Pet. Nay heare you Kate. Insooth you scape not so. Kate. I chafe you if I tarrie. Let me go. Pet. No, not a whit, I finde you passing gentle:'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,And now I finde report a very liar:For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,But slow in speech: yet sweet as spring-time flowers.Thou canst not frowne, thou canst not looke a sconce,Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,Nor hast thou pleasure to be crosse in talke:But thou with mildnesse entertain'st thy wooers,With gentle conference, soft, and affable.Why does the world report that Kate doth limpe?Oh sland'rous world: Kate like the hazle twigIs straight, and slender, and as browne in hueAs hazle nuts, and sweeter then the kernels:Oh let me see thee walke: thou dost not halt. Kate. Go foole, and whom thou keep'st command. Pet. Did euer Dian so become a GroueAs Kate this chamber with her princely gate:O be thou Dian, and let her be Kate, And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportfull. Kate. Where did you study all this goodly speech? Petr. It is extempore, from my mother wit. Kate. A witty mother, witlesse else her sonne. Pet. Am I not wise? Kat. Yes, keepe you warme. Pet. Marry so I meane sweet Katherine in thy bed:And therefore setting all this chat aside,Thus in plaine termes: your father hath consentedThat you shall be my wife; your dowry greed on,And will you, nill you, I will marry you.Now Kate, I am a husband for your turne,For by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,Thou must be married to no man but me, Enter Baptista, Gremio, Trayno. For I am he am borne to tame you Kate, And bring you from a wilde Kate to a Kate Conformable as other houshold Kates: Heere comes your father, neuer make deniall,I must, and will haue Katherine to my wife. Bap. Now Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? Pet. How but well sir? how but well?It were impossible I should speed amisse. Bap. Why how now daughter Katherine, in your dumps? Kat. Call you me daughter? now I promise youYou haue shewd a tender fatherly regard,To wish me wed to one halfe Lunaticke,A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Iacke,That thinkes with oathes to face the matter out. Pet. Father, 'tis thus, your selfe and all the worldThat talk'd of her, haue talk'd amisse of her:If she be curst, it is for pollicie,For shee's not froward, but modest as the Doue,Shee is not hot, but temperate as the morne,For patience shee will proue a second Grissell, And Romane Lucrece for her chastitie:And to conclude, we haue greed so well together,That vpon sonday is the wedding day. Kate. Ile see thee hang'd on sonday first. Gre. Hark Petruchio, she saies shee'll see thee hang'd first. Tra. Is this your speeding? nay the[n] godnight our part. Pet. Be patient gentlemen, I choose her for my selfe,If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?'Tis bargain'd twixt vs twaine being alone,That she shall still be curst in company.I tell you 'tis incredible to beleeueHow much she loues me: oh the kindest Kate, Shee hung about my necke, and kisse on kisseShee vi'd so fast, protesting oath on oath,That in a twinke she won me to her loue.Oh you are nouices, 'tis a world to seeHow tame when men and women are alone,A meacocke wretch can make the curstest shrew:Giue me thy hand Kate, I will vnto Venice To buy apparell 'gainst the wedding day;Prouide the feast father, and bid the guests,I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine. Bap. I know not what to say, but giue me your ha[n]ds,God send you ioy, Petruchio, 'tis a match. Gre. Tra. Amen say we, we will be witnesses. Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen adieu,I will to Venice, sonday comes apace,We will haue rings, and things, and fine array,And kisse me Kate, we will be married a sonday. Exit Petruchio and Katherine. Gre. Was euer match clapt vp so sodainly? Bap. Faith Gentlemen now I play a marchants part,And venture madly on a desperate Mart. Tra. Twas a commodity lay fretting by you,'Twill bring you gaine, or perish on the seas. Bap. The gaine I seeke, is quiet me the match. Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch:But now Baptista, to your yonger daughter,Now is the day we long haue looked for,I am your neighbour, and was suter first. Tra. And I am one that loue Bianca moreThen words can witnesse, or your thoughts can guesse. Gre. Yongling thou canst not loue so deare as I. Tra. Gray-beard thy loue doth freeze. Gre. But thine doth frie,Skipper stand backe, 'tis age that nourisheth. Tra. But youth in Ladies eyes that florisheth. Bap. Content you gentlemen, I wil co[m]pound this strife'Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of bothThat can assure my daughter greatest dower,Shall haue my Biancas loue.Say signior Gremio, what can you assure her? Gre. First, as you know, my house within the CityIs richly furnished with plate and gold,Basons and ewers to laue her dainty hands:My hangings all of tirian tapestry:In Iuory cofers I haue stuft my crownes:In Cypres chests my arras counterpoints,Costly apparell, tents, and Canopies,Fine Linnen, Turky cushions bost with pearle,Vallens of Venice gold, in needle worke:Pewter and brasse, and all things that belongsTo house or house-keeping: then at my farmeI haue a hundred milch-kine to the pale,Sixe-score fat Oxen standing in my stalls,And all things answerable to this portion.My selfe am strooke in yeeres I must confesse,And if I die to morrow this is hers,If whil'st I liue she will be onely mine. Tra. That only came well in: sir, list to me,I am my fathers heyre and onely sonne,If I may haue your daughter to my wife,Ile leaue her houses three or foure as goodWithin rich Pisa walls, as any oneOld Signior Gremio has in Padua, Besides, two thousand Duckets by the yeereOf fruitfull land, all which shall be her ioynter.What, haue I pincht you Signior Gremio? Gre. Two thousand Duckets by the yeere of land,My Land amounts not to so much in all:That she shall haue, besides an ArgosieThat now is lying in Marcellus roade:What, haue I choakt you with an Argosie? Tra. Gremio, 'tis knowne my father hath no lesseThen three great Argosies, besides two GalliassesAnd twelue tite Gallies, these I will assure her,And twice as much what ere thou offrest next. Gre. Nay, I haue offred all, I haue no more,And she can haue no more then all I haue,If you like me, she shall haue me and mine. Tra. Why then the maid is mine from all the worldBy your firme promise, Gremio is out-vied. Bap. I must confesse your offer is the best,And let your father make her the assurance, Shee is your owne, else you must pardon me:If you should die before him, where's her dower? Tra. That's but a cauill: he is olde, I young. Gre. And may not yong men die as well as old? Bap. Well gentlemen, I am thus resolu'd,On sonday next, you knowMy daughter Katherine is to be married:Now on the sonday following, shall Bianca Be Bride to you, if you make this assurance:If not, to Signior Gremio: And so I take my leaue, and thanke you both. Exit. Gre. Adieu good neighbour: now I feare thee not:Sirra, yong gamester, your father were a fooleTo giue thee all, and in his wayning ageSet foot vnder thy table: tut, a toy,An olde Italian foxe is not so kinde my boy. Exit. Tra. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide,Yet I haue fac'd it with a card of ten:'Tis in my head to doe my master good:I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio, And that's a wonder: fathers commonlyDoe get their children: but in this case of woing,A childe shall get a sire, if I faile not of my cunning. Exit.
Actus Tertia. Enter Lucentio, Hortentio, and Bianca. Luc. Fidler forbeare, you grow too forward Sir,Haue you so soone forgot the entertainmentHer sister Katherine welcom'd you withall. Hort. But wrangling pedant, this isThe patronesse of heauenly harmony:Then giue me leaue to haue prerogatiue,And when in Musicke we haue spent an houre,Your Lecture shall haue leisure for as much. Luc. Preposterous Asse that neuer read so farre,To know the cause why musicke was ordain'd:Was it not to refresh the minde of manAfter his studies, or his vsuall paine?Then giue me leaue to read Philosophy,And while I pause, serue in your harmony. Hort. Sirra, I will not beare these braues of thine. Bianc. Why gentlemen, you doe me double wrong,To striue for that which resteth in my choice:I am no breeching scholler in the schooles,Ile not be tied to howres, nor pointed times,But learne my Lessons as I please my selfe,And to cut off all strife: heere sit we downe,Take you your instrument, play you the whiles,His Lecture will be done ere you haue tun'd. Hort. You'll leaue his Lecture when I am in tune? Luc. That will be neuer, tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last? Luc. Heere Madam: Hic Ibat Simois, hic est sigeriatellus, hic steterat Priami regia Celsa senis. Bian. Conster them. Luc. Hic Ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lu-centio, hic est, sonne vnto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeria tel-lus, disguised thus to get your loue, hic steterat, and thatLucentio that comes a wooing, priami, is my man Tra-nio, regia, bearing my port, celsa senis that we might be-guile the old Pantalowne. Hort. Madam, my Instrument's in tune. Bian. Let's heare, oh fie, the treble iarres. Luc. Spit in the hole man, and tune againe. Bian. Now let mee see if I can conster it. Hic ibat si-mois, I know you not, hic est sigeria tellus, I trust you not, hic staterat priami, take heede he heare vs not, regia pre-sume not, Celsa senis, despaire not. Hort. Madam, tis now in tune. Luc. All but the base. Hort. The base is right, 'tis the base knaue that iars. Luc. How fiery and forward our Pedant is,Now for my life the knaue doth court my loue, Pedascule, Ile watch you better yet:In time I may beleeue, yet I mistrust. Bian. Mistrust it not, for sure Aeacides Was Aiax cald so from his grandfather. Hort. I must beleeue my master, else I promise you,I should be arguing still vpon that doubt,But let it rest, now Litio to you:Good master take it not vnkindly prayThat I haue beene thus pleasant with you both. Hort. You may go walk, and giue me leaue a while,My Lessons make no musicke in three parts. Luc. Are you so formall sir, well I must waiteAnd watch withall, for but I be deceiu'd,Our fine Musitian groweth amorous. Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument,To learne the order of my fingering,I must begin with rudiments of Art,To teach you gamoth in a briefer sort,More pleasant, pithy, and effectuall,Then hath beene taught by any of my trade,And there it is in writing fairely drawne. Bian. Why, I am past my gamouth long agoe. Hor. Yet read the gamouth of Hortentio. Bian. Gamouth I am, the ground of all accord: Are, to plead Hortensio's passion: Beeme, Bianca take him for thy Lord Cfavt, that loues with all affection: D sol re, one Cliffe, two notes haue I, Ela mi, show pitty or I die,Call you this gamouth? tut I like it not,Old fashions please me best, I am not so niceTo charge true rules for old inuentions. Enter a Messenger. Nicke. Mistresse, your father prayes you leaue your books,And helpe to dresse your sisters chamber vp,You know to morrow is the wedding day. Bian. Farewell sweet masters both, I must be gone. Luc. Faith Mistresse then I haue no cause to stay. Hor. But I haue cause to pry into this pedant,Methinkes he lookes as though he were in loue:Yet if thy thoughts Bianca be so humbleTo cast thy wandring eyes on euery stale:Seize thee that List, if once I finde thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. Exit. Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherine, Bianca, and o-thers, attendants. Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the pointed dayThat Katherine and Petruchio should be married,And yet we heare not of our sonne in Law:What will be said, what mockery will it be?To want the Bride-groome when the Priest attendsTo speake the ceremoniall rites of marriage?What saies Lucentio to this shame of ours? Kate. No shame but mine, I must forsooth be forstTo giue my hand oppos'd against my heartVnto a mad-braine rudesby, full of spleene,Who woo'd in haste, and meanes to wed at leysure:I told you I, he was a franticke foole,Hiding his bitter iests in blunt behauiour,And to be noted for a merry man;Hee'll wooe a thousand, point the day of marriage,Make friends, inuite, and proclaime the banes,Yet neuer meanes to wed where he hath woo'd:Now must the world point at poore Katherine, And say, loe, there is mad Petruchio's wifeIf it would please him come and marry her. Tra. Patience good Katherine and Baptista too,Vpon my life Petruchio meanes but well,What euer fortune stayes him from his word,Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise,Though he be merry, yet withall he's honest. Kate. Would Katherine had neuer seen him though. Exit weeping. Bap. Goe girle, I cannot blame thee now to weepe,For such an iniurie would vexe a very saint,Much more a shrew of impatient humour. Enter Biondello. Bion. Master, master, newes, and such newes as youneuer heard of, Bap. Is it new and olde too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not newes to heard of Petruchio's comming? Bap. Is he come? Bion. Why no sir. Bap. What then? Bion. He is comming. Bap. When will he be heere? Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there. Tra. But say, what to thine olde newes? Bion. Why Petruchio is comming, in a new hat andan old ierkin, a paire of old breeches thrice turn'd; apaire of bootes that haue beene candle-cases, one buck-led, another lac'd: an olde rusty sword tane out of theTowne Armory, with a broken hilt, and chapelesse: withtwo broken points: his horse hip'd with an olde mo-thy saddle, and stirrops of no kindred: besides possestwith the glanders, and like to mose in the chine, trou-bled with the Lampasse, infected with the fashions, fullof Windegalls, sped with Spauins, raied with the Yel-lowes, past cure of the Fiues, starke spoyl'd with theStaggers, begnawne with the Bots, Waid in the backe,and shoulder-shotten, neere leg'd before, and with ahalfe-chekt Bitte, & a headstall of sheepes leather, whichbeing restrain'd to keepe him from stumbling, hath beenoften burst, and now repaired with knots: one girth sixetimes peec'd, and a womans Crupper of velure, whichhath two letters for her name, fairely set down in studs,and heere and there peec'd with packthred. Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. Oh sir, his Lackey, for all the world Capari-son'dlike the horse: with a linnen stock on one leg, anda kersey boot-hose on the other, gartred with a red andblew list; an old hat, & the humor of forty fancies pricktin't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparell,& not like a Christian foot-boy, or a gentlemans Lacky. Tra. 'Tis some od humor pricks him to this fashion,Yet oftentimes he goes but meane apparel'd. Bap. I am glad he's come, howsoere he comes. Bion. Why sir, he comes not. Bap. Didst thou not say hee comes? Bion. Who, that Petruchio came? Bap. I, that Petruchio came. Bion. No sir, I say his horse comes with him on his backe. Bap. Why that's all one. Bion. Nay by S[aint]. Iamy, I hold you a penny, a horse anda man is more then one, and yet not many. Enter Petruchio and Grumio. Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who's at home? Bap. You are welcome sir. Petr. And yet I come not well. Bap. And yet you halt not. Tra. Not so well apparell'd as I wish you were. Petr. Were it better I should rush in thus:But where is Kate? where is my louely Bride?How does my father? gentles methinkes you frowne,And wherefore gaze this goodly company,As if they saw some wondrous monument,Some Commet, or vnusuall prodigie? Bap. Why sir, you know this is your wedding day:First were we sad, fearing you would not come,Now sadder that you come so vnprouided:Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,An eye-sore to our solemne festiuall. Tra. And tell vs what occasion of importHath all so long detain'd you from your wife,And sent you hither so vnlike your selfe? Petr. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to heare,Sufficeth I am come to keepe my word,Though in some part inforced to digresse,Which at more leysure I will so excuse,As you shall well be satisfied with all.But where is Kate? I stay too long from her,The morning weares, 'tis time we were at Church. Tra. See not your Bride in these vnreuerent robes,Goe to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. Pet. Not I, beleeue me, thus Ile visit her. Bap. But thus I trust you will not marry her. Pet. Good sooth euen thus: therefore ha done with words,To me she's married, not vnto my cloathes:Could I repaire what she will weare in me,As I can change these poore accoutrements,'Twere well for Kate, and better for my selfe.But what a foole am I to chat with you,When I should bid good morrow to my Bride?And seale the title with a louely kisse. Exit. Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire,We will perswade him be it possible,To put on better ere he goe to Church. Bap. Ile after him, and see the euent of this. Exit. Tra. But sir, Loue concerneth vs to addeHer fathers liking, which to bring to passeAs before imparted to your worship,I am to get a man what ere he be,It skills not much, weele fit him to our turne,And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, And make assurance heere in Padua Of greater summes then I haue promised,So shall you quietly enioy your hope,And marry sweet Bianca with consent. Luc. Were it not that my fellow schoolemasterDoth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly:'Twere good me-thinkes to steale our marriage,Which once perform'd, let all the world say no,Ile keepe mine owne despite of all the world. Tra. That by degrees we meane to looke into, And watch our vantage in this businesse,Wee'll ouer-reach the grey-beard Gremio, The narrow prying father Minola, The quaint Musician, amorous Litio, All for my Masters sake Lucentio. Enter Gremio. Signior Gremio, came you from the Church? Gre. As willingly as ere I came from schoole. Tra. And is the Bride & Bridegroom coming home? Gre. A bridegroome say you? 'tis a groome indeed,A grumlling groome, and that the girle shall finde. Tra. Curster then she, why 'tis impossible. Gre. Why hee's a deuill, a deuill, a very fiend. Tra. Why she's a deuill, a deuill, the deuils damme. Gre. Tut, she's a Lambe, a Doue, a foole to him:Ile tell you sir Lucentio; when the PriestShould aske if Katherine should be his wife, I, by goggs woones quoth he, and swore so loud,That all amaz'd the Priest let fall the booke,And as he stoop'd againe to take it vp,This mad-brain'd bridegroome tooke him such a cuffe,That downe fell Priest and booke, and booke and Priest,Now take them vp quoth he, if any list. Tra. What said the wench when he rose againe? Gre. Trembled and shooke: for why, he stamp'd andswore, as if the Vicar meant to cozen him: but after ma-ny ceremonies done, hee calls for wine, a health quothhe, as if he had beene aboord carowsing to his Mates af-ter a storme, quaft off the Muscadell, and threw the sopsall in the Sextons face: hauing no other reason, but thathis beard grew thinne and hungerly, and seem'd to askehim sops as hee was drinking: This done, hee tooke theBride about the necke, and kist her lips with such a cla-morous smacke, that at the parting all the Church dideccho: and I seeing this, came thence for very shame, andafter mee I know the rout is comming, such a mad mar-ryage neuer was before: harke, harke, I heare the min-strels play. Musicke playes. Enter Petruchio, Kate, Bianca, Hortensio, Baptista. Petr. Gentlemen & friends, I thank you for your pains,I know you thinke to dine with me to day,And haue prepar'd great store of wedding cheere,But so it is, my haste doth call me hence,And therefore heere I meane to take my leaue. Bap. Is't possible you will away to night? Pet. I must away to day before night come,Make it no wonder: if you knew my businesse,You would intreat me rather goe then stay:And honest company, I thanke you all,That haue beheld me giue away my selfeTo this most patient, sweet, and vertuous wife,Dine with my father, drinke a health to me,For I must hence, and farewell to you all. Tra. Let vs intreat you stay till after dinner. Pet. It may not be. Gra. Let me intreat you. Pet. It cannot be. Kat. Let me intreat you. Pet. I am content. Kat. Are you content to stay? Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay,But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. Kat. Now if you loue me stay. Pet. Grumio, my horse. Gru. I sir, they be ready, the Oates haue eaten thehorses. Kate. Nay then,Doe what thou canst, I will not goe to day,No, nor to morrow, not till I please my selfe,The dore is open sir, there lies your way,You may be iogging whiles your bootes are greene:For me, Ile not be gone till I please my selfe,'Tis like you'll proue a iolly surly groome,That take it on you at the first so roundly. Pet. O Kate content thee, prethee be not angry. Kat. I will be angry, what hast thou to doe?Father, be quiet, he shall stay my leisure. Gre. I marry sir, now it begins to worke. Kat. Gentlemen, forward to the bridall dinner,I see a woman may be made a fooleIf she had not a spirit to resist. Pet. They shall goe forward Kate at thy command,Obey the Bride you that attend on her.Goe to the feast, reuell and domineere,Carowse full measure to her maiden-head,Be madde and merry, or goe hang your selues:But for my bonny Kate, she must with me:Nay, looke not big, nor stampe, not stare, nor fret,I will be master of what is mine owne,Shee is my goods, my chattels, she is my house,My houshold-stuffe, my field, my barne,My horse, my oxe, my asse, my any thing,And heere she stands, touch her who euer dare,Ile bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua: Grumio Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with theeues,Rescue thy Mistresse if thou be a man:Feare not sweet wench, they shall not touch thee Kate, Ile buckler thee against a Million. Exeunt. P. Ka. Bap. Nay, let them goe, a couple of quiet ones. Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. Tra. Of all mad matches neuer was the like. Luc. Mistresse, what's your opinion of your sister? Bian. That being mad her selfe, she's madly mated. Gre. I warrant him Petruchio is Kated. Bap. Neighbours and friends, though Bride & Bride-groom wants For to supply the places at the table,You know there wants no iunkets at the feast: Lucentio, you shall supply the Bridegroomes place,And let Bianca take her sisters roome. Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? Bap. She shall Lucentio: come gentlemen lets goe. Enter Grumio. Exeunt. Gru. Fie, fie on all tired Iades, on all mad Masters, &all foule waies: was euer man so beaten? was euer manso raide? was euer man so weary? I am sent before tomake a fire, and they are comming after to warme them:now were not I a little pot, & soone hot; my very lippesmight freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roofe of mymouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fireto thaw me, but I with blowing the fire shall warme myselfe: for considering the weather, a taller man then Iwill take cold: Holla, hoa Curtis. Enter Curtis. Curt. Who is that calls so coldly? Gru. A piece of Ice: if thou doubt it, thou maistslide from my shoulder to my heele, with no greater a run but my head and my necke. A fire good Curtis. Cur. Is my master and his wife comming Grumio? Gru. Oh I Curtis I, and therefore fire, fire, cast on nowater. Cur. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported. Gru. She was good Curtis before this frost: but thouknow'st winter tames man, woman, and beast: for ithath tam'd my old master, and my new mistris, and myselfe fellow Curtis. Gru. Away you three inch foole, I am no beast. Gru. Am I but three inches? Why thy horne is a footand so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire,or shall I complaine on thee to our mistris, whose hand(she being now at hand) thou shalt soone feele, to thycold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office. Cur. I prethee good Grumio, tell me, how goes theworld? Gru. A cold world Curtis in euery office but thine, &therefore fire: do thy duty, and haue thy dutie, for myMaster and mistris are almost frozen to death. Cur. There's fire readie, and therefore good Grumio the newes. Gru. Why Iacke boy, ho boy, and as much newes aswilt thou. Cur. Come, you are so full of conicatching. Gru. Why therefore fire, for I haue caught extremecold. Where's the Cooke, is supper ready, the housetrim'd, rushes strew'd, cobwebs swept, the seruingmenin their new fustian, the white stockings, and euery offi-cer his wedding garment on? Be the Iackes faire with-in, the Gils faire without, the Carpets laide, and eueriething in order? Cur. All readie: and therefore I pray thee newes. Gru. First know my horse is tired, my master & mi-stris falne out. Cur. How? Gru. Out of their saddles into the durt, and therebyhangs a tale. Cur. Let's ha't good Grumio. Gru. Lend thine eare. Cur. Heere. Gru. There. Cur. This 'tis to feele a tale, not to heare a tale. Gru. And therefore 'tis cal'd a sensible tale: and thisCuffe was but to knocke at your eare, and beseech list-ning: now I begin, Inprimis wee came downe a fowlehill, my Master riding behinde my Mistris. Cur. Both of one horse? Gru. What's that to thee? Cur. Why a horse. Gru. Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crost me,thou shouldst haue heard how her horse fel, and she vn-der her horse: thou shouldst haue heard in how miery aplace, how she was bemoil'd, how hee left her with thehorse vpon her, how he beat me because her horse stum-bled, how she waded through the durt to plucke him offme: how he swore, how she prai'd, that neuer prai'd be-fore: how I cried, how the horses ranne away, how herbridle was burst: how I lost my crupper, with maniethings of worthy memorie, which now shall die in obli-uion, and thou returne vnexperienc'd to thy graue. Cur. By this reckning he is more shrew than she. Gru. I, and that thou and the proudest of you all shallfinde when he comes home. But what talke I of this?Call forth Nathaniel, Ioseph, Nicholas, Phillip, Walter, Su-gersop and the rest: let their heads bee slickely comb'd,their blew coats brush'd, and their garters of an indiffe-rent knit, let them curtsie with their left legges, and notpresume to touch a haire of my Masters horse-taile, tillthey kisse their hands. Are they all readie? Cur. They are. Gru. Call them forth. Cur. Do you heare ho? you must meete my maisterto countenance my mistris. Gru. Why she hath a face of her owne. Cur. Who knowes not that? Gru. Thou it seemes, that cals for company to coun-tenance her. Cur. I call them forth to credit her. Enter foure or fiue seruingmen. Gru. Why she comes to borrow nothing of them. Nat. Welcome home Grumio. Phil. How now Grumio. Ios. What Grumio. Nick. Fellow Grumio. Nat. How now old lad. Gru. Welcome you: how now you: what you: fel-low you: and thus much for greeting. Now my sprucecompanions, is all readie, and all things neate? Nat. All things is readie, how neere is our master? Gre. E'ne at hand, alighted by this: and therefore benot—— Cockes passion, silence, I heare my master. Enter Petruchio and Kate. Pet. Where be these knaues? What no man at dooreTo hold my stirrop, nor to take my horse?Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Phillip. All ser. Heere, heere sir, heere sir. Pet. Heere sir, heere sir, heere sir, heere sir.You logger-headed and vnpollisht groomes:What? no attendance? no regard? no dutie?Where is the foolish knaue I sent before? Gru. Heere sir, as foolish as I was before. Pet. You pezant, swain, you horson malt-horse drudgDid I not bid thee meete me in the Parke,And bring along these rascal knaues with thee? Grumio. Nathaniels coate sir was not fully made,And Gabrels pumpes were all vnpinkt i'th heele:There was no Linke to colour Peters hat,And Walters dagger was not come from sheathing:There were none fine, but Adam, Rafe, and Gregory, The rest were ragged, old, and beggerly,Yet as they are, heere are they come to meete you. Pet. Go rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. Ex. Ser. Where is the life that late I led?Where are those? Sit downe Kate, And welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud. Enter seruants with supper. Why when I say? Nay good sweete Kate be merrie.Off with my boots, you rogues: you villaines, when? It was the Friar of Orders gray,As he forth walked on his way. Out you rogue, you plucke my foote awrie,Take that, and mend the plucking of the other.Be merrie Kate: Some water heere: what hoa. Enter one with water. Where's my Spaniel Troilus? Sirra, get you hence,And bid my cozen Ferdinand come hither:One Kate that you must kisse, and be acquainted with.Where are my Slippers? Shall I haue some water?Come Kate and wash, & welcome heartily:You horson villaine, will you let it fall? Kate. Patience I pray you, 'twas a fault vnwilling. Pet. A horson beetle-headed flap-ear'd knaue:Come Kate sit downe, I know you haue a stomacke,Will you giue thankes, sweete Kate, or else shall I?What's this, Mutton? 1.Ser. I. Pet. Who brought it? Peter. I. Pet. 'Tis burnt, and so is all the meate:What dogges are these? Where is the rascall Cooke?How durst you villaines bring it from the dresserAnd serue it thus to me that loue it not?There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all:You heedlesse iolt-heads, and vnmanner'd slaues.What, do you grumble? Ile be with you straight. Kate. I pray you husband be not so disquiet,The meate was well, if you were so contented. Pet. I tell thee Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away,And I expressely am forbid to touch it:For it engenders choller, planteth anger,And better 'twere that both of vs did fast,Since of our selues, our selues are chollericke,Then feede it with such ouer-rosted flesh:Be patient, to morrow't shalbe mended,And for this night we'l fast for companie.Come I wil bring thee to thy Bridall chamber. Exeunt. Enter Seruants seuerally. Nath. Peter didst euer see the like. Peter. He kils her in her owne humor. Grumio. Where is he? Enter Curtis a Seruant. Cur. In her chamber, making a sermon of continen-cie to her, and railes, and sweares, and rates, that shee(poore soule) knowes not which way to stand, to looke,to speake, and sits as one new risen from a dreame. A-way, away, for he is comming hither. Enter Petruchio. Pet. Thus haue I politickely begun my reigne,And 'tis my hope to end successefully:My Faulcon now is sharpe, and passing emptie,And til she stoope, she must not be full gorg'd,For then she neuer lookes vpon her lure.Another way I haue to man my Haggard,To make her come, and know her Keepers call:That is, to watch her, as we watch these Kites,That baite, and beate, and will not be obedient:She eate no meate to day, nor none shall eate.Last night she slept not, nor to night she shall not:As with the meate, some vndeserued faultIle finde about the making of the bed,And heere Ile fling the pillow, there the boulster,This way the Couerlet, another way the sheets: I, and amid this hurlie I intend,That all is done in reuerend care of her,And in conclusion, she shal watch all night,And if she chance to nod, Ile raile and brawle,And with the clamor keepe her stil awake:This is a way to kil a Wife with kindnesse,And thus Ile curbe her mad and headstrong humor:He that knowes better how to tame a shrew,Now let him speake, 'tis charity to shew. Exit Enter Tranio and Hortensio. Tra. Is't possible friend Lisio, that mistris Bianca Doth fancie any other but Lucentio, I tel you sir, she beares me faire in hand. Luc. Sir, to satisfie you in what I haue said,Stand by, and marke the manner of his teaching. Enter Bianca. Hor. Now Mistris, profit you in what you reade? Bian. What Master reade you first, resolue me that? Hor. I reade, that I professe the Art to loue. Bian. And may you proue sir Master of your Art. Luc. While you sweet deere proue Mistresse of myheart. Hor. Quicke proceeders marry, now tel me I pray,you that durst sweare that your Mistris Bianca Lou'd me in the World so wel as Lucentio. Tra. Oh despightful Loue, vnconstant womankind,I tel thee Lisio this is wonderfull. Hor. Mistake no more, I am not Lisio, Nor a Musitian as I seeme to bee,But one that scorne to liue in this disguise,For such a one as leaues a Gentleman,And makes a God of such a Cullion;Know sir, that I am cal'd Hortensio. Tra. Signior Hortensio, I haue often heardOf your entire affection to Bianca, And since mine eyes are witnesse of her lightnesse,I wil with you, if you be so contented,Forsweare Bianca, and her loue for euer. Hor. See how they kisse and court: Signior Lucentio, Heere is my hand, and heere I firmly vowNeuer to woo her more, but do forsweare herAs one vnworthie all the former fauoursThat I haue fondly flatter'd them withall. Tra. And heere I take the like vnfained oath,Neuer to marrie with her, though she would intreate,Fie on her, see how beastly she doth court him. Hor. Would all the world but he had quite forswornFor me, that I may surely keepe mine oath.I wil be married to a wealthy Widdow,Ere three dayes passe, which hath as long lou'd me,As I haue lou'd this proud disdainful Haggard,And so farewel signior Lucentio, Kindnesse in women, not their beauteous lookesShal win my loue, and so I take my leaue,In resolution, as I swore before. Tra. Mistris Bianca, blesse you with such grace,As longeth to a Louers blessed case:Nay, I haue tane you napping gentle Loue,And haue forsworne you with Hortensio. Bian. Tranio you iest, but haue you both forswornemee? Tra. Mistris we haue. Luc. Then we are rid of Lisio. Tra. I'faith hee'l haue a lustie Widdow now,That shalbe woo'd, and wedded in a day. Bian. God giue him ioy. Tra. I, and hee'l tame her. Bianca. He sayes so Tranio. Tra. Faith he is gone vnto the taming schoole. Bian. The taming schoole: what is there such a place? Tra. I mistris, and Petruchio is the master,That teacheth trickes eleuen and twentie long,To tame a shrew, and charme her chattering tongue. Enter Biondello. Bion. Oh Master, master I haue watcht so long,That I am dogge-wearie, but at last I spiedAn ancient Angel comming downe the hill,Wil serue the turne. Tra. What is he Biondello? Bio. Master, a Marcantant, or a pedant, I know not what, but formall in apparrell,In gate and countenance surely like a Father. Luc. And what of him Tranio? Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale,Ile make him glad to seeme Vincentio, And giue assurance to Baptista Minola. As if he were the right Vincentio. Par. Take me your loue, and then let me alone. Enter a Pedant. Ped. God saue you sir. Tra. And you sir, you are welcome,Trauaile you farre on, or are you at the farthest? Ped. Sir at the farthest for a weeke or two,But then vp farther, and as farre as Rome,And so to Tripolie, if God lend me life. Tra. What Countreyman I pray? Ped. Of Mantua. Tra. Of Mantua Sir, marrie God forbid,And come to Padua carelesse of your life. Ped. My life sir? how I pray? for that goes hard. Tra. 'Tis death for any one in MantuaTo come to Padua, know you not the cause?Your ships are staid at Venice, and the DukeFor priuate quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him,Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly:'Tis meruaile, but that you are but newly come,You might haue heard it else proclaim'd about. Ped. Alas sir, it is worse for me then so,For I haue bils for monie by exchangeFrom Florence, and must heere deliuer them. Tra. Wel sir, to do you courtesie,This wil I do, and this I wil aduise you.First tell me, haue you euer beene at Pisa? Ped. I sir, in Pisa haue I often bin,Pisa renowned for graue Citizens. Tra. Among them know you one Vincentio? Ped. I know him not, but I haue heard of him:A Merchant of incomparable wealth. Tra. He is my father sir, and sooth to say,In count'nance somewhat doth resemble you. Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, & all one. Tra. To saue your life in this extremitie,This fauor wil I do you for his sake,And thinke it not the worst of all your fortunes,That you are like to Sir Vincentio. His name and credite shal you vndertake,And in my house you shal be friendly lodg'd,Looke that you take vpon you as you should,You vnderstand me sir: so shal you stayTil you haue done your businesse in the Citie:If this be court'sie sir, accept of it. Ped. Oh sir I do, and wil repute you euerThe patron of my life and libertie. Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good,This by the way I let you vnderstand,My father is heere look'd for euerie day,To passe assurance of a dowre in marriage'Twixt me, and one Baptistas daughter heere:In all these circumstances Ile instruct you,Go with me to cloath you as becomes you. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Katherina and Grumio. Gru. No, no forsooth I dare not for my life. Ka. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.What, did he marrie me to famish me?Beggers that come vnto my fathers doore,Vpon intreatie haue a present almes,If not, elsewhere they meete with charitie:But I, who neuer knew how to intreat,Nor neuer needed that I should intreate,Am staru'd for meate, giddie for lacke of sleepe:With oathes kept waking, and with brawling fed,And that which spights me more then all these wants,He does it vnder name of perfect loue:As who should say, if I should sleepe or eate'Twere deadly sicknesse, or else present death.I prethee go, and get me some repast,I care not what, so it be holsome foode. Gru. What say you to a Neats foote? Kate. 'Tis passing good, I prethee let me haue it. Gru. I feare it is too chollericke a meate.How say you to a fat Tripe finely broyl'd? Kate. I like it well, good Grumio fetch it me. Gru. I cannot tell, I feare 'tis chollericke.What say you to a peece of Beefe and Mustard? Kate. A dish that I do loue to feede vpon. Gru. I, but the Mustard is too hot a little. Kate. Why then the Beefe, and let the Mustard rest. Gru. Nay then I wil not, you shal haue the MustardOr else you get no beefe of Grumio. Kate. Then both or one, or any thing thou wilt. Gru. Why then the Mustard without the beefe. Kate. Go get thee gone, thou false deluding slaue, Beats him. That feed'st me with the verie name of meate.Sorrow on thee, and all the packe of youThat triumph thus vpon my misery:Go get thee gone, I say. Enter Petruchio, and Hortensio with meate. Petr. How fares my Kate, what sweeting all a-mort? Hor. Mistris, what cheere? Kate. Faith as cold as can be. Pet. Plucke vp thy spirits, looke cheerfully vpon me.Heere Loue, thou seest how diligent I am,To dresse thy meate my selfe, and bring it thee.I am sure sweet Kate, this kindnesse merites thankes.What, not a word? Nay then, thou lou'st it not:And all my paines is sorted to no proofe.Heere take away this dish. Kate. I pray you let it stand. Pet. The poorest seruice is repaide with thankes,And so shall mine before you touch the meate. Kate. I thanke you sir. Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie you are too blame:Come Mistris Kate, Ile beare you companie. Petr. Eate it vp all Hortensio, if thou louest mee:Much good do it vnto thy gentle heart: Kate eate apace; and now my honie Loue,Will we returne vnto thy Fathers house,And reuell it as brauely as the best,With silken coats and caps, and golden Rings,With Ruffes and Cuffes, and Fardingales, and things:With Scarfes, and Fannes, & double change of brau'ry,With Amber Bracelets, Beades, and all this knau'ry.What hast thou din'd? The Tailor staies thy leasure,To decke thy bodie with his ruffling treasure. Enter Tailor. Come Tailor, let vs see these ornaments. Enter Haberdasher. Lay forth the gowne. What newes with you sir? Fel. Heere is the cap your Worship did bespeake. Pet. Why this was moulded on a porrenger,A Veluet dish: Fie, fie, 'tis lewd and filthy,Why 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,A knacke, a toy, a tricke, a babies cap:Away with it, come let me haue a bigger. Kate. Ile haue no bigger, this doth fit the time,And Gentlewomen weare such caps as these. Pet. When you are gentle, you shall haue one too,And not till then. Hor. That will not be in hast. Kate. Why sir I trust I may haue leaue to speake,And speake I will. I am no childe, no babe,Your betters haue indur'd me say my minde,And if you cannot, best you stop your eares.My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,Or els my heart concealing it wil breake,And rather then it shall, I will be free,Euen to the vttermost as I please in words. Pet. Why thou saist true, it is paltrie cap,A custard coffen, a bauble, a silken pie,I loue thee well in that thou lik'st it not. Kate. Loue me, or loue me not, I like the cap,And it I will haue, or I will haue none. Pet. Thy gowne, why I: come Tailor let vs see't.Oh mercie God, what masking stuffe is heere?Whats this? a sleeue? 'tis like demi cannon,What, vp and downe caru'd like an apple Tart?Heers snip, and nip, and cut, and slish and slash,Like to a Censor in a barbers shoppe:Why what a deuils name Tailor cal'st thou this? Hor. I see shees like to haue neither cap nor gowne. Tai. You bid me make it orderlie and well,According to the fashion, and the time. Pet. Marrie and did: but if you be remembred,I did not bid you marre it to the time.Go hop me ouer euery kennell home,For you shall hop without my custome sir:Ile none of it; hence, make your best of it. Kate. I neuer saw a better fashion'd gowne,More queint, more pleasing, nor more commendable:Belike you meane to make a puppet of me. Pet. Why true, he meanes to make a puppet of thee. Tail. She saies your Worship meanes to make apuppet of her. Pet. Oh monstrous arrogance:Thou lyest, thou thred, thou thimble,Thou yard three quarters, halfe yard, quarter, naile,Thou Flea, thou Nit, thou winter cricket thou:Brau'd in mine owne house with a skeine of thred:Away thou Ragge, thou quantitie, thou remnant,Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard,As thou shalt thinke on prating whil'st thou liu'st:I tell thee I, that thou hast marr'd her gowne. Tail. Your worship is deceiu'd, the gowne is madeIust as my master had direction: Grumio gaue order how it should be done. Gru. I gaue him no order, I gaue him the stuffe. Tail. But how did you desire it should be made? Gru. Marrie sir with needle and thred. Tail. But did you not request to haue it cut? Gru. Thou hast fac'd many things. Tail. I haue. Gru. Face not mee: thou hast brau'd manie men,braue not me; I will neither bee fac'd nor brau'd. I sayvnto thee, I bid thy Master cut out the gowne, but I didnot bid him cut it to peeces. Ergo thou liest. Tail. Why heere is the note of the fashion to testify. Pet. Reade it. Gru. The note lies in's throate if he say I said so. Tail. Inprimis, a loose bodied gowne. Gru. Master, if euer I said loose-bodied gowne, sowme in the skirts of it, and beate me to death with a bot-tome of browne thred: I said a gowne. Pet. Proceede. Tai. With a small compast cape. Gru. I confesse the cape. Tai. With a trunke sleeue. Gru. I confesse two sleeues. Tai. The sleeues curiously cut. Pet. I there's the villanie. Gru. Error i'th bill sir, error i'th bill? I commandedthe sleeues should be cut out, and sow'd vp againe, andthat Ile proue vpon thee, though thy little finger be ar-med in a thimble. Tail. This is true that I say, and I had thee in placewhere thou shouldst know it. Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, giueme thy meat-yard, and spare not me. Hor. God-a-mercie Grumio, then hee shall haue nooddes. Pet. Well sir in breefe the gowne is not for me. Gru. You are i'th right sir, 'tis for my mistris. Pet. Go take it vp vnto thy masters vse. Gru. Villaine, not for thy life: Take vp my Mistressegowne for thy masters vse. Pet. Why sir, what's your conceit in that? Gru. Oh sir, the conceit is deeper then you think for:Take vp my Mistris gowne to his masters vse.Oh fie, fie, fie. Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the Tailor paide:Go take it hence, be gone, and say no more. Hor. Tailor, Ile pay thee for thy gowne to morrow,Take no vnkindnesse of his hastie words:Away I say, commend me to thy master. Exit Tail. Pet. Well, come my Kate, we will vnto your fathers,Euen in these honest meane habiliments:Our purses shall be proud, our garments poore:For 'tis the minde that makes the bodie rich.And as the Sunne breakes through the darkest clouds,So honor peereth in the meanest habit.What is the Iay more precious then the Larke?Because his feathers are more beautifull.Or is the Adder better then the Eele,Because his painted skin contents the eye.Oh no good Kate: neither art thou the worseFor this poore furniture, and meane array.If thou accountedst it shame, lay it on me,And therefore frolicke, we will hence forthwith,To feast and sport vs at thy fathers house,Go call my men, and let vs straight to him,And bring our horses vnto Long-lane end,There wil we mount, and thither walke on foote,Let's see, I thinke 'tis now some seuen a clocke,And well we may come there by dinner time. Kate. I dare assure you sir, 'tis almost two,And 'twill be supper time ere you come there. Pet. It shall be seuen ere I go to horse:Looke what I speake, or do, or thinke to doe, You are still crossing it, sirs let't alone,I will not goe to day, and ere I doe,It shall be what a clock I say it is. Hor. Why so this gallant will command the sunne. Enter Tranio, and the Pedant drest like Vincentio. Tra. Sirs, this is the house, please it you that I call. Ped. I what else, and but I be deceiued,Signior Baptista may remember meNeere twentie yeares a goe in Genoa. Tra. Where we were lodgers, at the Pegasus, Tis well, and hold your owne in any caseWith such austeritie as longeth to a father. Enter Biondello. Ped. I warrant you: but sir here comes your boy,'Twere good he were school'd. Tra. Feare you not him: sirra Biondello, Now doe your dutie throughlie I aduise you:Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. Bion. Tut, feare not me. Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista. Bion. I told him that your father was at Venice, And that you look't for him this day in Padua, Tra. Th'art a tall fellow, hold thee that to drinke,Here comes Baptista: set your countenance sir. Enter Baptista and Lucentio: Pedant bootedand bare headed. Tra. Signior Baptista you are happilie met:Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of,I pray you stand good father to me now,Giue me Bianca for my patrimony. Ped. Soft son: sir by your leaue, hauing com to Padua To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio Made me acquainted with a waighty causeOf loue betweene your daughter and himselfe:And for the good report I heare of you,And for the loue he beareth to your daughter,And she to him: to stay him not too long,I am content in a good fathers careTo haue him matcht, and if you please to likeNo worse then I, vpon some agreementMe shall you finde readie and willingWith one consent to haue her so bestowed:For curious I cannot be with youSignior Baptista, of whom I heare so well. Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I haue to say,Your plainnesse and your shortnesse please me well:Right true it is your sonne Lucentio hereDoth loue my daughter, and she loueth him,Or both dissemble deepely their affections:And therefore if you say no more then this,That like a Father you will deale with him,And passe my daughter a sufficient dower,The match is made, and all is done,Your sonne shall haue my daughter with consent. Tra. I thanke you sir, where then doe you know bestWe be affied and such assurance tane,As shall with either parts agreement stand. Bap. Not in my house Lucentio, for you knowPitchers haue eares, and I haue manie seruants,Besides old Gremio is harkning still,And happilie we might be interrupted. Tra. Then at my lodging, and it like you,There doth my father lie: and there this nightWeele passe the businesse priuately and well:Send for your daughter by your seruant here,My Boy shall fetch the Scriuener presentlie,The worst is this that at so slender warning,You are like to haue a thin and slender pittance. Bap. It likes me well: Cambio hie you home, and bid Bianca make her readiestraight:And if you will tell what hath hapned, Lucentios Father is arriued in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentios wife. Biond. I praie the gods she may withall my heart. Exit. Tran. Dallie not with the gods, but get thee gone. Enter Peter. Signior Baptista, shall I leade the way,Welcome, one messe is like to be your cheere,Come sir, we will better it in Pisa. Bap. I follow you. Exeunt. Enter Lucentio and Biondello. Bion. Cambio. Luc. What saist thou Biondello. Biond. You saw my Master winke and laugh vponyou? Luc. Biondello, what of that? Biond. Faith nothing: but has left mee here behindeto expound the meaning or morrall of his signes and to-kens. Luc. I pray thee moralize them. Biond. Then thus: Baptista is safe talking with thedeceiuing Father of a deceitfull sonne. Luc. And what of him? Biond. His daughter is to be brought by you to thesupper. Luc. And then. Bio. The old Priest at Saint Lukes Church is at yourcommand at all houres. Luc. And what of all this. Bion. I cannot tell, expect they are busied about acounterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her, Cum preuilegio ad Impremendum solem, to th' Church take thePriest, Clarke, and some sufficient honest witnesses:If this be not that you looke for, I haue no more to say,But bid Bianca farewell for euer and a day. Luc. Hear'st thou Biondello. Biond. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench maried in anafternoone as shee went to the Garden for Parseley tostuffe a Rabit, and so may you sir: and so adew sir, myMaster hath appointed me to goe to Saint Lukes to bidthe Priest be readie to come against you come with yourappendix. Exit. Luc. I may and will, if she be so contented:She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt:Hap what hap may, Ile roundly goe about her:It shall goe hard if Cambio goe without her. Exit. Enter Petruchio, Kate, Hortentio Petr. Come on a Gods name, once more toward ourfathers:Good Lord how bright and goodly shines the Moone. Kate. The Moone, the Sunne: it is not Moonelightnow. Pet. I say it is the Moone that shines so bright. Kate. I know it is the Sunne that shines so bright. Pet. Now by my mothers sonne, and that's my selfe, It shall be moone, or starre, or what I list,Or ere I iourney to your Fathers house:Goe on, and fetch our horses backe againe,Euermore crost and crost, nothing but crost. Hort. Say as he saies, or we shall neuer goe. Kate. Forward I pray, since we haue come so farre,And be it moone, or sunne, or what you please:And if you please to call it a rush Candle,Henceforth I vowe it shall be so for me. Petr. I say it is the Moone. Kate. I know it is the Moone. Petr. Nay then you lye: it is the blessed Sunne. Kate. Then God be blest, it is the blessed sun,But sunne it is not, when you say it is not,And the Moone changes euen as your minde:What you will haue it nam'd, euen that it is,And so it shall be so for Katherine. Hort. Petruchio, goe thy waies, the field is won. Petr. Well, forward, forward, thus the bowle should run,And not vnluckily against the Bias:But soft, Company is comming here. Enter Vincentio. Good morrow gentle Mistris, where away:Tell me sweete Kate, and tell me truely too,Hast thou beheld a fresher Gentlewoman:Such warre of white and red within her cheekes:What stars do spangle heauen with such beautie,As those two eyes become that heauenly face?Faire louely Maide, once more good day to thee:Sweete Kate embrace her for her beauties sake. Hort. A will make the man mad to make the womanof him. Kate. Yong budding Virgin, faire, and fresh, & sweet,Whether away, or whether is thy aboade?Happy the Parents of so faire a childe;Happier the man whom fauourable stars A lots thee for his louely bedfellow. Petr. Why how now Kate, I hope thou art not mad,This is a man old, wrinckled, faded, withered,And not a Maiden, as thou saist he is. Kate. Pardon old father my mistaking eies,That haue bin so bedazled with the sunne,That euery thing I looke on seemeth greene:Now I perceiue thou art a reuerent Father:Pardon I pray thee for my mad mistaking. Petr. Do good old grandsire, & withall make knownWhich way thou trauellest, if along with vs,We shall be ioyfull of thy companie. Vin. Faire Sir, and you my merry Mistris,That with your strange encounter much amasde me:My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa, And bound I am to Padua, there to visiteA sonne of mine, which long I haue not seene. Petr. What is his name? Vinc. Lucentio gentle sir. Petr. Happily met, the happier for thy sonne:And now by Law, as well as reuerent age,I may intitle thee my louing Father,The sister to my wife, this Gentlewoman,Thy Sonne by this hath married: wonder not,Nor be not grieued, she is of good esteeme,Her dowrie wealthie, and of worthie birth;Beside, so qualified, as may beseemeThe Spouse of any noble Gentleman:Let me imbrace with old Vincentio, And wander we to see thy honest sonne,Who will of thy arriuall be full ioyous. Vinc. But is this true, or is it else your pleasure,Like pleasant trauailors to breake a IestVpon the companie you ouertake? Hort. I doe assure thee father so it is. Petr. Come goe along and see the truth hereof,For our first merriment hath made thee iealous. Exeunt. Hor. Well Petruchio, this has put me in heart;Haue to my Widdow, and if she froward,Then hast thou taught Hortentio to be vntoward. Exit. Enter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca, Gremiois out before. Biond. Softly and swiftly sir, for the Priest is ready. Luc. I flie Biondello; but they may chance to needethee at home, therefore leaue vs. Exit. Biond. Nay faith, Ile see the Church a your backe,and then come backe to my mistris as soone as I can. Gre. I maruaile Cambio comes not all this while. Enter Petruchio, Kate, Vincentio, Grumiowith Attendants. Petr. Sir heres the doore, this is Lucentios house,My Fathers beares more toward the Market-place,Thither must I, and here I leaue you sir. Vin. You shall not choose but drinke before you go,I thinke I shall command your welcome here;And by all likelihood some cheere is toward. Knock. Grem. They're busie within, you were best knockelowder. Pedant lookes out of the window. Ped. What's he that knockes as he would beat downethe gate? Vin. Is Signior Lucentio within sir? Ped. He's within sir, but not to be spoken withall. Vinc. What if a man bring him a hundred pound ortwo to make merrie withall. Ped. Keepe your hundred pounds to your selfe, heeshall neede none so long as I liue. Petr. Nay, I told you your sonne was well beloued in Padua: doe you heare sir, to leaue friuolous circumstan-ces, I pray you tell signior Lucentio that his Father iscome from Pisa, and is here at the doore to speake withhim. Ped. Thou liest his Father is come from Padua, andhere looking out at the window. Vin. Art thou his father? Ped. I sir, so his mother saies, if I may beleeue her. Petr. Why how now gentleman: why this is flat kna-uerie to take vpon you another mans name. Peda. Lay hands on the villaine, I beleeue a meanesto cosen some bodie in this Citie vnder my countenance. Enter Biondello. Bio. I haue seene them in the Church together, Godsend 'em good shipping: but who is here? mine old Ma-ster Vincentio: now wee are vndone and brought to no-thing. Vin. Come hither crackhempe. Bion. I hope I may choose Sir. Vin. Come hither you rogue, what haue you forgotmee? Biond. Forgot you, no sir: I could not forget you, forI neuer saw you before in all my life. Vinc. What, you notorious villaine, didst thou neuersee thy Mistris father, Vincentio? Bion. What my old worshipfull old master? yesmarie sir see where he lookes out of the window. Vin. Ist so indeede. He beates Biondello. Bion. Helpe, helpe, helpe, here's a mad man will mur-der me. Pedan. Helpe, sonne, helpe signior Baptista. Petr. Preethe Kate let's stand aside and see the end ofthis controuersie. Enter Pedant with seruants, Baptista, Tranio. Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beate my ser-uant? Vinc. What am I sir: nay what are you sir: oh immor-tall Goddes: oh fine villaine, a silken doublet, a vel-uet hose, a scarlet cloake, and a copataine hat: oh I amvndone, I am vndone: while I plaie the good husbandat home, my sonne and my seruant spend all at the vni-uersitie. Tra. How now, what's the matter? Bapt. What is the man lunaticke? Tra. Sir, you seeme a sober ancient Gentleman byyour habit: but your words shew you a mad man: whysir, what cernes it you, if I weare Pearle and gold: I thankmy good Father, I am able to maintaine it. Vin. Thy father: oh villaine, he is a Saile-maker in Bergamo. Bap. You mistake sir, you mistake sir, praie what doyou thinke is his name? Vin. His name, as if I knew not his name: I hauebrought him vp euer since he was three yeeres old, andhis name is Tronio. Ped. Awaie, awaie mad asse, his name is Lucentio, andhe is mine onelie sonne and heire to the Lands of me sig-nior Vincentio. Ven. Lucentio: oh he hath murdred his Master; laiehold on him I charge you in the Dukes name: oh mysonne, my sonne: tell me thou villaine, where is my son Lucentio? Tra. Call forth an officer: Carrie this mad knaue tothe Iaile: father Baptista, I charge you see that hee beforth comming. Vinc. Carrie me to the Iaile? Gre. Staie officer, he shall not go to prison. Bap. Talke not signior Gremio: I saie he shall goe toprison. Gre. Take heede signior Baptista, least you be coni-catcht in this businesse: I dare sweare this is the right Vincentio. Ped. Sweare if thou dar'st. Gre. Naie, I dare not sweare it. Tran. Then thou wert best saie that I am not Lu-centio. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bap. Awaie with the dotard, to the Iaile with him. Enter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianeu. Vin. Thus strangers may be haild and abusd: oh mon-strous villaine. Bion. Oh we are spoil'd, and yonder he is, denie him,forsweare him, or else we are all vndone. Exit Biondello, Tranio and Pedant as fast as may be. Luc. Pardon sweete father. Kneele. Vin. Liues my sweete sonne? Bian. Pardon deere father. Bap. How hast thou offended, where is Lucentio? Luc. Here's Lucentio, right sonne to the right Vin-centio, That haue by marriage made thy daughter mine,While counterfeit supposes bleer'd thine eine. Gre. Here's packing with a witnesse to deceiue vs all. Vin. Where is that damned villaine Tranio, That fac'd and braued me in this matter so? Bap. Why, tell me is not this my Cambio? Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. Luc. Loue wrought these miracles. Biancas loueMade me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did beare my countenance in the towne,And happilie I haue arriued at the lastVnto the wished hauen of my blisse:What Tranio did, my selfe enforst him to;Then pardon him sweete Father for my sake. Vin. Ile slit the villaines nose that would haue sentme to the Iaile. Bap. But doe you heare sir, haue you married mydaughter without asking my good will? Vin. Feare not Baptista, we will content you, goe to:but I will in to be reueng'd for this villanie. Exit. Bap. And I to sound the depth of this knauerie. Exit. Luc. Looke not pale Bianca, thy father will not frown. Exeunt. Gre. My cake is dough, but Ile in among the rest,Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. Kate. Husband let's follow, to see the end of this adoe. Petr. First kisse me Kate, and we will. Kate. What in the midst of the streete? Petr. What art thou asham'd of me? Kate. No sir, God forbid, but asham'd to kisse. Petr. Why then let's home againe: Come Sirra let'sawaie. Kate. Nay, I will giue thee a kisse, now praie theeLoue staie. Petr. Is not this well? come my sweete Kate. Better once then neuer, for neuer to late. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, andBianca. Tranio, Biondello Grumio, and Widdow:The Seruingmen with Tranio bringingin a Banquet. Luc. At last, though long, our iarring notes agree,And time it is when raging warre is come,To smile at scapes and perils ouerblowne:My faire Bianca bid my father welcome,While I with selfesame kindnesse welcome thine:Brother Petruchio, sister Katerina, And thou Hortentio with thy louing Widdow: Feast with the best, and welcome to my house,My Banket is to close our stomakes vpAfter our great good cheere: praie you sit downe,For now we sit to chat as well as eate. Petr. Nothing but sit and sit, and eate and eate. Bap. Padua affords this kindnesse, sonne Petruchio. Petr. Padua affords nothing but what is kinde. Hor. For both our sakes I would that word were true. Pet. Now for my life Hortentio feares his Widow. Wid. Then neuer trust me if I be affeard. Petr. You are verie sencible, and yet you misse mysence:I meane Hortentio is afeard of you. Wid. He that is giddie thinks the world turns round. Petr. Roundlie replied. Kat. Mistris, how meane you that? Wid. Thus I conceiue by him. Petr. Conceiues by me, how likes Hortentio that? Hor. My Widdow saies, thus she conceiues her tale. Petr. Verie well mended: kisse him for that goodWiddow. Kat. He that is giddie thinkes the world turnes round,I praie you tell me what you meant by that. Wid. Your housband being troubled with a shrew,Measures my husbands sorrow by his woe:And now you know my meaning. Kate. A verie meane meaning. Wid. Right, I meane you. Kat. And I am meane indeede, respecting you. Petr. To her Kate. Hor. To her Widdow. Petr. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. Hor. That's my office Petr. Spoke like an Officer: ha to the lad. Drinkes to Hortentio. Bap. How likes Gremio these quicke witted folkes? Gre. Beleeue me sir, they But together well. Bian. Head, and but an hastie witted bodie,Would say your Head and But were head and horne. Vin. I Mistris Bride, hath that awakened you? Bian. I, but not frighted me, therefore Ile sleepe a-gaine. Petr. Nay that you shall not since you haue begun:Haue at you for a better iest or too. Bian. Am I your Bird, I meane to shift my bush,And then pursue me as you draw your Bow.You are welcome all. Exit Bianca. Petr. She hath preuented me, here signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not,Therefore a health to all that shot and mist. Tri. Oh sir, Lucentio slipt me like his Gray-hound,Which runs himselfe, and catches for his Master. Petr. A good swift simile, but something currish. Tra. 'Tis well sir that you hunted for your selfe:'Tis thought your Deere does hold you at a baie. Bap. Oh, oh Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. Luc. I thanke thee for that gird good Tranio. Hor. Confesse, confesse, hath he not hit you here? Petr. A has a little gald me I confesse:And as the Iest did glaunce awaie from me,'Tis ten to one it maim'd you too out right. Bap. Now in good sadnesse sonne Petruchio, I thinke thou hast the veriest shrew of all. Petr. Well, I say no: and therefore sir assurance,Let's each one send vnto his wife,And he whose wife is most obedient,To come at first when he doth send for her,Shall win the wager which we will propose. Hort. Content, what's the wager? Luc. Twentie crownes. Petr. Twentie crownes,Ile venture so much of my Hawke or Hound,But twentie times so much vpon my Wife. Luc. A hundred then. Hor. Content. Petr. A match, 'tis done. Hor. Who shall begin? Luc. That will I.Goe Biondello, bid your Mistris come to me. Bio. I goe. Exit. Bap. Sonne, Ile be your halfe, Bianca comes. Luc. Ile haue no halues: Ile beare it all my selfe. Enter Biondello. How now, what newes? Bio. Sir, my Mistris sends you wordThat she is busie, and she cannot come. Petr. How? she's busie, and she cannot come: is thatan answere? Gre. I, and a kinde one too:Praie God sir your wife send you not a worse. Petr. I hope better. Hor. Sirra Biondello, goe and intreate my wife tocome to me forthwith. Exit. Bion. Pet. Oh ho, intreate her, nay then shee must needescome. Hor. I am affraid sir, doe what you can Enter Biondello. Yours will not be entreated: Now, where's my wife? Bion. She saies you haue some goodly Iest in hand,She will not come: she bids you come to her. Petr. Worse and worse, she will not come:Oh vilde, intollerable, not to be indur'd:Sirra Grumio, goe to your Mistris,Say I command her come to me. Exit. Hor. I know her answere. Pet. What? Hor. She will not. Petr. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Enter Katerina. Bap. Now by my hollidam here comes Katerina. Kat. What is your will sir, that you send for me? Petr. Where is your sister, and Hortensios wife? Kate. They sit conferring by the Parler fire. Petr. Goe fetch them hither, if they denie to come,Swinge me them soundly forth vnto their husbands:Away I say, and bring them hither straight. Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talke of a wonder. Hor. And so it is: I wonder what it boads. Petr. Marrie peace it boads, and loue, and quiet life,An awfull rule, and right supremicie:And to be short, what not, that's sweete and happie. Bap. Now faire befall thee good Petruchio; The wager thou hast won, and I will addeVnto their losses twentie thousand crownes,Another dowrie to another daughter,For she is chang'd as she had neuer bin. Petr. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,And show more signe of her obedience,Her new built vertue and obedience. Enter Kate, Bianca, and Widdow. See where she comes, and brings your froward WiuesAs prisoners to her womanlie perswasion: Katerine, that Cap of yours becomes you not,Off with that bable, throw it vnderfoote. Wid. Lord let me neuer haue a cause to sigh,Till I be brought to such a sillie passe. Bian. Fie what a foolish dutie call you this? Luc. I would your dutie were as foolish too:The wisdome of your dutie faire Bianca, Hath cost me fiue hundred crownes since supper time. Bian. The more foole you for laying on my dutie. Pet. Katherine I charge thee tell these head-strongwomen, what dutie they doe owe their Lords and hus-bands. Wid. Come, come, your mocking: we will haue notelling. Pet. Come on I say, and first begin with her. Wid. She shall not. Pet. I say she shall, and first begin with her. Kate. Fie, fie, vnknit that threatning vnkinde brow,And dart not scornefull glances from those eies,To wound thy Lord, thy King, thy Gouernour.It blots thy beautie, as frosts doe bite the Meads,Confounds thy fame, as whirlewinds shake faire budds,And in no sence is meete or amiable.A woman mou'd, is like a fountaine troubled,Muddie, ill seeming, thicke, bereft of beautie,And while it is so, none so dry or thirstieWill daigne to sip, or touch one drop of it.Thy husband is thy Lord, thy life, thy keeper,Thy head, thy soueraigne: One that cares for thee,And for thy maintenance. Commits his bodyTo painfull labour, both by sea and land:To watch the night in stormes, the day in cold,Whil'st thou ly'st warme at home, secure and safe,And craues no other tribute at thy hands,But loue, faire lookes, and true obedience;Too little payment for so great a debt.Such dutie as the subiect owes the Prince,Euen such a woman oweth to her husband:And when she is froward, peeuish, sullen, sowre,And not obedient to his honest will,What is she but a foule contending Rebell,And gracelesse Traitor to her louing Lord?I am asham'd that women are so simple,To offer warre, where they should kneele for peace:Or seeke for rule, supremacie, and sway,When they are bound to serue, loue, and obay.Why are our bodies soft, and weake, and smooth,Vnapt to toyle and trouble in the world,But that our soft conditions, and our harts,Should well agree with our externall parts?Come, come, you froward and vnable wormes,My minde hath bin as bigge as one of yours,My heart as great, my reason haplie more,To bandie word for word, and frowne for frowne;But now I see our Launces are but strawes:Our strength as weake, our weakenesse past compare,That seeming to be most, which we indeed least are.Then vale your stomackes, for it is no boote,And place your hands below your husbands foote:In token of which dutie, if he please,My hand is readie, may it do him ease. Pet. Why there's a wench: Come on, and kisse mee Kate. Luc. Well go thy waies olde Lad for thou shalt ha't. Vin. Tis a good hearing, when children are toward. Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward, Pet. Come Kate, wee'le to bed,We three are married, but you two are sped.'Twas I wonne the wager, though you hit the white,And being a winner, God giue you good night. Exit Petruchio Horten. Now goe thy wayes, thou hast tam'd a curstShrow. Luc. Tis a wonder, by your leaue, she wil be tam'd so.
FINIS. ALL'S Well, that Ends Well.
Actus primus. Scoena Prima. Enter yong Bertram Count of Rossillion, his Mother, andHelena, Lord Lafew, all in blacke. Mother. In deliuering my sonne from me, I burie a se-cond husband. Ros. And I in going Madam, weep ore myfathers death anew; but I must attend his maie-sties command, to whom I am now in Ward, euermorein subiection. Laf. You shall find of the King a husband Madame,you sir a father. He that so generally is at all times good,must of necessitie hold his vertue to you, whose worthi-nesse would stirre it vp where it wanted rather then lackit where there is such abundance. Mo. What hope is there of his Maiesties amendment? Laf. He hath abandon'd his Phisitions Madam, vn-der whose practises he hath persecuted time with hope,and finds no other aduantage in the processe, but onelythe loosing of hope by time. Mo. This yong Gentlewoman had a father, O that had, how sad a passage tis, whose skill was almost asgreat as his honestie, had it stretch'd so far, would hauemade nature immortall, and death should haue play forlacke of worke. Would for the Kings sake hee were li-uing, I thinke it would be the death of the Kings disease. Laf. How call'd you the man you speake of Madam? Mo. He was famous sir in his profession, and it washis great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. Laf. He was excellent indeed Madam, the King verylatelie spoke of him admiringly, and mourningly: heewas skilfull enough to haue liu'd stil, if knowledge couldbe set vp against mortallitie. Ros. What is it (my good Lord) the King languishesof? Laf. A Fistula my Lord. Ros. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was this Gen-tlewoman the Daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Mo. His sole childe my Lord, and bequeathed to myouer looking. I haue those hopes of her good, that hereducation promises her dispositions shee inherits, whichmakes faire gifts fairer: for where an vncleane mind car-ries vertuous qualities, there commendations go withpitty, they are vertues and traitors too: in her they arethe better for their simplenesse; she deriues her honestie,and atcheeues her goodnesse. Lafew. Your commendations Madam get from herteares. Mo. 'Tis the best brine a Maiden can season her praisein. The remembrance of her father neuer approches herheart, but the tirrany of her sorrowes takes all liuelihoodfrom her cheeke. No more of this Helena, go too, nomore least it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, thento haue—— Hell. I doe affect a sorrow indeed, but I haue it too. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,excessiue greefe the enemie to the liuing. Mo. If the liuing be enemie to the greefe, the excessemakes it soone mortall. Ros. Maddam I desire your holie wishes. Laf. How vnderstand we that? Mo. Be thou blest Bertrame, and succeed thy fatherIn manners as in shape: thy blood and vertueContend for Empire in thee, and thy goodnesseShare with thy birth-right. Loue all, trust a few,Doe wrong to none: be able for thine enemieRather in power then vse: and keepe thy friendVnder thy owne lifes key. Be checkt for silence,But neuer tax'd for speech. What heauen more wil,That thee may furnish, and my prayers plucke downe,Fall on thy head. Farwell my Lord,'Tis an vnseason'd Courtier, good my LordAduise him. Laf. He cannot want the bestThat shall attend his loue. Mo. Heauen blesse him: Farwell Bertram. Ro. The best wishes that can be forg'd in your thoghtsbe seruants to you: be comfortable to my mother, yourMistris, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell prettie Lady, you must hold the cre-dit of your father. Hell. O were that all, I thinke not on my father,And these great teares grace his remembrance moreThen those I shed for him. What was he like?I haue forgott him. My imaginationCarries no fauour in't but Bertrams. I am vndone, there is no liuing, none,If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one,That I should loue a bright particuler starre,And think to wed it, he is so aboue meIn his bright radience and colaterall light, Must I be comforted, not in his sphere;Th' ambition in my loue thus plagues it selfe:The hind that would be mated by the LionMust die for loue. 'Twas prettie, though a plagueTo see him euerie houre to sit and drawHis arched browes, his hawking eie, his curlesIn our hearts table: heart too capeableOf euerie line and tricke of his sweet fauour.But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancieMust sanctifie his Reliques. Who comes heere? Enter Parrolles. One that goes with him: I loue him for his sake,And yet I know him a notorious Liar,Thinke him a great way foole, solie a coward,Yet these fixt euils sit so fit in him,That they take place, when Vertues steely bonesLookes bleake i'th cold wind: withall, full ofte we seeCold wisedome waighting on superfluous follie. Par. Saue you faire Queene. Hel. And you Monarch. Par. No. Hel. And no. Par. Are you meditating on virginitie? Hel. I: you haue some staine of souldier in you: Letmee aske you a question. Man is enemie to virginitie,how may we barracado it against him? Par. Keepe him out. Hel. But he assailes, and our virginitie though vali-ant, in the defence yet is weak: vnfold to vs some war-likeresistance. Par. There is none: Man setting downe before you,will vndermine you, and blow you vp. Hel. Blesse our poore Virginity from vnderminersand blowers vp. Is there no Military policy how Vir-gins might blow vp men? Par. Virginity beeing blowne downe, Man willquicklier be blowne vp: marry in blowing him downeagaine, with the breach your selues made, you lose yourCitty. It is not politicke, in the Common-wealth ofNature, to preserue virginity. Losse of Virginitie, isrationall encrease, and there was neuer Virgin goe, tillvirginitie was first lost. That you were made of, is met-tall to make Virgins. Virginitie, by beeing once lost,may be ten times found: by being euer kept, it is euerlost: 'tis too cold a companion: Away with't. Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I diea Virgin. Par. There's little can bee saide in't, 'tis against therule of Nature. To speake on the part of virginitie, isto accuse your Mothers; which is most infallible diso-bedience. He that hangs himselfe is a Virgin: Virgini-tie murthers it selfe, and should be buried in highwayesout of all sanctified limit, as a desperate Offendresse a-gainst Nature. Virginitie breedes mites, much like aCheese, consumes it selfe to the very payring, and sodies with feeding his owne stomacke. Besides, Virgini-tie is peeuish, proud, ydle, made of selfe-loue, whichis the most inhibited sinne in the Cannon. Keepe it not,you cannot choose but loose by't. Out with't: withinten yeare it will make it selfe two, which is a goodly in-crease, and the principall it selfe not much the worse.Away with't. Hel. How might one do sir, to loose it to her owneliking? Par. Let mee see. Marry ill, to like him that ne'reit likes. 'Tis a commodity wil lose the glosse with lying:The longer kept, the lesse worth: Off with't while 'tisvendible. Answer the time of request, Virginitie likean olde Courtier, weares her cap out of fashion, richlysuted, but vnsuteable, iust like the brooch & the tooth-pick,which were not now: your Date is better in yourPye and your Porredge, then in your cheeke: and yourvirginity, your old virginity, is like one of our Frenchwither'd peares, it lookes ill, it eates drily, marry 'tis awither'd peare: it was formerly better, marry yet 'tis awither'd peare: Will you any thing with it? Hel. Not my virginity yet:There shall your Master haue a thousand loues,A Mother, and a Mistresse, and a friend,A Phenix, Captaine, and an enemy,A guide, a Goddesse, and a Soueraigne,A Counsellor, a Traitoresse, and a Deare:His humble ambition, proud humility:His iarring, concord: and his discord, dulcet:His faith, his sweet disaster: with a worldOf pretty fond adoptious christendomesThat blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he:I know not what he shall, God send him well,The Courts a learning place, and he is one. Par. What one ifaith? Hel. That I wish well, 'tis pitty. Par. What's pitty? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't,Which might be felt, that we the poorer borne,Whose baser starres do shut vs vp in wishes,Might with effects of them follow our friends,And shew what we alone must thinke, which neuerReturnes vs thankes. Enter Page. Pag. Monsieur Parrolles, My Lord cals for you. Par. Little Hellen farewell, if I can remember thee, Iwill thinke of thee at Court. Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were borne vnder acharitable starre. Par. Vnder Mars I. Hel. I especially thinke, vnder Mars. Par. Why vnder Mars? Hel. The warres hath so kept you vnder, that youmust needes be borne vnder Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde I thinke rather. Par. Why thinke you so? Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. Par. That's for aduantage. Hel. So is running away,When feare proposes the safetie:But the composition that your valour and feare makesin you, is a vertue of a good wing, and I like theweare well. Paroll. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answerethee acutely: I will returne perfect Courtier, in thewhich my instruction shall serue to naturalize thee, sothou wilt be capeable of a Courtiers councell, and vn-derstand what aduice shall thrust vppon thee, else thoudiest in thine vnthankfulnes, and thine ignorance makesthee away, farewell: When thou hast leysure, say thypraiers: when thou hast none, remember thy Friends: Get thee a good husband, and vse him as he vses thee:So farewell. Hel. Our remedies oft in our selues do lye,Which we ascribe to heauen: the fated skyeGiues vs free scope, onely doth backward pullOur slow designes, when we our selues are dull.What power is it, which mounts my loue so hye,That makes me see, and cannot feede mine eye?The mightiest space in fortune, Nature bringsTo ioyne like, likes; and kisse like natiue things.Impossible be strange attempts to thoseThat weigh their paines in sence, and do supposeWhat hath beene, cannot be. Who euer stroueTo shew her merit, that did misse her loue?(The Kings disease) my proiect may deceiue me,But my intents are fixt, and will not leaue me. Exit Flourish Cornets.Enter the King of France with Letters, anddiuers Attendants. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' eares,Haue fought with equall fortune, and continueA brauing warre. 1.Lo.G. So tis reported sir. King. Nay tis most credible, we heere receiue it,A certaintie vouch'd from our Cosin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will moue vsFor speedie ayde: wherein our deerest friendPreiudicates the businesse, and would seemeTo haue vs make deniall. 1.Lo.G. His loue and wisedomeApprou'd so to your Maiesty, may pleadeFor amplest credence. King. He hath arm'd our answer,And Florence is deni'de before he comes:Yet for our Gentlemen that meane to seeThe Tuscan seruice, freely haue they leaueTo stand on either part. 2.Lo.E. It well may serueA nursserie to our Gentrie, who are sickeFor breathing, and exploit. King. What's he comes heere. Enter Bertram, Lafew, and Parolles. 1.Lor.G. It is the Count Rosignoll my good Lord,Yong Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy Fathers face,Franke Nature rather curious then in hast Hath well compos'd thee: Thy Fathers morall partsMaist thou inherit too: Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thankes and dutie are your Maiesties. Kin. I would I had that corporall soundnesse now,As when thy father, and my selfe, in friendshipFirst tride our souldiership: he did looke farreInto the seruice of the time, and wasDiscipled of the brauest. He lasted long,But on vs both did haggish Age steale on,And wore vs out of act: It much repaires meTo talke of your good father; in his youthHe had the wit, which I can well obserueTo day in our yong Lords: but they may iestTill their owne scorne returne to them vnnotedEre they can hide their leuitie in honour:So like a Courtier, contempt nor bitternesseWere in his pride, or sharpnesse; if they were,His equall had awak'd them, and his honourClocke to it selfe, knew the true minute whenException bid him speake: and at this timeHis tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him,He vs'd as creatures of another place,And bow'd his eminent top to their low rankes,Making them proud of his humilitie,In their poore praise he humbled: Such a manMight be a copie to these yonger times;Which followed well, would demonstrate them nowBut goers backward. Ber. His good remembrance sirLies richer in your thoughts, then on his tombe:So in approofe liues not his Epitaph,As in your royall speech. King. Would I were with him he would alwaies say,(Me thinkes I heare him now) his plausiue wordsHe scatter'd not in eares, but grafted themTo grow there and to beare: Let me not liue,This his good melancholly oft beganOn the Catastrophe and heele of pastimeWhen it was out: Let me not liue (quoth hee)After my flame lackes oyle, to be the snuffeOf yonger spirits, whose apprehensiue sensesAll but new things disdaine; whose iudgements areMeere fathers of their garments: whose constanciesExpire before their fashions: this he wish'd.I after him, do after him wish too:Since I nor wax nor honie can bring home,I quickly were dissolued from my hiueTo giue some Labourers roome. 2.L.E. You'r loued Sir,They that least lend it you, shall lacke you first. Kin. I fill a place I know't: how long ist CountSince the Physitian at your fathers died?He was much fam'd. Ber. Some six moneths since my Lord. Kin. If he were liuing, I would try him yet.Lend me an arme: the rest haue worne me outWith seuerall applications: Nature and sicknesseDebate it at their leisure. Welcome Count,My sonne's no deerer. Ber. Thanke your Maiesty. Exit Flourish. Enter Countesse, Steward, and Clowne. Coun. I will now heare, what say you of this gentle-woman. Ste. Maddam the care I haue had to euen your con-tent, I wish might be found in the Kalender of my pastendeuours, for then we wound our Modestie, and makefoule the clearnesse of our deseruings, when of our selueswe publish them. Coun. What doe's this knaue heere? Get you gonesirra: the complaints I haue heard of you I do not all be-leeue, 'tis my slownesse that I doe not: For I know youlacke not folly to commit them, & haue abilitie enoughto make such knaueries yours. Clo. 'Tis not vnknown to you Madam, I am a poorefellow. Coun. Well sir. Clo. No maddam,'Tis not so well that I am poore, though manie of the rich are damn'd, but if I may haue your Ladishipsgood will to goe to the world, Isbell the woman and Iwill doe as we may. Coun. Wilt thou needes be a begger? Clo. I doe beg your good will in this case. Cou. In what case? Clo. In Isbels case and mine owne: seruice is no heri-tage, and I thinke I shall neuer haue the blessing of God,till I haue issue a my bodie: for they say barnes are bles-sings. Cou. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marrie? Clo. My poore bodie Madam requires it, I am driuenon by the flesh, and hee must needes goe that the diuelldriues. Cou. Is this all your worships reason? Clo. Faith Madam I haue other holie reasons, such asthey are. Cou. May the world know them? Clo. I haue beene Madam a wicked creature, as youand all flesh and blood are, and indeede I doe marrie thatI may repent. Cou. Thy marriage sooner then thy wickednesse. Clo. I am out a friends Madam, and I hope to hauefriends for my wiues sake. Cou. Such friends are thine enemies knaue. Clo. Y'are shallow Madam in great friends, for theknaues come to doe that for me which I am a wearie of:he that eres my Land, spares my teame, and giues meeleaue to Inne the crop: if I be his cuckold hee's mydrudge; he that comforts my wife, is the cherisher ofmy flesh and blood; hee that cherishes my flesh andblood, loues my flesh and blood; he that loues my fleshand blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is myfriend: if men could be contented to be what they are,there were no feare in marriage, for yong Charbon thePuritan, and old Poysam the Papist, how somere theirhearts are seuer'd in Religion, their heads are both one,they may ioule horns together like any Deare i'th Herd. Cou. Wilt thou euer be a foule mouth'd and calum-nious knaue? Clo. A Prophet I Madam, and I speake the truth thenext waie, for I the Ballad will repeate, which men fulltrue shall finde, your marriage comes by destinie, yourCuckow sings by kinde. Cou. Get you gone sir, Ile talke with you more anon. Stew. May it please you Madam, that hee bid Hellen come to you, of her I am to speake. Cou. Sirra tell my gentlewoman I would speake withher, Hellen I meane. Clo. Was this faire face the cause, quoth she,Why the Grecians sacked Troy, Fond done, done, fond was this King Priams ioy,With that she sighed as she stood, bis And gaue this sentence then, among nine bad if one begood, among nine bad if one be good, there's yet onegood in ten. Cou. What, one good in tenne? you corrupt the songsirra. Clo. One good woman in ten Madam, which is a pu-rifying ath' song: would God would serue the world soall the yeere, weed finde no fault with the tithe womanif I were the Parson, one in ten quoth a? and wee mighthaue a good woman borne but ore euerie blazing starre,or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the Lotterie well, aman may draw his heart out ere a plucke one. Cou. Youle begone sir knaue, and doe as I commandyou? Clo. That man should be at womans command, andyet no hurt done, though honestie be no Puritan, yetit will doe no hurt, it will weare the Surplis of humilitieouer the blacke-Gowne of a bigge heart: I am go-ing forsooth, the businesse is for Helen to come hither. Exit. Cou. Well now. Stew. I know Madam you loue your Gentlewomanintirely. Cou. Faith I doe: her Father bequeath'd her to mee,and she her selfe without other aduantage, may lawful-lie make title to as much loue as shee findes, there ismore owing her then is paid, and more shall be paidher then sheele demand. Stew. Madam, I was verie late more neere her thenI thinke shee wisht mee, alone shee was, and didcommunicate to her selfe her owne words to herowne eares, shee thought, I dare vowe for her, theytoucht not anie stranger sence, her matter was, sheeloued your Sonne; Fortune shee said was no god-desse, that had put such difference betwixt their twoestates: Loue no god, that would not extend his might onelie, where qualities were leuell, Queene of Vir-gins, that would suffer her poore Knight surpris'dwithout rescue in the first assault or ransome after-ward: This shee deliuer'd in the most bitter touch ofsorrow that ere I heard Virgin exclaime in, which I heldmy dutie speedily to acquaint you withall, sithence inthe losse that may happen, it concernes you somethingto know it. Cou. You haue discharg'd this honestlie, keepe itto your selfe, manie likelihoods inform'd mee of thisbefore, which hung so tottring in the ballance, thatI could neither beleeue nor misdoubt: praie youleaue mee, stall this in your bosome, and I thankeyou for your honest care: I will speake with you fur-ther anon. Exit Steward. Enter Hellen. Old.Cou. Euen so it was with me when I was yong:If euer we are natures, these are ours, this thorneDoth to our Rose of youth rightlie belongOur bloud to vs, this to our blood is borne,It is the show, and seale of natures truth,Where loues strong passion is imprest in youth,By our remembrances of daies forgon,Such were our faults, or then we thought them none,Her eie is sicke on't, I obserue her now. Hell. What is your pleasure Madam? Ol.Cou. You know Hellen I am a mother to you. Hell. Mine honorable Mistris. Ol.Cou. Nay a mother, why not a mother? when Ised a motherMe thought you saw a serpent, what's in mother,That you start at it? I say I am your mother,And put you in the Catalogue of thoseThat were enwombed mine, 'tis often seeneAdoption striues with nature, and choise breedesA natiue slip to vs from forraine seedes:You nere opprest me with a mothers groane,Yet I expresse to you a mothers care,(Gods mercie maiden) dos it curd thy bloodTo say I am thy mother? what's the matter,That this distempered messenger of wet? The manie colour'd Iris rounds thine eye?—— Why, that you are my daughter? Hell. That I am not. Old.Cou. I say I am your Mother. Hell. Pardon Madam.The Count Rosillion cannot be my brother:I am from humble, he from honored name:No note vpon my Parents, his all noble,My Master, my deere Lord he is, and IHis seruant liue, and will his vassall die:He must not be my brother. Ol.Cou. Nor I your Mother. Hell. You are my mother Madam, would you wereSo that my Lord your sonne were not my brother,Indeede my mother, or were you both our mothers,I care no more for, then I doe for heauen,So I were not his sister, cant no other,But I your daughter, he must be my brother. Old.Cou. Yes Hellen, you might be my daughter in law,God shield you meane it not, daughter and motherSo striue vpon your pulse; what pale agen?My feare hath catcht your fondnesse! now I seeThe mistrie of your louelinesse, and findeYour salt teares head, now to all sence 'tis grosse:You loue my sonne, inuention is asham'dAgainst the proclamation of thy passionTo say thou doost not: therefore tell me true,But tell me then 'tis so, for looke, thy cheekesConfesse it 'ton tooth to th' other, and thine eiesSee it so grosely showne in thy behauiours,That in their kinde they speake it, onely sinneAnd hellish obstinacie tye thy tongueThat truth should be suspected, speake, ist so?If it be so, you haue wound a goodly clewe:If it be not, forsweare't how ere I charge thee,As heauen shall worke in me for thine auaileTo tell me truelie. Hell. Good Madam pardon me. Cou. Do you loue my Sonne? Hell. Your pardon noble Mistris. Cou. Loue you my Sonne? Hell. Doe not you loue him Madam? Cou. Goe not about; my loue hath in't a bondWhereof the world takes note: Come, come, disclose:The state of your affection, for your passionsHaue to the full appeach'd. Hell. Then I confesseHere on my knee, before high heauen and you,That before you, and next vnto high heauen, I loue yourSonne:My friends were poore but honest, so's my loue:Be not offended, for it hurts not himThat he is lou'd of me; I follow him notBy any token of presumptuous suite,Nor would I haue him, till I doe deserue him,Yet neuer know how that desert should be:I know I loue in vaine, striue against hope:Yet in this captious, and intemible Siue.I still poure in the waters of my loueAnd lacke not to loose still; thus Indian likeReligious in mine error, I adoreThe Sunne that lookes vpon his worshipper,But knowes of him no more. My deerest Madam,Let not your hate incounter with my loue,For louing where you doe; but if your selfe,Whose aged honor cites a vertuous youth,Did euer, in so true a flame of liking,Wish chastly, and loue dearely, that your Dian Was both her selfe and loue, O then giue pittieTo her whose state is such, that cannot chooseBut lend and giue where she is sure to loose;That seekes not to finde that, her search implies,But riddle like, liues sweetely where she dies. Cou. Had you not lately an intent, speake truely,To goe to Paris? Hell. Madam I had. Cou. Wherefore? tell true. Hell. I will tell truth, by grace it selfe I sweare:You know my Father left me some prescriptionsOf rare and prou'd effects, such as his readingAnd manifest experience, had collectedFor generall soueraigntie: and that he wil'd meIn heedefull'st reseruation to bestow them,As notes, whose faculties inclusiue were,More then they were in note: Amongst the rest,There is a remedie, approu'd, set downe,To cure the desperate languishings whereofThe King is render'd lost. Cou. This was your motiue for Paris, was it, speake? Hell. My Lord, your sonne, made me to think of this;Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King,Had from the conuersation of my thoughts,Happily beene absent then. Cou. But thinke you Hellen, If you should tender your supposed aide,He would receiue it? He and his PhisitionsAre of a minde, he, that they cannot helpe him:They, that they cannot helpe, how shall they creditA poore vnlearned Virgin, when the SchoolesEmbowel'd of their doctrine, haue left offThe danger to it selfe. Hell. There's something in'tMore then my Fathers skill, which was the great'stOf his profession, that his good receipt,Shall for my legacie be sanctifiedByth' luckiest stars in heauen, and would your honorBut giue me leaue to trie successe, I'de ventureThe well lost life of mine, on his Graces cure,By such a day, an houre. Cou. Doo'st thou beleeue't? Hell. I Madam knowingly. Cou. Why Hellen thou shalt haue my leaue and loue,Meanes and attendants, and my louing greetingsTo those of mine in Court, Ile staie at homeAnd praie Gods blessing into thy attempt:Begon to morrow, and be sure of this,What I can helpe thee to, thou shalt not misse. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Enter the King with diuers yong Lords, taking leaue forthe Florentine warre: Count, Rosse, andParrolles. Florish Cornets. King. Farewell yong Lords, these warlike principlesDoe not throw from you, and you my Lords farewell:Share the aduice betwixt you, if both gaine, allThe guift doth stretch it selfe as 'tis receiu'd,And is enough for both. Lord.G. 'Tis our hope sir, After well entred souldiers, to returneAnd finde your grace in health. King. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heartWill not confesse he owes the malladyThat doth my life besiege: farwell yong Lords,Whether I liue or die, be you the sonnesOf worthy French men: let higher Italy(Those bated that inherit but the fallOf the last Monarchy) see that you comeNot to wooe honour, but to wed it, whenThe brauest questant shrinkes: finde what you seeke,That fame may cry you loud: I say farewell. L.G. Health at your bidding serue your Maiesty. King. Those girles of Italy, take heed of them,They say our French, lacke language to denyIf they demand: beware of being CaptiuesBefore you serue. Bo. Our hearts receiue your warnings. King. Farewell, come hether to me. 1.Lo.G. Oh my sweet Lord that you wil stay behind vs. Parr. 'Tis not his fault the spark. 2.Lo.E. Oh 'tis braue warres. Parr. Most admirable, I haue seene those warres. Rossill. I am commanded here, and kept a coyle with,Too young, and the next yeere, and 'tis too early. Parr. And thy minde stand too't boy,Steale away brauely. Rossill. I shal stay here the for-horse to a smocke,Creeking my shooes on the plaine Masonry,Till honour be bought vp, and no sword worneBut one to dance with: by heauen, Ile steale away. 1.Lo.G. There's honour in the theft. Parr. Commit it Count. 2.Lo.E. I am your accessary, and so farewell. Ros. I grow to you, & our parting is a tortur'd body. 1.Lo.G. Farewell Captaine. 2.Lo.E. Sweet Mounsier Parolles. Parr. Noble Heroes; my sword and yours are kinne,good sparkes and lustrous, a word good mettals. Youshall finde in the Regiment of the Spinij, one Captaine Spurio his sicatrice, with an Embleme of warre heere onhis sinister cheeke; it was this very sword entrench'd it:say to him I liue, and obserue his reports for me. Lo.G. We shall noble Captaine. Parr. Mars doate on you for his nouices, what willye doe? Ross. Stay the King. Parr. Vse a more spacious ceremonie to the NobleLords, you haue restrain'd your selfe within the List oftoo cold an adieu: be more expressiue to them; for theyweare themselues in the cap of the time, there do mustertrue gate; eat, speake, and moue vnder the influence ofthe most receiu'd starre, and though the deuill leade themeasure, such are to be followed: after them, and take amore dilated farewell. Ross. And I will doe so. Parr. Worthy fellowes, and like to prooue most si-newie sword-men. Exeunt. Enter Lafew. L.Laf. Pardon my Lord for mee and for my tidings. King. Ile see thee to stand vp. L.Laf. Then heres a man stands that has brought his pardon,I would you had kneel'd my Lord to aske me mercy,And that at my bidding you could so stand vp. King. I would I had, so I had broke thy pateAnd askt thee mercy for't. Laf. Goodfaith a-crosse, but my good Lord 'tis thus,Will you be cur'd of your infirmitie? King. No. Laf. O will you eat no grapes my royall foxe?Yes but you will, my noble grapes, and ifMy royall foxe could reach them: I haue seen a medicineThat's able to breath life into a stone,Quicken a rocke, and make you dance CanariWith sprightly fire and motion, whose simple touchIs powerfull to arayse King Pippen, nayTo giue great Charlemaine a pen in's handAnd write to her a loue-line. King. What her is this? Laf. Why doctor she: my Lord, there's one arriu'd,If you will see her: now by my faith and honour,If seriously I may conuay my thoughtsIn this my light deliuerance, I haue spokeWith one, that in her sexe, her yeeres, profession,Wisedome and constancy, hath amaz'd mee moreThen I dare blame my weakenesse: will you see her?For that is her demand, and know her businesse?That done, laugh well at me. King. Now good Lafew, Bring in the admiration, that we with theeMay spend our wonder too, or take off thineBy wondring how thou tookst it. Laf. Nay, Ile fit you,And not be all day neither. King. Thus he his speciall nothing euer prologues. Laf. Nay, come your waies. Enter Hellen. King. This haste hath wings indeed. Laf. Nay, come your waies,This is his Maiestie, say your minde to him,A Traitor you doe looke like, but such traitorsHis Maiesty seldome feares, I am Cresseds Vncle,That dare leaue two together, far you well. Exit. King. Now faire one, do's your busines follow vs? Hel. I my good Lord, Gerard de Narbon was my father,In what he did professe, well found. King. I knew him. Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards him,Knowing him is enough: on's bed of death,Many receits he gaue me, chieflie one,Which as the dearest issue of his practiceAnd of his olde experience, th' onlie darling,He bad me store vp, as a triple eye,Safer then mine owne two: more deare I haue so,And hearing your high Maiestie is touchtWith that malignant cause, wherein the honourOf my deare fathers gift, stands cheefe in power,I come to tender it, and my appliance,With all bound humblenesse. King. We thanke you maiden,But may not be so credulous of cure,When our most learned Doctors leaue vs, andThe congregated Colledge haue concluded,That labouring Art can neuer ransome natureFrom her inaydible estate: I say we must notSo staine our iudgement, or corrupt our hope,To prostitute our past-cure malladieTo empericks, or to disseuer soOur great selfe and our credit, to esteemeA sencelesse helpe, when helpe past sence we deeme. Hell. My dutie then shall pay me for my paines:I will no more enforce mine office on you,Humbly intreating from your royall thoughts,A modest one to beare me backe againe. King. I cannot giue thee lesse to be cal'd gratefull:Thou thoughtst to helpe me, and such thankes I giue,As one neere death to those that wish him liue:But what at full I know, thou knowst no part,I knowing all my perill, thou no Art. Hell. What I can doe, can doe no hurt to try,Since you set vp your rest 'gainst remedie:He that of greatest workes is finisher,Oft does them by the weakest minister:So holy Writ, in babes hath iudgement showne,When Iudges haue bin babes; great flouds haue flowneFrom simple sources: and great Seas haue driedWhen Miracles haue by the great'st beene denied.Oft expectation failes, and most oft thereWhere most it promises: and oft it hits,Where hope is coldest, and despaire most shifts. King. I must not heare thee, fare thee wel kind maide,Thy paines not vs'd, must by thy selfe be paid,Proffers not tooke, reape thanks for their reward. Hel. Inspired Merit so by breath is bard,It is not so with him that all things knowesAs 'tis with vs, that square our guesse by showes:But most it is presumption in vs, whenThe help of heauen we count the act of men.Deare sir, to my endeauors giue consent,Of heauen, not me, make an experiment.I am not an Imposture, that proclaimeMy selfe against the leuill of mine aime,But know I thinke, and thinke I know most sure,My Art is not past power, nor you past cure. King. Art thou so confident? Within what spaceHop'st thou my cure? Hel. The greatest grace lending grace,Ere twice the horses of the sunne shall bringTheir fiery torcher his diurnall ring,Ere twice in murke and occidentall dampeMoist Hesperus hath quench'd her sleepy Lampe:Or foure and twenty times the Pylots glasseHath told the theeuish minutes, how they passe:What is infirme, from your sound parts shall flie,Health shall liue free, and sickenesse freely dye. King. Vpon thy certainty and confidence,What dar'st thou venter? Hell. Taxe of impudence,A strumpets boldnesse, a divulged shameTraduc'd by odious ballads: my maidens nameSeard otherwise, ne worse of worst extendedWith vildest torture, let my life be ended. Kin. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speakHis powerfull sound, within an organ weake:And what impossibility would slayIn common sence, sence saues another way:Thy life is deere, for all that life can rateWorth name of life, in thee hath estimate:Youth, beauty, wisedome, courage, allThat happines and prime, can happy call:Thou this to hazard, needs must intimateSkill infinite, or monstrous desperate,Sweet practiser, thy Physicke I will try,That ministers thine owne death if I die. Hel. If I breake time, or flinch in propertyOf what I spoke, vnpittied let me die,And well deseru'd: not helping, death's my fee,But if I helpe, what doe you promise me. Kin. Make thy demand. Hel. But will you make it euen? Kin. I by my Scepter, and my hopes of helpe. Hel. Then shalt thou giue me with thy kingly handWhat husband in thy power I will command:Exempted be from me the arroganceTo choose from forth the royall bloud of France,My low and humble name to propagateWith any branch or image of thy state:But such a one thy vassall, whom I knowIs free for me to aske, thee to bestow. Kin. Heere is my hand, the premises obseru'd,Thy will by my performance shall be seru'd:So make the choice of thy owne time, for IThy resolv'd Patient, on thee still relye:More should I question thee, and more I must,Though more to know, could not be more to trust:From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, but restVnquestion'd welcome, and vndoubted blest.Giue me some helpe heere hoa, if thou proceed,As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. Florish. Exit. Enter Countesse and Clowne. Lady. Come on sir, I shall now put you to the heightof your breeding. Clown. I will shew my selfe highly fed, and lowlytaught, I know my businesse is but to the Court. Lady. To the Court, why what place make you spe-ciall, when you put off that with such contempt, but tothe Court? Clo. Truly Madam, if God haue lent a man any man-ners, hee may easilie put it off at Court: hee that cannotmake a legge, put off's cap, kisse his hand, and say no-thing, has neither legge, hands, lippe, nor cap; and in-deed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for theCourt, but for me, I haue an answere will serue all men. Lady. Marry that's a bountifull answere that fits allquestions. Clo. It is like a Barbers chaire that fits all buttockes,the pin buttocke, the quatch-buttocke, the brawn but-tocke, or any buttocke. Lady. Will your answere serue fit to all questions? Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an Attur-ney, as your French Crowne for your taffety punke, as Tibs rush for Toms fore-finger, as a pancake for Shroue-tuesday,a Morris for May-day, as the naile to his hole,the Cuckold to his horne, as a scolding queane to awrangling knaue, as the Nuns lip to the Friers mouth,nay as the pudding to his skin. Lady. Haue you, I say, an answere of such fitnesse forall questions? Clo. From below your Duke, to beneath your Con-stable, it will fit any question. Lady. It must be an answere of most monstrous size,that must fit all demands. Clo. But a triflle neither in good faith, if the learnedshould speake truth of it: heere it is, and all that belongsto't. Aske mee if I am a Courtier, it shall doe you noharme to learne. Lady. To be young againe if we could: I will bee afoole in question, hoping to bee the wiser by your an-swer. La. I pray you sir, are you a Courtier? Clo. O Lord sir theres a simple putting off: more,more, a hundred of them. La. Sir I am a poore freind of yours, that loues you. Clo. O Lord sir, thicke, thicke, spare not me. La. I thinke sir, you can eate none of this homelymeate. Clo. O Lord sir; nay put me too't, I warrant you. La. You were lately whipt sir as I thinke. Clo. O Lord sir, spare not me. La. Doe you crie O Lord sir at your whipping, andspare not me? Indeed your O Lord sir, is very sequentto your whipping: you would answere very well to awhipping if you were but bound too't. Clo. I nere had worse lucke in my life in my O Lordsir: I see things may serue long, but not serue euer. La. I play the noble huswife with the time, to enter-taine it so merrily with a foole. Clo. O Lord sir, why there't serues well agen. La. And end sir to your businesse: giue Hellen this,And vrge her to a present answer backe,Commend me to my kinsmen, and my sonne,This is not much. Clo. Not much commendation to them. La. Not much imployement for you, you vnder-stand me. Clo. Most fruitfully, I am there, before my legges. La. Hast you agen. Exeunt Enter Count, Lafew, and Parolles. Ol.Laf. They say miracles are past, and we haue ourPhilosophicall persons, to make moderne and familiarthings supernaturall and causelesse. Hence is it, that wemake trifles of terrours, ensconcing our selues into see-ming knowledge, when we should submit our selues toan vnknowne feare. Par. Why 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, thathath shot out in our latter times. Ros. And so 'tis. Ol.Laf. To be relinquisht of the Artists. Par. So I say both of Galen and Paracelsus. Ol.Laf. Of all the learned and authenticke fellowes. Par. Right so I say. Ol.Laf. That gaue him out incureable. Par. Why there 'tis, so say I too. Ol.Laf. Not to be help'd. Par. Right, as 'twere a man assur'd of a—— Ol.Laf. Vncertaine life, and sure death. Par. Iust, you say well: so would I haue said. Ol.Laf. I may truly say, it is a noueltie to the world. Par. It is indeede if you will haue it in shewing, youshall reade it in what do ye call there. Ol.Laf. A shewing of a heauenly effect in an earth-ly Actor. Par. That's it, I would haue said, the verie same. Ol.Laf. Why your Dolphin is not lustier: fore meeI speake in respect—— Par. Nay 'tis strange, 'tis very straunge, that is thebreefe and the tedious of it, and he's of a most facineri-ous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the—— Ol.Laf. Very hand of heauen. Par. I, so I say. Ol.Laf. In a most weake—— Par. And debile minister great power, great tran-cendence, which should indeede giue vs a further vse tobe made, then alone the recou'ry of the king, as to bee Old Laf. Generally thankfull. Enter King, Hellen, and attendants. Par. I would haue said it, you say well: heere comesthe King. Ol.Laf. Lustique, as the Dutchman saies: Ile like amaide the Better whil'st I haue a tooth in my head: whyhe's able to leade her a Carranto. Par. Mor du vinager, is not this Helen? Ol.Laf. Fore God I thinke so. King. Goe call before mee all the Lords in Court,Sit my preseruer by thy patients side,And with this healthfull hand whose banisht senceThou hast repeal'd, a second time receyueThe confirmation of my promis'd guift,Which but attends thy naming. Enter 3 or 4 Lords. Faire Maide send forth thine eye, this youthfull parcellOf Noble Batchellors, stand at my bestowing,Ore whom both Soueraigne power, and fathers voiceI haue to vse; thy franke election make,Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. Hel. To each of you, one faire and vertuous Mistris;Fall when loue please, marry to each but one. Old Laf. I'de giue bay curtall, and his furnitureMy mouth no more were broken then these boyes,And writ as little beard. King. Peruse them well:Not one of those, but had a Noble father. She addresses her to a Lord. Hel. Gentlemen, heauen hath through me, restor'dthe king to health. All. We vnderstand it, and thanke heauen for you. Hel. I am a simple Maide, and therein wealthiestThat I protest, I simply am a Maide:Please it your Maiestie, I haue done already:The blushes in my cheekes thus whisper mee,We blush that thou shouldst choose, but be refused;Let the white death sit on thy cheeke for euer,Wee'l nere come there againe. King. Make choise and see,Who shuns thy loue, shuns all his loue in mee. Hel. Now Dian from thy Altar do I fly,And to imperiall loue, that God most highDo my sighes streame: Sir, wil you heare my suite? 1.Lo. And grant it. Hel. Thankes sir, all the rest is mute. Ol.Laf. I had rather be in this choise, then throwAmes-ace for my life. Hel. The honor sir that flames in your faire eyes,Before I speake too threatningly replies:Loue make your fortunes twentie times aboueHer that so wishes, and her humble loue. 2.Lo. No better if you please. Hel. My wish receiue,Which great loue grant, and so I take my leaue. Ol.Laf. Do all they denie her? And they were sonsof mine, I'de haue them whip'd, or I would send themto'th Turke to make Eunuches of. Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should take,Ile neuer do you wrong for your owne sake:Blessing vpon your vowes, and in your bedFinde fairer fortune, if you euer wed. Old Laf. These boyes are boyes of Ice, they'le none haue heere: sure they are bastards to the English, theFrench nere got em. La. You are too young, too happie, and too goodTo make your selfe a sonne out of my blood. 4.Lord. Faire one, I thinke not so. Ol.Lord There's one grape yet, I am sure thy fatherdrunke wine. But if thou be'st not an asse, I am a youthof fourteene: I haue knowne thee already. Hel. I dare not say I take you, but I giueMe and my seruice, euer whilst I liueInto your guiding power: This is the man. King. Why then young Bertram take her shee's thywife. Ber. My wife my Leige? I shal beseech your highnesIn such a busines, giue me leaue to vseThe helpe of mine owne eies. King. Know'st thou not Bertram what shee ha'sdone for mee? Ber. Yes my good Lord, but neuer hope to knowwhy I should marrie her. King. Thou know'st shee ha's rais'd me from my sick-ly bed. Ber. But followes it my Lord, to bring me downeMust answer for your raising? I knowe her well:Shee had her breeding at my fathers charge:A poore Physitians daughter my wife? DisdaineRather corrupt me euer. King. Tis onely title thou disdainst in her, the whichI can build vp: strange is it that our bloodsOf colour, waight, and heat, pour'd all together,Would quite confound distinction: yet stands offIn differences so mightie. If she beeAll that is vertuous (saue what thou dislik'st)A poore Phisitians daughter, thou dislik'stOf vertue for the name: but doe not so:From lowest place, whence vertuous things proceed,The place is dignified by th' doers deede.Where great additions swell's, and vertue none,It is a dropsied honour. Good alone,Is good without a name? Vilenesse is so:The propertie by what is is, should go,Not by the title. Shee is young, wise, faire,In these, to Nature shee's immediate heire:And these breed honour: that is honours scorne,Which challenges it selfe as honours borne,And is not like the sire: Honours thriue,When rather from our acts we them deriueThen our fore-goers: the meere words, a slaueDebosh'd on euerie tombe, on euerie graue:A lying Trophee, and as oft is dumbe,Where dust, and damn'd obliuion is the Tombe.Of honour'd bones indeed, what should be saide?If thou canst like this creature, as a maide,I can create the rest: Vertue, and sheeIs her owne dower: Honour and wealth, from mee. Ber. I cannot loue her, nor will striue to doo't. King. Thou wrong'st thy selfe, if thou shold'st striueto choose. Hel. That you are well restor'd my Lord, I'me glad:Let the rest go. King. My Honor's at the stake, which to defeateI must produce my power. Heere, take her hand,Proud scornfull boy, vnworthie this good gift,That dost in vile misprision shackle vpMy loue, and her desert: that canst not dreame,We poizing vs in her defectiue scale,Shall weigh thee to the beame: That wilt not know,It is in Vs to plant thine Honour, whereWe please to haue it grow. Checke thy contempt:Obey Our will, which trauailes in thy good:Beleeue not thy disdaine, but presentlieDo thine owne fortunes that obedient rightWhich both thy dutie owes, and Our power claimes,Or I will throw thee from my care for euerInto the staggers, and the carelesse lapseOf youth and ignorance: both my reuenge and hateLoosing vpon thee, in the name of iustice,Without all termes of pittie. Speake, thine answer. Ber. Pardon my gracious Lord: for I submitMy fancie to your eies, when I considerWhat great creation, and what dole of honourFlies where you bid it: I finde that she which lateWas in my Nobler thoughts, most base: is nowThe praised of the King, who so ennobled,Is as 'twere borne so. King. Take her by the hand,And tell her she is thine: to whom I promiseA counterpoize: If not to thy estate,A ballance more repleat. Ber. I take her hand. Kin. Good fortune, and the fauour of the KingSmile vpon this Contract: whose CeremonieShall seeme expedient on the now borne briefe,And be perform'd to night: the solemne FeastShall more attend vpon the coming space,Expecting absent friends. As thou lou'st her,Thy loue's to me Religious: else, do's erre. Exeunt Parolles and Lafew stay behind, commen-ting of this wedding. Laf. Do you heare Monsieur? A word with you. Par. Your pleasure sir. Laf. Your Lord and Master did well to make his re-cantation. Par. Recantation? My Lord? my Master? Laf. I: Is it not a Language I speake? Par. A most harsh one, and not to bee vnderstoodewithout bloudie succeeding. My Master? Laf. Are you Companion to the Count Rosillion? Par. To any Count, to all Counts: to what is man. Laf. To what is Counts man: Counts maister is ofanother stile. Par. You are too old sir: Let it satisfie you, you aretoo old. Laf. I must tell thee sirrah, I write Man: to whichtitle age cannot bring thee. Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. Laf. I did thinke thee for two ordinaries: to bee aprettie wise fellow, thou didst make tollerable vent ofthy trauell, it might passe: yet the scarffes and the ban-nerets about thee, did manifoldlie disswade me from be-leeuing thee a vessell of too great a burthen. I haue nowfound thee, when I loose thee againe, I care not: yet artthou good for nothing but taking vp, and that th'ourtscarce worth. Par. Hadst thou not the priuiledge of Antiquity vp-on thee. Laf. Do not plundge thy selfe to farre in anger, leastthou hasten thy triall: which if, Lord haue mercie onthee for a hen, so my good window of Lettice fare theewell, thy casement I neede not open, for I look throughthee. Giue me thy hand. Par. My Lord, you giue me most egregious indignity. Laf. I with all my heart, and thou art worthy of it. Par. I haue not my Lord deseru'd it. Laf. Yes good faith, eu'ry dramme of it, and I willnot bate thee a scruple. Par. Well, I shall be wiser. Laf. Eu'n as soone as thou can'st, for thou hast to pullat a smacke a'th contrarie. If euer thou bee'st boundin thy skarfe and beaten, thou shall finde what it is to beproud of thy bondage, I haue a desire to holde my ac-quaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that Imay say in the default, he is a man I know. Par. My Lord you do me most insupportable vexati-on. Laf. I would it were hell paines for thy sake, and mypoore doing eternall: for doing I am past, as I will bythee, in what motion age will giue me leaue. Exit. Par. Well, thou hast a sonne shall take this disgraceoff me; scuruy, old, filthy, scuruy Lord: Well, I mustbe patient, there is no fettering of authority. Ile beatehim (by my life) if I can meete him with any conueni-ence, and he were double and double a Lord. Ile haueno more pittie of his age then I would haue of—— Ilebeate him, and if I could but meet him agen. Enter Lafew. Laf. Sirra, your Lord and masters married, there'snewes for you: you haue a new Mistris. Par. I most vnfainedly beseech your Lordshippe tomake some reseruation of your wrongs. He is my goodLord, whom I serue aboue is my master. Laf. Who? God. Par. I sir. Laf. The deuill it is, that's thy master. Why dooestthou garter vp thy armes a this fashion? Dost make hoseof thy sleeues? Do other seruants so? Thou wert best setthy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine Honor,if I were but two houres yonger, I'de beate thee: mee-think'stthou art a generall offence, and euery man sholdbeate thee: I thinke thou wast created for men to breaththemselues vpon thee. Par. This is hard and vndeserued measure my Lord. Laf. Go too sir, you were beaten in Italy for pickinga kernell out of a Pomgranat, you are a vagabond, andno true traueller: you are more sawcie with Lordes andhonourable personages, then the Commission of yourbirth and vertue giues you Heraldry. You are not worthanother word, else I'de call you knaue. I leaue you. Exit Enter Count Rossillion. Par. Good, very good, it is so then: good, verygood, let it be conceal'd awhile. Ros. Vndone, and forfeited to cares for euer. Par. What's the matter sweet-heart? Rossill. Although before the solemne Priest I hauesworne, I will not bed her. Par. What? what sweet heart? Ros. O my Parrolles, they haue married me:Ile to the Tuscan warres, and neuer bed her. Par. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits,The tread of a mans foot: too'th warres. Ros. There's letters from my mother: What th' im-port is, I know not yet. Par. I that would be knowne: too'th warrs my boy,too'th warres:He weares his honor in a boxe vnseene,That hugges his kickie wickie heare at home,Spending his manlie marrow in her armesWhich should sustaine the bound and high curuetOf Marses fierie steed: to other Regions, France is a stable, wee that dwell in't Iades,Therefore too'th warre. Ros. It shall be so, Ile send her to my house,Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,And wherefore I am fled: Write to the KingThat which I durst not speake. His present giftShall furnish me to those Italian fieldsWhere noble fellowes strike: Warres is no strifeTo the darke house, and the detected wife. Par. Will this Caprichio hold in thee, art sure? Ros. Go with me to my chamber, and aduice me.Ile send her straight away: To morrow,Ile to the warres, she to her single sorrow. Par. Why these bals bound, ther's noise in it. Tis hardA yong man maried, is a man that's mard:Therefore away, and leaue her brauely: go,The King ha's done you wrong: but hush 'tis so. Exit Enter Helena and Clowne. Hel. My mother greets me kindly, is she well? Clo. She is not well, but yet she has her health, she'svery merrie, but yet she is not well: but thankes be gi-uen she's very well, and wants nothing i'th world: butyet she is not well. Hel. If she be verie wel, what do's she ayle, that she'snot verie well? Clo. Truly she's very well indeed, but for two things Hel. What two things? Clo. One, that she's not in heauen, whether God sendher quickly: the other, that she's in earth, from whenceGod send her quickly. Enter Parolles. Par. Blesse you my fortunate Ladie. Hel. I hope sir I haue your good will to haue mineowne good fortune. Par. You had my prayers to leade them on, and tokeepe them on, haue them still. O my knaue, how do'smy old Ladie? Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her money,I would she did as you say. Par. Why I say nothing. Clo. Marry you are the wiser man: for many a manstongue shakes out his masters vndoing: to say nothing,to do nothing, to know nothing, and to haue nothing,is to be a great part of your title, which is within a verielittle of nothing. Par. Away, th'art a knaue. Clo. You should haue said sir before a knaue, th'art aknaue, that's before me th'art a knaue: this had beenetruth sir. Par. Go too, thou art a wittie foole, I haue foundthee. Clo. Did you finde me in your selfe sir, or were youtaught to finde me? Clo. The search sir was profitable, and much Foolemay you find in you, euen to the worlds pleasure, and theencrease of laughter. Par. A good knaue ifaith, and well fed.Madam, my Lord will go awaie to night, A verie serrious businesse call's on him:The great prerogatiue and rite of loue,Which as your due time claimes, he do's acknowledge,But puts it off to a compell'd restraint:Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweetsWhich they distill now in the curbed time,To make the comming houre oreflow with ioy,And pleasure drowne the brim. Hel. What's his will else? Par. That you will take your instant leaue a'th king,And make this hast as your owne good proceeding,Strengthned with what Apologie you thinkeMay make it probable neede. Hel. What more commands hee? Par. That hauing this obtain'd, you presentlieAttend his further pleasure. Hel. In euery thing I waite vpon his will. Par. I shall report it so. Exit Par. Hell. I pray you come sirrah. Exit Enter Lafew and Bertram. Laf. But I hope your Lordshippe thinkes not him asouldier. Ber. Yes my Lord and of verie valiant approofe. Laf. You haue it from his owne deliuerance. Ber. And by other warranted testimonie. Laf. Then my Diall goes not true, I tooke this Larkefor a bunting. Ber. I do assure you my Lord he is very great in know-ledge, and accordinglie valiant. Laf. I haue then sinn'd against his experience, andtransgrest against his valour, and my state that way isdangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent:Heere he comes, I pray you make vs freinds, I will pur-sue the amitie. Enter Parolles. Par. These things shall be done sir. Laf. Pray you sir whose his Tailor? Par. Sir? Laf. O I know him well, I sir, hee sirs a good worke-man, a verie good Tailor. Ber. Is shee gone to the king? Par. Shee is. Ber. Will shee away to night? Par. As you'le haue her. Ber. I haue writ my letters, casketted my treasure,Giuen order for our horses, and to night,When I should take possession of the Bride,And ere I doe begin. Laf. A good Trauailer is something at the latter endof a dinner, but on that lies three thirds, and vses aknown truth to passe a thousand nothings with, shouldbee once hard, and thrice beaten. God saue you Cap-taine. Ber. Is there any vnkindnes betweene my Lord andyou Monsieur? Par. I know not how I haue deserued to run into myLords displeasure. Laf. You haue made shift to run into't, bootes andspurres and all: like him that leapt into the Custard, andout of it you'le runne againe, rather then suffer questionfor your residence. Ber. It may bee you haue mistaken him my Lord. Laf. And shall doe so euer, though I tooke him at'sprayers. Fare you well my Lord, and beleeue this ofme, there can be no kernell in this light Nut: the souleof this man is his cloathes: Trust him not in matter ofheauie consequence: I haue kept of them tame, & knowtheir natures. Farewell Monsieur, I haue spoken betterof you, then you haue or will to deserue at my hand, butwe must do good against euill. Par. An idle Lord, I sweare. Ber. I thinke so. Par. Why do you not know him? Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common speechGiues him a worthy passe. Heere comes my clog. Enter Helena. Hel. I haue sir as I was commanded from youSpoke with the King, and haue procur'd his leaueFor present parting, onely he desiresSome priuate speech with you. Ber. I shall obey his will.You must not meruaile Helen at my course,Which holds not colour with the time, nor doesThe ministration, and required officeOn my particular. Prepar'd I was notFor such a businesse, therefore am I foundSo much vnsetled: This driues me to intreate you,That presently you take your way for home,And rather muse then aske why I intreate you,For my respects are better then they seeme,And my appointments haue in them a needeGreater then shewes it selfe at the first view,To you that know them not. This to my mother,'Twill be two daies ere I shall see you, soI leaue you to your wisedome. Hel. Sir, I can nothing say,But that I am your most obedient seruant. Ber. Come, come, no more of that. Hel. And euer shallWith true obseruance seeke to eeke out thatWherein toward me my homely starres haue faildTo equall my great fortune. Ber. Let that goe: my hast is verie great. Farwell:Hie home. Hel. Pray sir your pardon. Ber. Well, what would you say? Hel. I am not worthie of the wealth I owe,Nor dare I say 'tis mine: and yet it is,But like a timorous theefe, most faine would stealeWhat law does vouch mine owne. Ber. What would you haue? Hel. Something, and scarse so much: nothing indeed,I would not tell you what I would my Lord: Faith yes,Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kisse. Ber. I pray you stay not, but in hast to horse. Hel. I shall not breake your bidding, good my Lord:Where are my other men? Monsieur, farwell. Exit Ber. Go thou toward home, where I wil neuer come,Whilst I can shake my sword, or heare the drumme:Away, and for our flight. Par. Brauely, Coragio.
Actus Tertius. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, the two Frenchmen,with a troope of Souldiers. Duke. So that from point to point, now haue you heard The fundamentall reasons of this warre,Whose great decision hath much blood let forthAnd more thirsts after. 1.Lord. Holy seemes the quarrellVpon your Graces part: blacke and fearefullOn the opposer. Duke. Therefore we meruaile much our Cosin FranceWould in so iust a businesse, shut his bosomeAgainst our borrowing prayers. French E. Good my Lord,The reasons of our state I cannot yeelde,But like a common and an outward man,That the great figure of a Counsaile frames,By selfe vnable motion, therefore dare notSay what I thinke of it, since I haue foundMy selfe in my incertaine grounds to faileAs often as I guest. Duke. Be it his pleasure. Fren.G. But I am sure the yonger of our nature,That surfet on their ease, will day by dayCome heere for Physicke. Duke. Welcome shall they bee:And all the honors that can flye from vs,Shall on them settle: you know your places well,When better fall, for your auailes they fell,To morrow to'th the field. Flourish. Enter Countesse and Clowne. Count. It hath happen'd all, as I would haue had it, sauethat he comes not along with her. Clo. By my troth I take my young Lord to be a ve-rie melancholly man. Count. By what obseruance I pray you. Clo. Why he will looke vppon his boote, and sing:mend the Ruffe and sing, aske questions and sing, pickehis teeth, and sing: I know a man that had this tricke ofmelancholy hold a goodly Mannor for a song. Lad. Let me see what he writes, and when he meanesto come. Clow. I haue no minde to Isbell since I was at Court.Our old Lings, and our Isbels a'th Country, are nothinglike your old Ling and your Isbels a'th Court: the brainsof my Cupid's knock'd out, and I beginne to loue, as anold man loues money, with no stomacke. Lad. What haue we heere? Clo. In that you haue there. Exit A Letter. I haue sent you a daughter-in-Law, shee hath recouered the King, and vndone me: I haue wedded her, not bedded her, and sworne to make the not eternall. You shall heare I am runne away, know it before the report come. If there bee bredth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. Myduty to you. Your vnfortunate sonne, Bertram.This is not well rash and vnbridled boy,To flye the fauours of so good a King,To plucke his indignation on thy head,By the misprising of a Maide too vertuousFor the contempt of Empire. Enter Clowne. Clow. O Madam, yonder is heauie newes within be-tweene two souldiers, and my yong Ladie. La. What is the matter. Clo. Nay there is some comfort in the newes, somecomfort, your sonne will not be kild so soone as I thoghthe would. La. Why should he be kill'd? Clo. So say I Madame, if he runne away, as I heare hedoes, the danger is in standing too't, that's the losse ofmen, though it be the getting of children. Heere theycome will tell you more. For my part I onely heare yoursonne was run away. Enter Hellen and two Gentlemen. French E. Saue you good Madam. Hel. Madam, my Lord is gone, for euer gone. French G. Do not say so. La. Thinke vpon patience, pray you Gentlemen,I haue felt so many quirkes of ioy and greefe,That the first face of neither on the startCan woman me vntoo't. Where is my sonne I pray you? Fren.G. Madam he's gone to serue the Duke of Flo-rence, We met him thitherward, for thence we came:And after some dispatch in hand at Court,Thither we bend againe. Hel. Looke on his Letter Madam, here's my Pasport. When thou canst get the Ring vpon my finger, which neuer shall come off, and shew mee a childe begotten of thy bodie, that I am father too, then call me husband: but in such a (then ) I write a Neuer. This is a dreadfull sentence. La. Brought you this Letter Gentlemen? 1.G. I Madam, and for the Contents sake are sorriefor our paines. Old La. I prethee Ladie haue a better cheere,If thou engrossest, all the greefes are thine,Thou robst me of a moity: He was my sonne,But I do wash his name out of my blood,And thou art all my childe. Towards Florence is he? Fren.G. I Madam. La. And to be a souldier. Fren.G. Such is his noble purpose, and beleeu'tThe Duke will lay vpon him all the honorThat good conuenience claimes. La. Returne you thither. Fren.E. I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Hel. Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France, 'Tis bitter. La. Finde you that there? Hel. I Madame. Fren.E. 'Tis but the boldnesse of his hand haply, whichhis heart was not consenting too. Lad. Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife:There's nothing heere that is too good for himBut onely she, and she deserues a LordThat twenty such rude boyes might tend vpon,And call her hourely Mistris. Who was with him? Fren.E. A seruant onely, and a Gentleman: which Ihaue sometime knowne. La. Parolles was it not? Fren.E. I my good Ladie, hee. La. A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickednesse,My sonne corrupts a well deriued natureWith his inducement. Fren.E. Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale ofthat, too much, which holds him much to haue. La. Y'are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate youwhen you see my sonne, to tell him that his sword canneuer winne the honor that he looses: more Ile intreate you written to beare along. Fren.G. We serue you Madam in that and all yourworthiest affaires. La. Not so, but as we change our courtesies,Will you draw neere? Exit. Hel. Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France. Nothing in France vntill he has no wife:Thou shalt haue none Rossillion, none in France,Then hast thou all againe: poore Lord, is't IThat chase thee from thy Countrie, and exposeThose tender limbes of thine, to the euentOf the none-sparing warre? And is it I,That driue thee from the sportiue Court, where thouWas't shot at with faire eyes, to be the markeOf smoakie Muskets? O you leaden messengers,That ride vpon the violent speede of fire,Fly with false ayme, moue the still-peering aireThat sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord:Who euer shoots at him, I set him there.Who euer charges on his forward brestI am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't,And though I kill him not, I am the causeHis death was so effected: Better 'twereI met the rauine Lyon when he roar'dWith sharpe constraint of hunger: better 'twere,That all the miseries which nature owesWere mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion, Whence honor but of danger winnes a scarre,As oft it looses all. I will be gone:My being heere it is, that holds thee hence,Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, althoughThe ayre of Paradise did fan the house,And Angels offic'd all: I will be gone,That pittifull rumour may report my flightTo consolate thine eare. Come night, end day,For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away. Exit. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion,drum and trumpets, soldiers, Parrolles. Duke. The Generall of our horse thou art, and weGreat in our hope, lay our best loue and credenceVpon thy promising fortune. Ber. Sir it isA charge too heauy for my strength, but yetWee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake,To th' extreme edge of hazard. Duke. Then go thou forth,And fortune play vpon thy prosperous helmeAs thy auspicious mistris. Ber. This very dayGreat Mars I put my selfe into thy file,Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall proueA louer of thy drumme, hater of loue. Exeunt omnes Enter Countesse & Steward. La. Alas! and would you take the letter of her:Might you not know she would do, as she has done,By sending me a Letter. Reade it agen. Letter. I am S[aint]. Iaques Pilgrim, thither gone:Ambitious loue hath so in me offended,That bare-foot plod I the cold ground vponWith sainted vow my faults to haue amendedWrite, write, that from the bloodie course of warre,My deerest Master your deare sonne, may hie,Blesse him at home in peace. Whilst I from farre,His name with zealous feruour sanctifie:His taken labours bid him me forgiue:I his despightfull Iuno sent him forth,From Courtly friends, with Camping foes to liue,Where death and danger dogges the heeles of worth.He is too good and faire for death, and mee,Whom I my selfe embrace, to set him free. Ah what sharpe stings are in her mildest words? Rynaldo, you did neuer lacke aduice so much,As letting her passe so: had I spoke with her,I could haue well diuerted her intents,Which thus she hath preuented. Ste. Pardon me Madam,If I had giuen you this at ouer-night,She might haue beene ore-tane: and yet she writesPursuite would be but vaine. La. What Angell shallBlesse this vnworthy husband, he cannot thriue,Vnlesse her prayers, whom heauen delights to heareAnd loues to grant, repreeue him from the wrathOf greatest Iustice. Write, write Rynaldo, To this vnworthy husband of his wife,Let euerie word waigh heauie of her worth,That he does waigh too light: my greatest greefe,Though little he do feele it, set downe sharpely.Dispatch the most conuenient messenger,When haply he shall heare that she is gone,He will returne, and hope I may that sheeHearing so much, will speede her foote againe,Led hither by pure loue: which of them bothIs deerest to me, I haue no skill in senceTo make distinction: prouide this Messenger:My heart is heauie, and mine age is weake,Greefe would haue teares, and sorrow bids me speake. Exeunt A Tucket afarre off. Enter old Widdow of Florence, her daughter Violentaand Mariana, with otherCitizens. Widdow. Nay come,For if they do approach the Citty,We shall loose all the sight. Diana. They say, the French Count has doneMost honourable seruice. Wid. It is reported,That he has taken their great'st Commander,And that with his owne hand he slewThe Dukes brother: we haue lost our labour,They are gone a contrarie way: harke,you may know by their Trumpets. Maria. Come lets returne againe,And suffice our selues with the report of it.Well Diana, take heed of this French Earle,The honor of a Maide is her name,And no Legacie is so richAs honestie. Widdow. I haue told my neighbourHow you haue beene solicited by a GentlemanHis Companion. Maria. I know that knaue, hang him, one Parolles, a filthy Officer he is in those suggestions for the youngEarle, beware of them Diana; their promises, entise-ments, oathes, tokens, and all these engines of lust, arenot the things they go vnder: many a maide hath beeneseduced by them, and the miserie is example, that soterrible shewes in the wracke of maiden-hood, cannotfor all that disswade succession, but that they are limedwith the twigges that threatens them. I hope I needenot to aduise you further, but I hope your owne gracewill keepe you where you are, though there were nofurther danger knowne, but the modestie which is solost. Dia. You shall not neede to feare me. Enter Hellen. Wid. I hope so: looke here comes a pilgrim, I knowshe will lye at my house, thither they send one another,Ile question her. God saue you pilgrim, whether arebound? Hel. To S[aint]. Iaques la grand. Where do the Palmers lodge, I do beseech you? Wid. At the S[aint]. Francis heere beside the Port. Hel. Is this the way? A march afarre. Wid. I marrie ist. Harke you, they come this way:If you will tarrie holy PilgrimeBut till the troopes come by,I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd,The rather for I thinke I know your hostesseAs ample as my selfe. Hel. Is it your selfe? Wid. If you shall please so Pilgrime. Hel. I thanke you, and will stay vpon your leisure. Wid. You came I thinke from France? Hel. I did so. Wid. Heere you shall see a Countriman of yoursThat has done worthy seruice. Hel. His name I pray you? Dia. The Count Rossillion: know you such a one? Hel. But by the eare that heares most nobly of him:His face I know not. Dia. What somere he isHe's brauely taken heere. He stole from France As 'tis reported: for the King had married himAgainst his liking. Thinke you it is so? Hel. I surely meere the truth, I know his Lady. Dia. There is a Gentleman that serues the Count,Reports but coursely of her. Hel. What's his name? Dia. Monsieur Parrolles. Hel. Oh I beleeue with him,In argument of praise, or to the worthOf the great Count himselfe, she is too meaneTo haue her name repeated, all her deseruingIs a reserued honestie, and thatI haue not heard examin'd. Dian. Alas poore Ladie,'Tis a hard bondage to become the wifeOf a detesting Lord. Wid. I write good creature, wheresoere she is,Her hart waighes sadly: this yong maid might do herA shrewd turne if she pleas'd. Hel. How do you meane?May be the amorous Count solicites herIn the vnlawfull purpose. Wid. He does indeede,And brokes with all that can in such a suiteCorrupt the tender honour of a Maide:But she is arm'd for him, and keepes her guardIn honestest defence. Drumme and Colours.Enter Count Rossillion, Parrolles, and the whole Armie. Mar. The goddes forbid else. Wid. So, now they come:That is Anthonio the Dukes eldest sonne,That Escalus. Hel. Which is the Frenchman? Dia. Hee,That with the plume, 'tis a most gallant fellow,I would he lou'd his wife: if he were honesterHe were much goodlier. Is't not a handsom Gentleman Hel. I like him well. Di. 'Tis pitty he is not honest: yonds that same knaueThat leades him to these places: were I his Ladie,I would poison that vile Rascall. Hel. Which is he? Dia. That Iacke-an-apes with scarfes. Why is heemelancholly? Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'th battaile. Par. Loose our drum? Well. Mar. He's shrewdly vext at something. Looke hehas spyed vs. Wid. Marrie hang you. Mar. And your curtesie, for a ring-carrier. Exit. Wid. The troope is past: Come pilgrim, I wil bringyou, Where you shall host: Of inioyn'd penitentsThere's foure or fiue, to great S[aint]. Iaques bound,Alreadie at my house. Hel. I humbly thanke you:Please it this Matron, and this gentle MaideTo eate with vs to night, the charge and thankingShall be for me, and to requite you further,I will bestow some precepts of this Virgin,Worthy the note. Both. Wee'l take your offer kindly. Exeunt. Enter Count Rossillion and the Frenchmen,as at first. Cap.E. Nay good my Lord put him too't: let himhaue his way. Cap.G. If your Lordshippe finde him not a Hilding,hold me no more in your respect. Cap.E. On my life my Lord, a bubble. Ber. Do you thinke I am so farreDeceiued in him. Cap.E. Beleeue it my Lord, in mine owne directknowledge, without any malice, but to speake of himas my kinsman, hee's a most notable Coward, an infi-nite and endlesse Lyar, an hourely promise-breaker, theowner of no one good qualitie, worthy your Lordshipsentertainment. Cap.G. It were fit you knew him, least reposing toofarre in his vertue which he hath not, he might at somegreat and trustie businesse, in a maine daunger, fayleyou. Ber. I would I knew in what particular action to tryhim. Cap.G. None better then to let him fetch off hisdrumme, which you heare him so confidently vnder-take to do. C.E. I with a troop of Florentines wil sodainly sur-prize him; such I will haue whom I am sure he knowesnot from the enemie: wee will binde and hoodwinkehim so, that he shall suppose no other but that he is car-ried into the Leager of the aduersaries, when we bringhim to our owne tents: be but your Lordship presentat his examination, if he do not for the promise of hislife, and in the highest compulsion of base feare, offer tobetray you, and deliuer all the intelligence in his poweragainst you, and that with the diuine forfeite of hissoule vpon oath, neuer trust my iudgement in aniething. Cap.G. O for the loue of laughter, let him fetch hisdrumme, he sayes he has a stratagem for't: when yourLordship sees the bottome of this successe in't, and towhat mettle this counterfeyt lump of ours will be mel-ted if you giue him not Iohn drummes entertainement,your inclining cannot be remoued. Heere he comes. Enter Parrolles. Cap.E. O for the loue of laughter hinder not the ho-nor of his designe, let him fetch off his drumme in anyhand. Ber. How now Monsieur? This drumme sticks sore-ly in your disposition. Cap.G. A pox on't, let it go, 'tis but a drumme. Par. But a drumme: Ist but a drumme? A drum solost. There was excellent command, to charge in withour horse vpon our owne wings, and to rend our ownesouldiers. Cap.G. That was not to be blam'd in the commandof the seruice: it was a disaster of warre that Caesar himselfe could not haue preuented, if he had beene there tocommand. Ber. Well, wee cannot greatly condemne our suc-cesse: some dishonor wee had in the losse of that drum,but it is not to be recouered. Par. It might haue beene recouered. Ber. It might, but it is not now. Par. It is to be recouered, but that the merit of ser-uice is sildome attributed to the true and exact perfor-mer, I would haue that drumme or another, or hic ia-cet. Ber. Why if you haue a stomacke, too't Monsieur: ifyou thinke your mysterie in stratagem, can bring thisinstrument of honour againe into his natiue quarter, bemagnanimious in the enterprize and go on, I wil gracethe attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speede well init, the Duke shall both speake of it, and extend to youwhat further becomes his greatnesse, euen to the vtmostsyllable of your worthinesse. Par. By the hand of a souldier I will vndertake it. Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. Par. Ile about it this euening, and I will presentlypen downe my dilemma's, encourage my selfe in mycertaintie, put my selfe into my mortall preparation:and by midnight looke to heare further from me. Ber. May I bee bold to acquaint his grace you aregone about it. Par. I know not what the successe wil be my Lord,but the attempt I vow. Ber. I know th'art valiant,And to the possibility of thy souldiership,Will subscribe for thee: Farewell. Par. I loue not many words. Exit Cap.E. No more then a fish loues water. Is not thisa strange fellow my Lord, that so confidently seemes tovndertake this businesse, which he knowes is not to bedone, damnes himselfe to do, & dares better be damndthen to doo't. Cap.G. You do not know him my Lord as we doe,certaine it is that he will steale himselfe into a mans fa-uour, and for a weeke escape a great deale of discoue-ries, but when you finde him out, you haue him euer af-ter. Ber. Why do you thinke he will make no deede atall of this that so seriouslie hee dooes addresse himselfevnto? Cap.E. None in the world, but returne with an in-uention, and clap vpon you two or three probable lies:but we haue almost imbost him, you shall see his fall tonight; for indeede he is not for your Lordshippes re-spect. Cap.G. Weele make you some sport with the Foxeere we case him. He was first smoak'd by the old Lord Lafew, when his disguise and he is parted, tell me whata sprat you shall finde him, which you shall see this ve-rie night. Cap.E. I must go looke my twigges,He shall be caught. Ber. Your brother he shall go along with me. Cap.G. As't please your Lordship, Ile leaue you. Ber. Now wil I lead you to the house, and shew youThe Lasse I spoke of. Cap.E. But you say she's honest. Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with hir but once,And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to herBy this same Coxcombe that we haue i'th windeTokens and Letters, which she did resend,And this is all I haue done: She's a faire creature,Will you go see her? Cap.E. With all my heart my Lord. Exeunt Enter Hellen, and Widdow. Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not shee,I know not how I shall assure you further,But I shall loose the grounds I worke vpon. Wid. Though my estate be falne, I was well borne,Nothing acquainted with these businesses,And would not put my reputation nowIn any staining act. Hel. Nor would I wish you.First giue me trust, the Count he is my husband,And what to your sworne counsaile I haue spoken,Is so from word to word: and then you cannotBy the good ayde that I of you shall borrow,Erre in bestowing it. Wid. I should beleeue you,For you haue shew'd me that which well approuesY'are great in fortune. Hel. Take this purse of Gold,And let me buy your friendly helpe thus farre,Which I will ouer-pay, and pay againeWhen I haue found it. The Count he woes yourdaughter,Layes downe his wanton siedge before her beautie,Resolue to carrie her: let her in fine consentAs wee'l direct her how 'tis best to beare it:Now his important blood will naught denie,That shee'l demand: a ring the Countie weares,That downward hath succeeded in his house From sonne to sonne, some foure or fiue discents,Since the first father wore it. This Ring he holdsIn most rich choice: yet in his idle fire,To buy his will, it would not seeme too deere,How ere repented after. Wid. Now I see the bottome of your purpose. Hel. You see it lawfull then, it is no more,But that your daughter ere she seemes as wonne,Desires this Ring; appoints him an encounter;In fine, deliuers me to fill the time,Her selfe most chastly absent: afterTo marry her, Ile adde three thousand CrownesTo what is past already. Wid. I haue yeelded:Instruct my daughter how she shall perseuer,That time and place with this deceite so lawfullMay proue coherent. Euery night he comesWith Musickes of all sorts, and songs compos'dTo her vnworthinesse: It nothing steeds vsTo chide him from our eeues, for he persistsAs if his life lay on't. Hel. Why then to nightLet vs assay our plot, which if it speed,Is wicked meaning in a lawfull deede;And lawfull meaning in a lawfull act,Where both not sinne, and yet a sinfull fact.But let's about it.
Actus Quartus. Enter one of the Frenchmen, with fiue or sixe othersouldiers in ambush. Lord E. He can come no other way but by this hedgecorner: when you sallie vpon him, speake what terribleLanguage you will: though you vnderstand it not yourselues, no matter: for we must not seeme to vnderstandhim, vnlesse some one among vs, whom wee must pro-duce for an Interpreter. 1.Sol. Good Captaine, let me be th' Interpreter. Lor.E. Art not acquainted with him? knowes he notthy voice? 1.Sol. No sir I warrant you. Lo.E. But what linsie wolsy hast thou to speake to vsagaine. 1.Sol. E'n such as you speake to me. Lo.E. He must thinke vs some band of strangers, i'thaduersaries entertainment. Now he hath a smacke of allneighbouring Languages: therefore we must euery onebe a man of his owne fancie, not to know what we speakone to another: so we seeme to know, is to know straightour purpose: Choughs language, gabble enough, andgood enough. As for you interpreter, you must seemevery politicke. But couch hoa, heere hee comes, to be-guile two houres in a sleepe, and then to returne & swearthe lies he forges. Enter Parrolles. Par. Ten a clocke: Within these three houres 'twillbe time enough to goe home. What shall I say I hauedone? It must bee a very plausiue inuention that carriesit. They beginne to smoake mee, and disgraces haue oflate, knock'd too often at my doore: I finde my tongueis too foole-hardie, but my heart hath the feare of Marsbefore it, and of his creatures, not daring the reports ofmy tongue. Lo.E. This is the first truth that ere thine own tonguewas guiltie of. Par. What the diuell should moue mee to vndertakethe recouerie of this drumme, being not ignorant of theimpossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? Imust giue my selfe some hurts, and say I got them in ex-ploit: yet slight ones will not carrie it. They will say,came you off with so little? And great ones I dare notgiue, wherefore what's the instance. Tongue, I must putyou into a Butter-womans mouth, and buy my selfe ano-ther of Baiazeths Mule, if you prattle mee into theseperilles. Lo.E. Is it possible he should know what hee is, andbe that he is. Par. I would the cutting of my garments wold seruethe turne, or the breaking of my Spanish sword. Lo.E. We cannot affoord you so. Par. Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was instratagem. Lo.E. 'Twould not do. Par. Or to drowne my cloathes, and say I was stript. Lo.E. Hardly serue. Par. Though I swore I leapt from the window of theCitadell. Lo.E. How deepe? Par. Thirty fadome. Lo.E. Three great oathes would scarse make that bebeleeued. Par. I would I had any drumme of the enemies, Iwould sweare I recouer'd it. Lo.E. You shall heare one anon. Par. A drumme now of the enemies. Alarum within. Lo.E. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo. Par. O ransome, ransome,Do not hide mine eyes. Inter. Boskos thromuldo boskos. Par. I know you are the Muskos Regiment,And I shall loose my life for want of language.If there be heere German or Dane, Low Dutch,Italian, or French, let him speake to me,Ile discouer that, which shal vndo the Florentine. Int. Boskos vauvado, I vnderstand thee, & can speakethy tongue: Kerelybonto sir, betake thee to thy faith, forseuenteene ponyards are at thy bosome. Par. Oh. Inter. Oh pray, pray, pray, Manka reuania dulche. Lo.E. Oscorbidulchos voliuorco. Int. The Generall is content to spare thee yet,And hoodwinkt as thou art, will leade thee onTo gather from thee. Haply thou mayst informeSomething to saue thy life. Par. O let me liue,And all the secrets of our campe Ile shew,Their force, their purposes: Nay, Ile speake that,Which you will wonder at. Inter. But wilt thou faithfully? Par. If I do not, damne me. Inter. Acordo linta. Come on, thou are granted space. Exit A short Alarum within. L.E. Go tell the Count Rossillion and my brother,We haue caught the woodcocke, and will keepe him mufled Till we do heare from them. Sol. Captaine I will. L.E. A will betray vs all vnto our selues,Informe on that. Sol. So I will sir. L.E. Till then Ile keepe him darke and safely lockt. Exit Enter Bertram, and the Maide calledDiana. Ber. They told me that your name was Fontybell. Dia. No my good Lord, Diana. Ber. Titled Goddesse,And worth it with addition: but faire soule,In your fine frame hath loue no qualitie?If the quicke fire of youth light not your minde,You are no Maiden but a monumentWhen you are dead you should be such a oneAs you are now: for you are cold and sterne,And now you should be as your mother wasWhen your sweet selfe was got. Dia. She then was honest. Ber. So should you be. Dia. No:My mother did but dutie, such (my Lord)As you owe to your wife. Ber. No more a'that:I prethee do not striue against my vowes:I was compell'd to her, but I loue theeBy loues owne sweet constraint, and will for euerDo thee all rights of seruice. Dia. I so you serue vsTill we serue you: But when you haue our Roses,You barely leaue our thornes to pricke our selues,And mocke vs with our barenesse. Ber. How haue I sworne. Dia. Tis not the many oathes that makes the truth,But the plaine single vow, that is vow'd true:What is not holie, that we sweare not by,But take the high'st to witnesse: then pray you tell me,If I should sweare by Ioues great attributes,I lou'd you deerely, would you beleeue my oathes,When I did loue you ill? This ha's no holdingTo sweare by him whom I protest to loueThat I will worke against him. Therefore your oathesAre words and poore conditions, but vnseal'dAt lest in my opinion. Ber. Change it, change it:Be not so holy cruell: Loue is holie,And my integritie ne're knew the craftsThat you do charge men with: Stand no more off,But giue thy selfe vnto my sicke desires,Who then recouers. Say thou art mine, and euerMy loue as it beginnes, shall so perseuer. Dia. I see that men make rope's in such a scarre,That wee'l forsake our selues. Giue me that Ring. Ber. Ile lend it thee my deere; but haue no powerTo giue it from me. Dia. Will you not my Lord? Ber. It is an honour longing to our house,Bequeathed downe from manie Ancestors,Which were the greatest obloquie i'th world,In me to loose. Dian. Mine Honors such a Ring,My chastities the Iewell of our house,Bequeathed downe from many Ancestors,Which were the greatest obloquie i'th world,In mee to loose. Thus your owne proper wisedomeBrings in the Champion honor on my part,Against your vaine assault. Ber. Heere, take my Ring,My house, mine honor, yea my life be thine,And Ile be bid by thee. Dia. When midnight comes, knocke at my cham-ber window:Ile order take, my mother shall not heare.Now will I charge you in the band of truth,When you haue conquer'd my yet maiden-bed,Remaine there but an houre, nor speake to mee:My reasons are most strong, and you shall know them,When backe againe this Ring shall be deliuer'd:And on your finger in the night, Ile putAnother Ring, that what in time proceeds,May token to the future, our past deeds.Adieu till then, then faile not: you haue wonneA wife of me, though there my hope be done. Ber. A heauen on earth I haue won by wooing thee. Di. For which, liue long to thank both heauen & me,You may so in the end.My mother told me iust how he would woo,As if she sate in's heart. She sayes, all menHaue the like oathes: He had sworne to marrie meWhen his wife's dead: therfore Ile lye with himWhen I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braide,Marry that will, I liue and die a Maid:Onely in this disguise, I think't no sinne,To cosen him that would vniustly winne. Exit Enter the two French Captaines, and some two or threeSouldiours. Cap.G. You haue not giuen him his mothers letter. Cap.E. I haue deliu'red it an houre since, there is somthing in't that stings his nature: for on the reading it,he chang'd almost into another man. Cap.G. He has much worthy blame laid vpon him,for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a Lady. Cap.E. Especially, hee hath incurred the euerlastingdispleasure of the King, who had euen tun'd his bountyto sing happinesse to him. I will tell you a thing, butyou shall let it dwell darkly with you. Cap.G. When you haue spoken it 'tis dead, and I amthe graue of it. Cap.E. Hee hath peruerted a young Gentlewomanheere in Florence, of a most chaste renown, & this nighthe fleshes his will in the spoyle of her honour: hee hathgiuen her his monumentall Ring, and thinkes himselfemade in the vnchaste composition. Cap.G. Now God delay our rebellion as we are ourselues, what things are we. Cap.E. Meerely our owne traitours. And as in thecommon course of all treasons, we still see them reuealethemselues, till they attaine to their abhorr'd ends: sohe that in this action contriues against his owne Nobi-lity in his proper streame, ore-flowes himselfe. Cap.G. Is it not meant damnable in vs, to be Trum-peters of our vnlawfull intents? We shall not then hauehis company to night? Cap.E. Not till after midnight: for hee is dieted tohis houre. Cap.G. That approaches apace: I would gladly hauehim see his company anathomiz'd, that hee might take a measure of his owne iudgements, wherein so curiouslyhe had set this counterfeit. Cap.E. We will not meddle with him till he come;for his presence must be the whip of the other. Cap.G. In the meane time, what heare you of theseWarres? Cap.E. I heare there is an ouerture of peace. Cap.G. Nay, I assure you a peace concluded. Cap.E. What will Count Rossillion do then? Will hetrauaile higher, or returne againe into France? Cap.G. I perceiue by this demand, you are not alto-gether of his councell. Cap.E. Let it be forbid sir, so should I bee a greatdeale of his act. Cap.G. Sir, his wife some two months since fleddefrom his house, her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Ia-ques le grand; which holy vndertaking, with most au-stere sanctimonie she accomplisht: and there residing,the tendernesse of her Nature, became as a prey to hergreefe: in fine, made a groane of her last breath, & nowshe sings in heauen. Cap.E. How is this iustified? Cap.G. The stronger part of it by her owne Letters,which makes her storie true, euen to the poynt of herdeath: her death it selfe, which could not be her officeto say, is come: was faithfully confirm'd by the Rectorof the place. Cap.E. Hath the Count all this intelligence? Cap.G. I, and the particular confirmations, pointfrom point, to the full arming of the veritie. Cap.E. I am heartily sorrie that hee'l bee gladde ofthis. Cap.G. How mightily sometimes, we make vs com-forts of our losses. Cap.E. And how mightily some other times, weedrowne our gaine in teares, the great dignitie that hisvalour hath here acquir'd for him, shall at home be en-countred with a shame as ample. Cap.G. The webbe of our life, is of a mingled yarne,good and ill together: our vertues would bee proud, ifour faults whipt them not, and our crimes would dis-paire if they were not cherish'd by our vertues. Enter a Messenger. How now? Where's your master? Ser. He met the Duke in the street sir, of whom heehath taken a solemne leaue: his Lordshippe will nextmorning for France. The Duke hath offered him Let-ters of commendations to the King. Cap.E. They shall bee no more then needfull there,if they were more then they can commend. Enter Count Rossillion. Ber. They cannot be too sweete for the Kings tart-nesse, heere's his Lordship now. How now my Lord,i'st not after midnight? Ber. I haue to night dispatch'd sixteene businesses, amoneths length a peece, by an abstract of successe: Ihaue congied with the Duke, done my adieu with hisneerest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her, writ to my La-die mother, I am returning, entertain'd my Conuoy, &betweene these maine parcels of dispatch, affected ma-ny nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I hauenot ended yet. Cap.E. If the businesse bee of any difficulty, and thismorning your departure hence, it requires hast of yourLordship. Ber. I meane the businesse is not ended, as fearingto heare of it hereafter: but shall we haue this dialoguebetweene the Foole and the Soldiour. Come, bringforth this counterfet module, ha's deceiu'd mee, like adouble-meaning Prophesier. Cap.E. Bring him forth, ha's sate i'th stockes all nightpoore gallant knaue. Ber. No matter, his heeles haue deseru'd it, in vsur-ping his spurres so long. How does he carry himselfe? Cap.E. I haue told your Lordship alreadie: Thestockes carrie him. But to answer you as you would bevnderstood, hee weepes like a wench that had shed hermilke, he hath confest himselfe to Morgan, whom heesupposes to be a Friar, fro[m] the time of his remembranceto this very instant disaster of his setting i'th stockes:and what thinke you he hath confest? Ber. Nothing of me, ha's a? Cap.E. His confession is taken, and it shall bee readto his face, if your Lordshippe be in't, as I beleeue youare, you must haue the patience to heare it. Enter Parolles with his Interpreter. Ber. A plague vpon him, muffeld; he can say nothingof me: hush, hush. Cap.G. Hoodman comes: Portotartarossa. Inter. He calles for the tortures, what will you saywithout em. Par. I will confesse what I know without constraint,If ye pinch me like a Pasty, I can say no more. Int. Bosko Chimurcho. Cap. Boblibindo chicurmurco. Int. You are a mercifull Generall: Our Generallbids you answer to what I shall aske you out of a Note. Par. And truly, as I hope to liue. Int. First demand of him, how many horse the Dukeis strong. What say you to that? Par. Fiue or sixe thousand, but very weake and vn-seruiceable: the troopes are all scattered, and the Com-manders verie poore rogues, vpon my reputation andcredit, and as I hope to liue. Int. Shall I set downe your answer so? Par. Do, Ile take the Sacrament on't, how & whichway you will: all's one to him. Ber. What a past-sauing slaue is this? Cap.G. Y'are deceiu'd my Lord, this is Mounsieur Parrolles the gallant militarist, that was his owne phrasethat had the whole theoricke of warre in the knot of hisscarfe, and the practise in the chape of his dagger. Cap.E. I will neuer trust a man againe, for keepinghis sword cleane, nor beleeue he can haue euerie thingin him, by wearing his apparrell neatly. Int. Well, that's set downe. Par. Fiue or six thousand horse I sed, I will say true,or thereabouts set downe, for Ile speake truth. Cap.G. He's very neere the truth in this. Ber. But I con him no thankes for't in the nature hedeliuers it. Par. Poore rogues, I pray you say. Int. Well, that's set downe. Par. I humbly thanke you sir, a truth's a truth, theRogues are maruailous poore. Interp. Demaund of him of what strength they are a foot. What say you to that? Par. By my troth sir, if I were to liue this presenthoure, I will tell true. Let me see, Spurio a hundred & fiftie, Sebastian so many, Corambus so many, Iaques somany: Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowicke, and Gratij, two hun-dred fiftie each: Mine owne Company, Chitopher, Vau-mond, Bentij, two hundred fiftie each: so that the musterfile, rotten and sound, vppon my life amounts not to fif-teene thousand pole, halfe of the which, dare not shakethe snow from off their Cassockes, least they shake them-selues to peeces. Ber. What shall be done to him? Cap.G. Nothing, but let him haue thankes. Demandof him my condition: and what credite I haue with theDuke. Int. Well that's set downe: you shall demaund ofhim, whether one Captaine Dumaine bee i'th Campe, aFrenchman: what his reputation is with the Duke, whathis valour, honestie, and expertnesse in warres: or whe-ther he thinkes it were not possible with well-waighingsummes of gold to corrupt him to a reuolt. What say youto this? What do you know of it? Par. I beseech you let me answer to the particular ofthe intergatories. Demand them singly. Int. Do you know this Captaine Dumaine? Par. I know him, a was a Botchers Prentize in Paris, from whence he was whipt for getting the Shrieues foolwith childe, a dumbe innocent that could not say himnay. Ber. Nay, by your leaue hold your hands, though Iknow his braines are forfeite to the next tile that fals. Int. Well, is this Captaine in the Duke of Florencescampe? Par. Vpon my knowledge he is, and lowsie. Cap.G. Nay looke not so vpon me: we shall heare ofyour Lord anon. Int. What is his reputation with the Duke? Par. The Duke knowes him for no other, but a pooreOfficer of mine, and writ to mee this other day, to turnehim out a'th band. I thinke I haue his Letter in my poc-ket. Int. Marry we'll search. Par. In good sadnesse I do not know, either it is there,or it is vpon a file with the Dukes other Letters, in myTent. Int. Heere 'tis, heere's a paper, shall I reade it to you? Par. I do not know if it be it or no. Ber. Our Interpreter do's it well. Cap.G. Excellently. Int. Dian, the Counts a foole, and full of gold. Par. That is not the Dukes letter sir: that is an ad-uertisement to a proper maide in Florence, one Diana, totake heede of the allurement of one Count Rossillion, afoolish idle boy: but for all that very ruttish. I pray yousir put it vp againe. Int. Nay, Ile reade it first by your fauour. Par. My meaning in't I protest was very honest in thebehalfe of the maid: for I knew the young Count to be adangerous and lasciuious boy, who is a whale to Virgi-nity, and deuours vp all the fry it finds. Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue. Int. Let. When he sweares oathes, bid him drop gold, andtake it:After he scores, he neuer payes the score:Halfe won is match well made, match and well make it,He nere payes after-debts, take it before,And say a souldier (Dian) told thee this:Men are to mell with, boyes are not to kis.For count of this, the Counts a Foole I know it,Who payes before, but not when he does owe it. Thine as he vow'd to thee in thine eare, Parolles. Ber. He shall be whipt through the Armie with thisrime in's forehead. Cap.E. This is your deuoted friend sir, the manifoldLinguist, and the army-potent souldier. Ber. I could endure any thing before but a Cat, andnow he's a Cat to me. Int. I perceiue sir by your Generals lookes, wee shallbe faine to hang you. Par. My life sir in any case: Not that I am afraide todye, but that my offences beeing many, I would repentout the remainder of Nature. Let me liue sir in a dunge-on, i'th stockes, or any where, so I may liue. Int. Wee'le see what may bee done, so you confessefreely: therefore once more to this Captaine Dumaine: you haue answer'd to his reputation with the Duke, andto his valour. What is his honestie? Par. He will steale sir an Egge out of a Cloister: forrapes and rauishments he paralels Nessus. Hee professesnot keeping of oaths, in breaking em he is stronger then Hercules. He will lye sir, with such volubilitie, that youwould thinke truth were a foole: drunkennesse is his bestvertue, for he will be swine-drunke, and in his sleepe hedoes little harme, saue to his bed-cloathes about him:but they know his conditions, and lay him in straw. Ihaue but little more to say sir of his honesty, he ha's eue-rie thing that an honest man should not haue; what anhonest man should haue, he has nothing. Cap.G. I begin to loue him for this. Ber. For this description of thine honestie? A poxvpon him for me, he's more and more a Cat. Int. What say you to his expertnesse in warre? Par. Faith sir, ha's led the drumme before the Eng-lish Tragedians: to belye him I will not, and more of hissouldiership I know not, except in that Country, he hadthe honour to be the Officer at a place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files. I would doe theman what honour I can, but of this I am not certaine. Cap.G. He hath out-villain'd villanie so farre, that theraritie redeemes him. Ber. A pox on him, he's a Cat still. Int. His qualities being at this poore price, I needenot to aske you, if Gold will corrupt him to reuolt. Par. Sir, for a Cardceue he will sell the fee-simple ofhis saluation, the inheritance of it, and cut th' intaile fromall remainders, and a perpetuall succession for it perpe-tually. Int. What's his Brother, the other Captain Dumain? Cap.E. Why do's he aske him of me? Int. What's he? Par. E'ne a Crow a'th same nest: not altogether sogreat as the first in goodnesse, but greater a great deale ineuill. He excels his Brother for a coward, yet his Brotheris reputed one of the best that is. In a retreate hee out-runnes any Lackey; marrie in comming on, hee ha's theCrampe. Int. If your life be saued, will you vndertake to betraythe Florentine. Par. I, and the Captaine of his horse, Count Rossillion. Int. Ile whisper with the Generall, and knowe hispleasure. Par. Ile no more drumming, a plague of all drummes,onely to seeme to deserue well, and to beguile the suppo-sition of that lasciuious yong boy the Count, haue I runinto this danger: yet who would haue suspected an am-bush where I was taken? Int. There is no remedy sir, but you must dye: theGenerall sayes, you that haue so traitorously discouerdthe secrets of your army, and made such pestifferous re-ports of men very nobly held, can serue the world forno honest vse: therefore you must dye. Come heades-man, off with his head. Par. O Lord sir let me liue, or let me see my death. Int. That shall you, and take your leaue of all yourfriends:So, looke about you, know you any heere? Count. Good morrow noble Captaine. Lo.E. God blesse you Captaine Parolles. Cap.G. God saue you noble Captaine. Lo.E. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafew? I am for France. Cap.G. Good Captaine will you giue me a Copy ofthe sonnet you writ to Diana in behalfe of the Count Rossillion, and I were not a verie Coward, I'de compellit of you, but far you well. Exeunt. Int. You are vndone Captaine all but your scarfe,that has a knot on't yet. Par. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot? Inter. If you could finde out a Countrie where butwomen were that had receiued so much shame, youmight begin an impudent Nation. Fare yee well sir, Iam for France too, we shall speake of you there. Exit Par. Yet am I thankfull: if my heart were great'Twould burst at this: Captaine Ile be no more,But I will eate, and drinke, and sleepe as softAs Captaine shall. Simply the thing I amShall make me liue: who knowes himselfe a braggartLet him feare this; for it will come to passe,That euery braggart shall be found an Asse.Rust sword, coole blushes, and Parrolles liueSafest in shame: being fool'd, by fool'rie thriue;There's place and meanes for euery man aliue.Ile after them. Exit. Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana. Hel. That you may well perceiue I haue notwrong'd you,One of the greatest in the Christian worldShall be my suretie: for whose throne 'tis needfullEre I can perfect mine intents, to kneele.Time was, I did him a desired officeDeere almost as his life, which gratitudeThrough flintie Tartars bosome would peepe forth,And answer thankes. I duly am inform'd,His grace is at Marcellae, to which placeWe haue conuenient conuoy: you must knowI am supposed dead, the Army breaking,My husband hies him home, where heauen ayding,And by the leaue of my good Lord the King,Wee'l be before our welcome. Wid. Gentle Madam,You neuer had a seruant to whose trustYour busines was more welcome. Hel. Nor your MistrisEuer a friend, whose thoughts more truly labourTo recompence your loue: Doubt not but heauenHath brought me vp to be your daughters dower,As it hath fated her to be my motiueAnd helper to a husband. But O strange men,That can such sweet vse make of what they hate,When sawcie trusting of the cosin'd thoughtsDefiles the pitchy night, so lust doth playWith what it loathes, for that which is away,But more of this heereafter: you Diana, Vnder my poore instructions yet must sufferSomething in my behalfe. Dia. Let death and honestieGo with your impositions, I am yoursVpon your will to suffer. Hel. Yet I pray you:But with the word the time will bring on summer,When Briars shall haue leaues as well as thornes,And be as sweet as sharpe: we must away,Our Wagon is prepar'd, and time reuiues vs,All's well that ends well, still the fines the Crowne;What ere the course, the end is the renowne. Exeunt Enter Clowne, old Lady, and Lafew. Laf. No, no, no, your sonne was misled with a snipttaffata fellow there, whose villanous saffron wold hauemade all the vnbak'd and dowy youth of a nation in hiscolour: your daughter-in-law had beene aliue at thishoure, and your sonne heere at home, more aduanc'dby the King, then by that red-tail'd humble Bee I speakof. La. I would I had not knowne him, it was the deathof the most vertuous gentlewoman, that euer Naturehad praise for creating. If she had pertaken of my fleshand cost mee the deerest groanes of a mother, I couldnot haue owed her a more rooted loue. Laf. Twas a good Lady, 'twas a good Lady. Weemay picke a thousand sallets ere wee light on such ano-ther hearbe. Clo. Indeed sir she was the sweete Margerom of thesallet, or rather the hearbe of grace. Laf. They are not hearbes you knaue, they are nose-hearbes. Clowne. I am no great Nabuchadnezar sir, I haue notmuch skill in grace. Laf. Whether doest thou professe thy selfe, a knaueor a foole? Clo. A foole sir at a womans seruice, and a knaue at amans. Laf. Your distinction. Clo. I would cousen the man of his wife, and do hisseruice. Laf. So you were a knaue at his seruice indeed. Clo. And I would giue his wife my bauble sir to doeher seruice. Laf. I will subscribe for thee, thou art both knaueand foole. Clo. At your seruice. Laf. No, no, no. Clo. Why sir, if I cannot serue you, I can serue asgreat a prince as you are. Laf. Whose that, a Frenchman? Clo. Faith sir a has an English maine, but his fisno-mie is more hotter in France then there. Laf. What prince is that? Clo. The blacke prince sir, alias the prince of darke-nesse, alias the diuell. Laf. Hold thee there's my purse, I giue thee not thisto suggest thee from thy master thou talk'st off, seruehim still. Clo. I am a woodland fellow sir, that alwaies loueda great fire, and the master I speak of euer keeps a goodfire, but sure he is the Prince of the world, let his No-bilitie remaine in's Court. I am for the house with thenarrow gate, which I take to be too little for pompe toenter: some that humble themselues may, but the ma-nie will be too chill and tender, and theyle bee for theflowrie way that leads to the broad gate, and the greatfire. Laf. Go thy waies, I begin to bee a wearie of thee,and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall outwith thee. Go thy wayes, let my horses be wel look'd too, without any trickes. Clo. If I put any trickes vpon em sir, they shall beeIades trickes, which are their owne right by the law ofNature. Exit Laf. A shrewd knaue and an vnhappie. Lady. So a is. My Lord that's gone made himselfemuch sport out of him, by his authoritie hee remainesheere, which he thinkes is a pattent for his sawcinesse,and indeede he has no pace, but runnes where he will. Laf. I like him well, 'tis not amisse: and I was aboutto tell you, since I heard of the good Ladies death, andthat my Lord your sonne was vpon his returne home. Imoued the King my master to speake in the behalfe ofmy daughter, which in the minoritie of them both, hisMaiestie out of a selfe gracious remembrance did firstpropose, his Highnesse hath promis'd me to doe it, andto stoppe vp the displeasure he hath conceiued againstyour sonne, there is no fitter matter. How do's yourLadyship like it? La. With verie much content my Lord, and I wishit happily effected. Laf. His Highnesse comes post from Marcellus, of asable bodie as when he number'd thirty, a will be heereto morrow, or I am deceiu'd by him that in such intel-ligence hath seldome fail'd. La. It reioyces me, that I hope I shall see him ere Idie. I haue letters that my sonne will be heere to night:I shall beseech your Lordship to remaine with mee, tillthey meete together. Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what manners Imight safely be admitted. Lad. You neede but pleade your honourable priui-ledge. Laf. Ladie, of that I haue made a bold charter, butI thanke my God, it holds yet. Enter Clowne. Clo. O Madam, yonders my Lord your sonne witha patch of veluet on's face, whether there bee a scar vn-der'tor no, the Veluet knowes, but 'tis a goodly patchof Veluet, his left cheeke is a cheeke of two pile and ahalfe, but his right cheeke is worne bare. Laf. A scarre nobly got,Or a noble scarre, is a good liu'rie of honor,So belike is that. Clo. But it is your carbinado'd face. Laf. Let vs go seeyour sonne I pray you, I long to talkeWith the yong noble souldier. Clowne. 'Faith there's a dozen of em, with delicatefine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow thehead, and nod at euerie man. Exeunt
Actus Quintus. Enter Hellen, Widdow, and Diana, withtwo Attendants. Hel. But this exceeding posting day and night,Must wear your spirits low, we cannot helpe it:But since you haue made the daies and nights as one,To weare your gentle limbes in my affayres,Be bold you do so grow in my requitall,As nothing can vnroote you. In happie time, Enter a gentle Astringer. This man may helpe me to his Maiesties eare,If he would spend his power. God saue you sir. Gent. And you. Hel. Sir, I haue seene you in the Court of France. Gent. I haue beene sometimes there. Hel. I do presume sir, that you are not falneFrom the report that goes vpon your goodnesse,And therefore goaded with most sharpe occasions,Which lay nice manners by, I put you toThe vse of your owne vertues, for the whichI shall continue thankefull. Gent. What's your will? Hel. That it will please youTo giue this poore petition to the King,And ayde me with that store of power you haueTo come into his presence. Gen. The Kings not heere. Hel. Not heere sir? Gen. Not indeed,He hence remou'd last night, and with more hast Then is his vse. Wid. Lord how we loose our paines. Hel. All's well that ends well yet,Though time seeme so aduerse, and meanes vnfit:I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Gent. Marrie as I take it to Rossillion, Whither I am going. Hel. I do beseech you sir,Since you are like to see the King before me,Commend the paper to his gracious hand,Which I presume shall render you no blame,But rather make you thanke your paines for it,I will come after you with what good speedeOur meanes will make vs meanes. Gent. This Ile do for you. Hel. And you shall finde your selfe to be well thanktwhat e're falles more. We must to horse againe, Go, go,prouide. Enter Clowne and Parrolles. Par. Good Mr Lauatch giue my Lord Lafew this let-ter, I haue ere now sir beene better knowne to you, whenI haue held familiaritie with fresher cloathes: but I amnow sir muddied in fortunes mood, and smell somewhatstrong of her strong displeasure. Clo. Truely, Fortunes displeasure is but sluttish if itsmell so strongly as thou speak'st of: I will hencefoortheate no Fish of Fortunes butt'ring. Prethee alow thewinde. Par. Nay you neede not to stop your nose sir: I spakebut by a Metaphor. Clo. Indeed sir, if your Metaphor stinke, I will stopmy nose, or against any mans Metaphor. Prethe get theefurther. Par. Pray you sir deliuer me this paper. Clo. Foh, prethee stand away: a paper from fortunesclose-stoole, to giue to a Nobleman. Looke heere hecomes himselfe. Enter Lafew. Clo. Heere is a purre of Fortunes sir, or of FortunesCat, but not a Muscat, that ha's falne into the vncleanefish-pond of her displeasure, and as he sayes is muddiedwithall. Pray you sir, vse the Carpe as you may, for helookes like a poore decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascallyknaue. I doe pittie his distresse in my smiles of comfort,and leaue him to your Lordship. Par. My Lord I am a man whom fortune hath cruel-ly scratch'd. Laf. And what would you haue me to doe? 'Tis toolate to paire her nailes now. Wherein haue you playedthe knaue with fortune that she should scratch you, whoof her selfe is a good Lady, and would not haue knauesthriue long vnder? There's a Cardecue for you: Let theIustices make you and fortune friends; I am for otherbusinesse. Par. I beseech your honour to heare mee one singleword, Laf. you begge a single peny more: Come you shallha't, saue your word. Par. My name my good Lord is Parrolles. Laf. You begge more then word then. Cox my pas-sion, giue me your hand: How does your drumme? Par. O my good Lord, you were the first that foundmee. Laf. Was I insooth? And I was the first that lost thee. Par. It lies in you my Lord to bring me in some gracefor you did bring me out. Laf. Out vpon thee knaue, doest thou put vpon meeat once both the office of God and the diuel: one bringsthee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The Kingscomming I know by his Trumpets. Sirrah, inquire fur-ther after me, I had talke of you last night, though youare a foole and a knaue, you shall eate, go too, follow. Par. I praise God for you. Flourish. Enter King, old Lady, Lafew, the two FrenchLords, with attendants. Kin. We lost a Iewell of her, and our esteemeWas made much poorer by it: but your sonne,As mad in folly, lack'd the sence to knowHer estimation home. Old La. 'Tis past my Liege,And I beseech your Maiestie to make itNaturall rebellion, done i'th blade of youth,When oyle and fire, too strong for reasons force,Ore-beares it, and burnes on. Kin. My honour'd Lady,I haue forgiuen and forgotten all,Though my reuenges were high bent vpon him,And watch'd the time to shoote. Laf. This I must say,But first I begge my pardon: the yong LordDid to his Maiesty, his Mother, and his Ladie,Offence of mighty note; but to himselfeThe greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife,Whose beauty did astonish the surueyOf richest eies: whose words all eares tooke captiue,Whose deere perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serue,Humbly call'd Mistris. Kin. Praising what is lost,Makes the remembrance deere. Well, call him hither,We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall killAll repetition: Let him not aske our pardon,The nature of his great offence is dead,And deeper then obliuion, we do burieTh' incensing reliques of it. Let him approachA stranger, no offender; and informe himSo 'tis our will he should. Gent. I shall my Liege. Kin. What sayes he to your daughter,Haue you spoke? Laf. All that he is, hath reference to your Highnes. Kin. Then shall we haue a match. I haue letters sentme, that sets him high in fame. Enter Count Bertram. Laf. He lookes well on't. Kin. I am not a day of season,For thou maist see a sun-shine, and a haileIn me at once: But to the brightest beamesDistracted clouds giue way, so stand thou forth,The time is faire againe. Ber. My high repented blamesDeere Soueraigne pardon to me. Kin. All is whole,Not one word more of the consumed time,Let's take the instant by the forward top:For we are old, and on our quick'st decreesTh' inaudible, and noiselesse foot of timeSteales, ere we can effect them. You rememberThe daughter of this Lord? Ber. Admiringly my Liege, at firstI stucke my choice vpon her, ere my heartDurst make too bold a herauld of my tongue:Where the impression of mine eye enfixing,Contempt his scornfull Perspectiue did lend me,Which warpt the line, of euerie other fauour,Scorn'd a faire colour, or exprest it stolne,Extended or contracted all proportionsTo a most hideous obiect. Thence it came,That she whom all men prais'd, and whom my selfe,Since I haue lost, haue lou'd; was in mine eyeThe dust that did offend it. Kin. Well excus'd:That thou didst loue her, strikes some scores awayFrom the great compt: but loue that comes too late,Like a remorsefull pardon slowly carriedTo the great sender, turnes a sowre offence,Crying, that's good that's gone: Our rash faults,Make triuiall price of serious things we haue,Not knowing them, vntill we know their graue.Oft our displeasures to our selues vniust,Destroy our friends, and after weepe their dust:Our owne loue waking, cries to see what's done,While shamefull hate sleepes out the afternoone.Be this sweet Helens knell, and now forget her.Send forth your amorous token for faire Maudlin, The maine consents are had, and heere wee'l stayTo see our widdowers second marriage day:Which better then the first, O deere heauen blesse,Or, ere they meete in me, O Nature cesse. Laf. Come on my sonne, in whom my houses nameMust be digested: giue a fauour from youTo sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, That she may quickly come. By my old beard,And eu'rie haire that's on't, Helen that's deadWas a sweet creature: such a ring as this,The last that ere I tooke her leaue at Court,I saw vpon her finger. Ber. Hers it was not. King. Now pray you let me see it. For mine eye,While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd too't:This Ring was mine, and when I gaue it Hellen, I bad her if her fortunes euer stoodeNecessitied to helpe, that by this tokenI would releeue her. Had you that craft to reaue herOf what should stead her most? Ber. My gracious Soueraigne,How ere it pleases you to take it so,The ring was neuer hers. Old La. Sonne, on my lifeI haue seene her weare it, and she reckon'd itAt her liues rate. Laf. I am sure I saw her weare it. Ber. You are deceiu'd my Lord, she neuer saw it:In Florence was it from a casement throwne mee,Wrap'd in a paper, which contain'd the nameOf her that threw it: Noble she was, and thoughtI stood ingag'd, but when I had subscrib'dTo mine owne fortune, and inform'd her fully,I could not answer in that course of HonourAs she had made the ouerture, she ceastIn heauie satisfaction, and would neuerReceiue the Ring againe. Kin. Platus himselfe,That knowes the tinct and multiplying med'cine,Hath not in natures mysterie more science,Then I haue in this Ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helens, Who euer gaue it you: then if you knowThat you are well acquainted with your selfe,Confesse 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcementYou got it from her. She call'd the Saints to suretie,That she would neuer put it from her finger,Vnlesse she gaue it to your selfe in bed,Where you haue neuer come: or sent it vsVpon her great disaster. Ber. She neuer saw it. Kin. Thou speak'st it falsely: as I loue mine Honor,And mak'st connecturall feares to come into me,Which I would faine shut out, if it should proueThat thou art so inhumane, 'twill not proue so:And yet I know not, thou didst hate her deadly,And she is dead, which nothing but to closeHer eyes my selfe, could win me to beleeue,More then to see this Ring. Take him away,My fore-past proofes, how ere the matter fallShall taze my feares of little vanitie,Hauing vainly fear'd too little. Away with him,Wee'l sift this matter further. Ber. If you shall proueThis Ring was euer hers, you shall as easieProue that I husbanded her bed in Florence,Where yet she neuer was. Enter a Gentleman. King. I am wrap'd in dismall thinkings. Gen. Gracious Soueraigne.Whether I haue beene too blame or no, I know not,Here's a petition from a Florentine,Who hath for foure or fiue remoues come short,To tender it her selfe. I vndertooke it,Vanquish'd thereto by the faire grace and speechOf the poore suppliant, who by this I knowIs heere attending: her businesse lookes in herWith an importing visage, and she told meIn a sweet verball breefe, it did concerneYour Highnesse with her selfe. A Letter. Vpon his many protestations to marrie mee when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he wonne me. Now is the Count Ros-sillion a Widdower, his vowes are forfeited to mee, and my honors payed to him. Hee stole from Florence, taking no leaue, and I follow him to his Countrey for Iustice: Grant it me, O King, in you it best lies, otherwise a seducer flou-rishes,and a poore Maid is vndone. Diana Capilet. Laf. I will buy me a sonne in Law in a faire, and toulefor this. Ile none of him. Kin. The heauens haue thought well on thee Lafew, To bring forth this discou'rie, seeke these sutors:Go speedily, and bring againe the Count. Enter Bertram. I am a-feard the life of Hellen (Ladie)Was fowly snatcht. Old La. Now iustice on the doers. King. I wonder sir, sir, wiues are monsters to you,And that you flye them as you sweare them Lordship,Yet you desire to marry. What woman's that? Enter Widdow, Diana, and Parrolles. Dia. I am my Lord a wretched Florentine,Deriued from the ancient Capilet,My suite as I do vnderstand you know,And therefore know how farre I may be pittied. Wid. I am her Mother sir, whose age and honourBoth suffer vnder this complaint we bring,And both shall cease, without your remedie. King. Come hether Count, do you know these Wo-men? Ber. My Lord, I neither can nor will denie,But that I know them, do they charge me further? Dia. Why do you looke so strange vpon your wife? Ber. She's none of mine my Lord. Dia. If you shall marrieYou giue away this hand, and that is mine,You giue away heauens vowes, and those are mine:You giue away my selfe, which is knowne mine:For I by vow am so embodied yours,That she which marries you, must marrie me,Either both or none. Laf. Your reputation comes too short for my daugh-ter, you are no husband for her. Ber. My Lord, this is a fond and desp'rate creature,Whom sometime I haue laugh'd with: Let your highnesLay a more noble thought vpon mine honour,Then for to thinke that I would sinke it heere. Kin. Sir for my thoughts, you haue them il to friend,Till your deeds gaine them fairer: proue your honor,Then in my thought it lies. Dian. Good my Lord,Aske him vpon his oath, if hee do's thinkeHe had not my virginity. Kin. What saist thou to her? Ber. She's impudent my Lord,And was a common gamester to the Campe. Dia. He do's me wrong my Lord: If I were so,He might haue bought me at a common price. Do not beleeue him. O behold this Ring,Whose high respect and rich validitieDid lacke a Paralell: yet for all thatHe gaue it to a Commoner a'th CampeIf I be one. Coun. He blushes, and 'tis hit:Of sixe preceding Ancestors that IemmeConfer'd by testament to'th sequent issueHath it beene owed and worne. This is his wife,That Ring's a thousand proofes. King. Me thought you saideYou saw one heere in Court could witnesse it. Dia. I did my Lord, but loath am to produceSo bad an instrument, his names Parrolles. Laf. I saw the man to day, if man he bee. Kin. Finde him, and bring him hether. Ros. What of him:He's quoted for a most perfidious slaueWith all the spots a'th world, taxt and debosh'd,Whose nature sickens: but to speake a truth,Am I, or that or this for what he'l vtter,That will speake any thing. Kin. She hath that Ring of yours. Ros. I thinke she has; certaine it is I lyk'd her,And boorded her i'th wanton way of youth:She knew her distance, and did angle for mee,Madding my eagernesse with her restraint,As all impediments in fancies courseAre motiues of more fancie, and in fine,Her insuite comming with her moderne grace,Subdu'd me to her rate, she got the Ring,And I had that which any inferiour mightAt Market price haue bought. Dia. I must be patient:You that haue turn'd off a first so noble wife,May iustly dyet me. I pray you yet,(Since you lacke vertue, I will loose a husband)Send for your Ring, I will returne it home,And giue me mine againe. Ros. I haue it not. Kin. What Ring was yours I pray you? Dian. Sir much like the same vpon your finger. Kin. Know you this Ring, this Ring was his of late. Dia. And this was it I gaue him being a bed. Kin. The story then goes false, you threw it himOut of a Casement. Dia. I haue spoke the truth. Enter Parolles. Ros. My Lord, I do confesse the ring was hers. Kin. You boggle shrewdly, euery feather starts you:Is this the man you speake of? Dia. I, my Lord. Kin. Tell me sirrah, but tell me true I charge you,Not fearing the displeasure of your master:Which on your iust proceeding, Ile keepe off,By him and by this woman heere, what know you? Par. So please your Maiesty, my master hath bin anhonourable Gentleman. Trickes hee hath had in him,which Gentlemen haue. Kin. Come, come, to'th' purpose: Did hee loue thiswoman? Par. Faith sir he did loue her, but how. Kin. How I pray you? Par. He did loue her sir, as a Gent. loues a Woman. Kin. How is that? Par. He lou'd her sir, and lou'd her not. Kin. As thou art a knaue and no knaue, what an equi-uocall Companion is this? Par. I am a poore man, and at your Maiesties com-mand. Laf. Hee's a good drumme my Lord, but a naughtieOrator. Dian. Do you know he promist me marriage? Par. Faith I know more then Ile speake. Kin. But wilt thou not speake all thou know'st? Par. Yes so please your Maiesty: I did goe betweenethem as I said, but more then that he loued her, for in-deede he was madde for her, and talkt of Sathan, and ofLimbo, and of Furies, and I know not what: yet I was inthat credit with them at that time, that I knewe of theirgoing to bed, and of other motions, as promising hermarriage, and things which would deriue mee ill will tospeake of, therefore I will not speake what I know. Kin. Thou hast spoken all alreadie, vnlesse thou canstsay they are maried, but thou art too fine in thy euidence,therefore stand aside. This Ring you say was yours. Dia. I my good Lord. Kin. Where did you buy it? Or who gaue it you? Dia. It was not giuen me, nor I did not buy it. Kin. Who lent it you? Dia. It was not lent me neither. Kin. Where did you finde it then? Dia. I found it not. Kin. If it were yours by none of all these wayes,How could you giue it him? Dia. I neuer gaue it him. Laf. This womans an easie gloue my Lord, she goesoff and on at pleasure. Kin. This Ring was mine, I gaue it his first wife. Dia. It might be yours or hers for ought I know. Kin. Take her away, I do not like her now,To prison with her: and away with him,Vnlesse thou telst me where thou hadst this Ring,Thou diest within this houre. Dia. Ile neuer tell you. Kin. Take her away. Dia. Ile put in baile my liedge. Kin. I thinke thee now some common Customer. Dia. By Ioue if euer I knew man 'twas you. King. Wherefore hast thou accusde him al this while. Dia. Because he's guiltie, and he is not guilty:He knowes I am no Maid, and hee'l sweare too't:Ile sweare I am a Maid, and he knowes not.Great King I am no strumpet, by my life,I am either Maid, or else this old mans wife. Kin. She does abuse our eares, to prison with her. Dia. Good mother fetch my bayle. Stay Royall sir,The Ieweller that owes the Ring is sent for,And he shall surety me. But for this Lord,Who hath abus'd me as he knowes himselfe,Though yet he neuer harm'd me, heere I quit him.He knowes himselfe my bed he hath defil'd,And at that time he got his wife with childe:Dead though she be, she feeles her yong one kicke:So there's my riddle, one that's dead is quicke,And now behold the meaning. Enter Hellen and Widdow. Kin. Is there no exorcistBeguiles the truer Office of mine eyes?Is't reall that I see? Hel. No my good Lord, 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,The name, and not the thing. Ros. Both, both, O pardon. Hel. Oh my good Lord, when I was like this Maid,I found you wondrous kinde, there is your Ring,And looke you, heeres your letter: this it sayes,When from my finger you can get this Ring,And is by me with childe, &c. This is done,Will you be mine now you are doubly wonne? Ros. If she my Liege can make me know this clearly,Ile loue her dearely, euer, euer dearly. Hel. If it appeare not plaine, and proue vntrue,Deadly diuorce step betweene me and you.O my deere mother do I see you liuing? Laf. Mine eyes smell Onions, I shall weepe anon:Good Tom Drumme lend me a handkercher.So I thanke thee, waite on me home, Ile make sport withthee: Let thy curtsies alone, they are scuruy ones. King. Let vs from point to point this storie know,To make the euen truth in pleasure flow:If thou beest yet a fresh vncropped flower,Choose thou thy husband, and Ile pay thy dower.For I can guesse, that by thy honest ayde,Thou keptst a wife her selfe, thy selfe a Maide.Of that and all the progresse more and lesse,Resoluedly more leasure shall expresse:All yet seemes well, and if it end so meete,The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. Flourish. The Kings a Begger, now the Play is done,All is well ended, if this suite be wonne,That you expresse Content: which we will pay,With strife to please you, day exceeding day:Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts, Your gentle hands lend vs, and take our hearts. Exeunt omn.
FINIS. Twelfe Night, Or what you will.
Actus Primus, Scaena Prima. Enter Orsino Duke of Illyria, Curio, and otherLords. Duke. If Musicke be the food of Loue, play on,Giue me excesse of it: that surfetting,The appetite may sicken, and so dye.That straine agen, it had a dying fall:O, it came ore my eare, like the sweet soundThat breathes vpon a banke of Violets;Stealing, and giuing Odour. Enough, no more,'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.O spirit of Loue, how quicke and fresh art thou,That notwithstanding thy capacitie,Receiueth as the Sea. Nought enters there,Of what validity, and pitch so ere,But falles into abatement, and low priceEuen in a minute; so full of shapes is fancie,That it alone, is high fantasticall. Cu. Will you go hunt my Lord? Du. What Curio? Cu. The Hart. Du. Why so I do, the Noblest that I haue:O when mine eyes did see Oliuia first,Me thought she purg'd the ayre of pestilence;That instant was I turn'd into a Hart,And my desires like fell and cruell hounds,Ere since pursue me. How now what newes from her? Enter Valentine. Val. So please my Lord, I might not be admitted,But from her handmaid do returne this answer:The Element it selfe, till seuen yeares heate,Shall not behold her face at ample view:But like a Cloystresse she will vailed walke,And water once a day her Chamber roundWith eye-offending brine: all this to seasonA brothers dead loue, which she would keepe freshAnd lasting, in her sad remembrance. Du. O she that hath a heart of that fine frameTo pay this debt of loue but to a brother,How will she loue, when the rich golden shaftHath kill'd the flocke of all affections elseThat liue in her. When Liuer, Braine, and Heart,These soueraigne thrones, are all supply'd and fill'dHer sweete perfections with one selfe king:Away before me, to sweet beds of Flowres,Loue-thoughts lye rich, when canopy'd with bowres. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Viola, a Captaine, and Saylors. Vio. What Country (Friends) is this? Cap. This is Illyria Ladie. Vio. And what should I do in Illyria?My brother he is in Elizium,Perchance he is not drown'd: What thinke you saylors? Cap. It is perchance that you your selfe were saued. Vio. O my poore brother, and so perchance may he be. Cap. True Madam, and to comfort you with chance,Assure your selfe, after our ship did split,When you, and those poore number saued with you,Hung on our driuing boate: I saw your brotherMost prouident in perill, binde himselfe,(Courage and hope both teaching him the practise)To a strong Maste, that liu'd vpon the sea:Where like Orion on the Dolphines backe,I saw him hold acquaintance with the waues,So long as I could see. Vio. For saying so, there's Gold:Mine owne escape vnfoldeth to my hope,Whereto thy speech serues for authoritieThe like of him. Know'st thou this Countrey? Cap. I Madam well, for I was bred and borneNot three houres trauaile from this very place. Vio. Who gouernes heere? Cap. A noble Duke in nature, as in name. Vio. What is his name? Cap. Orsino. Vio. Orsino: I haue heard my father name him.He was a Batchellor then. Cap. And so is now, or was so very late:For but a month ago I went from hence,And then 'twas fresh in murmure (as you knowWhat great ones do, the lesse will prattle of,)That he did seeke the loue of faire Oliuia. Vio. What's shee? Cap. A vertuous maid, the daughter of a CountThat dide some tweluemonth since, then leauing herIn the protection of his sonne, her brother,Who shortly also dide: for whose deere loue(They say) she hath abiur'd the sightAnd company of men. Vio. O that I seru'd that Lady,And might not be deliuered to the world Till I had made mine owne occasion mellowWhat my estate is. Cap. That were hard to compasse,Because she will admit no kinde of suite,No, not the Dukes. Vio. There is a faire behauiour in thee Captaine,And though that nature, with a beauteous wallDoth oft close in pollution: yet of theeI will beleeue thou hast a minde that suitesWith this thy faire and outward charracter.I prethee (and Ile pay thee bounteously)Conceale me what I am, and be my ayde,For such disguise as haply shall becomeThe forme of my intent. Ile serue this Duke,Thou shalt present me as an Eunuch to him,It may be worth thy paines: for I can sing,And speake to him in many sorts of Musicke,That will allow me very worth his seruice.What else may hap, to time I will commit,Onely shape thou thy silence to my wit. Cap. Be you his Eunuch, and your Mute Ile bee,When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see. Vio. I thanke thee: Lead me on. Exeunt
Scaena Tertia. Enter Sir Toby, and Maria. Sir To. What a plague meanes my Neece to take thedeath of her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemie tolife. Mar. By my troth sir Toby, you must come in earlyer a nights: your Cosin, my Lady, takes great exceptionsto your ill houres. To. Why let her except, before excepted. Ma. I, but you must confine your selfe within themodest limits of order. To. Confine? Ile confine my selfe no finer then I am:these cloathes are good enough to drinke in, and so beethese boots too: and they be not, let them hang them-selues in their owne straps. Ma. That quaffing and drinking will vndoe you: Iheard my Lady talke of it yesterday: and of a foolishknight that you brought in one night here, to be hir woer To. Who, Sir Andrew Ague-cheeke? Ma. I he. To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria. Ma. What's that to th' purpose? To. Why he ha's three thousand ducates a yeare. Ma. I, but hee'l haue but a yeare in all these ducates:He's a very foole, and a prodigall. To. Fie, that you'l say so: he playes o'th Viol-de-gam-boys,and speaks three or four languages word for wordwithout booke, & hath all the good gifts of nature. Ma. He hath indeed, almost naturall: for besides thathe's a foole, he's a great quarreller: and but that hee haththe gift of a Coward, to allay the gust he hath in quarrel-ling, 'tis thought among the prudent, he would quickelyhaue the gift of a graue. Tob. By this hand they are scoundrels and substra-ctors that say so of him. Who are they? Ma. They that adde moreour, hee's drunke nightlyin your company. To. With drinking healths to my Neece: Ile drinketo her as long as there is a passage in my throat, & drinkein Illyria: he's a Coward and a Coystrill that will notdrinke to my Neece, till his braines turne o'th toe, like aparish top. What wench? Castiliano vulgo: for here comsSir Andrew Agueface. Enter Sir Andrew. And. Sir Toby Belch. How now sir Toby Belch? To. Sweet sir Andrew. And. Blesse you faire Shrew. Mar. And you too sir. Tob. Accost Sir Andrew, accost. And. What's that? To. My Neeces Chamber-maid. Ma. Good Mistris accost, I desire better acquaintance Ma. My name is Mary sir. And. Good mistris Mary, accost. To, You mistake knight: Accost, is front her, boordher, woe her, assayle her. And. By my troth I would not vndertake her in thiscompany. Is that the meaning of Accost? Ma. Far you well Gentlemen. To. And thou let part so Sir Andrew, would thoumightst neuer draw sword agen. And. And you part so mistris, I would I might neuerdraw sword agen: Faire Lady, doe you thinke you hauefooles in hand? Ma. Sir, I haue not you by'th hand. An. Marry but you shall haue, and heeres my hand. Ma. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you bring yourhand to'th Buttry barre, and let it drinke. An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) What's your Meta-phor? Ma. It's dry sir. And. Why I thinke so: I am not such an asse, but Ican keepe my hand dry. But what's your iest? Ma. A dry iest Sir. And. Are you full of them? Ma. I Sir, I haue them at my fingers ends: marry nowI let go your hand, I am barren. Exit Maria To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of Canarie: when didI see thee so put downe? An. Neuer in your life I thinke, vnlesse you see Ca-narie put me downe: mee thinkes sometimes I haue nomore wit then a Christian, or an ordinary man ha's: but Iam a great eater of beefe, and I beleeue that does harmeto my wit. To. No question. An. And I thought that, I'de forsweare it. Ile ridehome to morrow sir Toby. To. Pur-quoy my deere knight? An. What is purquoy? Do, or not do? I would I hadbestowed that time in the tongues, that I haue in fencingdancing, and beare-bayting: O had I but followed theArts. To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of haire. An. Why, would that haue mended my haire? To. Past question, for thou seest it will not coole my nature An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not? To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hopeto see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off. An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wilnot be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her. To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hirdegree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard herswear't. Tut there's life in't man. And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'thstrangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Re-uels sometimes altogether. To. Art thou good at these kicke-chawses Knight? And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoeuer he be, vnderthe degree of my betters, & yet I will not compare withan old man. To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight? And. Faith, I can cut a caper. To. And I can cut the Mutton too't. And. And I thinke I haue the backe-tricke, simply asstrong as any man in Illyria. To. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore hauethese gifts a Curtaine before 'em? Are they like to takedust, like mistris Mals picture? Why dost thou not goeto Church in a Galliard, and come home in a Carranto?My verie walke should be a Iigge: I would not so muchas make water but in a Sinke-a-pace: What dooest thoumeane? Is it a world to hide vertues in? I did thinke bythe excellent constitution of thy legge, it was form'd vn-der the starre of a Galliard. And. I, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in adam'd colour'd stocke. Shall we sit about some Reuels? To. What shall we do else: were we not borne vnderTaurus? And. Taurus? That sides and heart. To. No sir, it is leggs and thighes: let me see thee ca-per. Ha, higher: ha, ha, excellent. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire. Val. If the Duke continue these fauours towards you Cesario, you are like to be much aduanc'd, he hath knownyou but three dayes, and already you are no stranger. Vio. You either feare his humour, or my negligence,that you call in question the continuance of his loue. Ishe inconstant sir, in his fauours. Val. No beleeue me. Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. Vio. I thanke you: heere comes the Count. Duke. Who saw Cesario hoa? Vio. On your attendance my Lord heere. Du. Stand you a-while aloofe. Cesario, Thou knowst no lesse, but all: I haue vnclasp'dTo thee the booke euen of my secret soule.Therefore good youth, addresse thy gate vnto her,Be not deni'de accesse, stand at her doores,And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall growTill thou haue audience. Vio. Sure my Noble Lord,If she be so abandon'd to her sorrowAs it is spoke, she neuer will admit me. Du. Be clamorous, and leape all ciuill bounds,Rather then make vnprofited returne, Vio. Say I do speake with her (my Lord) what then? Du. O then, vnfold the passion of my loue,Surprize her with discourse of my deere faith;It shall become thee well to act my woes:She will attend it better in thy youth,Then in a Nuntio's of more graue aspect. Vio. I thinke not so, my Lord. Du. Deere Lad, beleeue it;For they shall yet belye thy happy yeeres,That say thou art a man: Dianas lipIs not more smooth, and rubious: thy small pipeIs as the maidens organ, shrill, and sound,And all is semblatiue a womans part.I know thy constellation is right aptFor this affayre: some foure or fiue attend him,All if you will: for I my selfe am bestWhen least in companie: prosper well in this,And thou shalt liue as freely as thy Lord,To call his fortunes thine. Vio. Ile do my bestTo woe your Lady: yet a barrefull strife,Who ere I woe, my selfe would be his wife. Exeunt.
Scena Quinta. Enter Maria, and Clowne. Ma. Nay, either tell me where thou hast bin, or I willnot open my lippes so wide as a brissle may enter, in wayof thy excuse: my Lady will hang thee for thy absence. Clo. Let her hang me: hee that is well hang'de in thisworld, needs to feare no colours. Ma. Make that good. Clo. He shall see none to feare. Ma. A good lenton answer: I can tell thee where ysaying was borne, of I feare no colours. Clo. Where good mistris Mary? Ma. In the warrs, & that may you be bolde to say inyour foolerie. Clo. Well, God giue them wisedome that haue it: &those that are fooles, let them vse their talents. Ma. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent,or to be turn'd away: is not that as good as a hanging toyou? Clo. Many a good hanging, preuents a bad marriage:and for turning away, let summer beare it out. Ma. You are resolute then? Clo. Not so neyther, but I am resolu'd on two points Ma. That if one breake, the other will hold: or if bothbreake, your gaskins fall. Clo. Apt in good faith, very apt: well go thy way, ifsir Toby would leaue drinking, thou wert as witty a pieceof Eues flesh, as any in Illyria. Ma. Peace you rogue, no more o'that: here comes myLady: make your excuse wisely, you were best. Enter Lady Oliuia, with Maluolio. Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good fooling:those wits that thinke they haue thee, doe very oft prouefooles: and I that am sure I lacke thee, may passe for awise man. For what saies Quinapalus, Better a witty foole,then a foolish wit. God blesse thee Lady. Ol. Take the foole away. Clo. Do you not heare fellowes, take away the Ladie. Ol. Go too, y'are a dry foole: Ile no more of you: be-sides you grow dis-honest. Clo. Two faults Madona, that drinke & good counsellwil amend: for giue the dry foole drink, then is the foolenot dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself, if he mend,he is no longer dishonest; if hee cannot, let the Botchermend him: any thing that's mended, is but patch'd: vertuthat transgresses, is but patcht with sinne, and sin that a-mends, is but patcht with vertue. If that this simpleSillogisme will serue, so: if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true Cuckold but calamity, so beauties aflower; The Lady bad take away the foole, therefore Isay againe, take her away. Ol. Sir, I bad them take away you. Clo. Misprision in the highest degree. Lady, Cucullus non facit monachum: that's as much to say, as I weare notmotley in my braine: good Madona, giue mee leaue toproue you a foole. Ol. Can you do it? Clo. Dexteriously, good Madona. Ol. Make your proofe. Clo. I must catechize you for it Madona, Good myMouse of vertue answer mee. Ol. Well sir, for want of other idlenesse, Ile bide yourproofe. Clo. Good Madona, why mournst thou? Ol. Good foole, for my brothers death. Clo. I thinke his soule is in hell, Madona. Ol. I know his soule is in heauen, foole. Clo. The more foole (Madona) to mourne for yourBrothers soule, being in heauen. Take away the Foole,Gentlemen. Ol. What thinke you of this foole Maluolio, doth henot mend? Mal. Yes, and shall do, till the pangs of death shakehim: Infirmity that decaies the wise, doth euer make thebetter foole. Clow. God send you sir, a speedie Infirmity, for thebetter increasing your folly: Sir Toby will be sworn thatI am no Fox, but he wil not passe his word for two pencethat you are no Foole. Ol. How say you to that Maluolio? Mal. I maruell your Ladyship takes delight in sucha barren rascall: I saw him put down the other day, withan ordinary foole, that has no more braine then a stone.Looke you now, he's out of his gard already: vnles youlaugh and minister occasion to him, he is gag'd. I protestI take these Wisemen, that crow so at these set kinde offooles, no better then the fooles Zanies. Ol. O you are sicke of selfe-loue Maluolio, and tastewith a distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltlesse,and of free disposition, is to take those things for Bird-bolts,that you deeme Cannon bullets: There is no slan-der in an allow'd foole, though he do nothing but rayle;nor no rayling, in a knowne discreet man, though hee donothing but reproue. Clo. Now Mercury indue thee with leasing, for thouspeak'st well of fooles. Enter Maria. Mar. Madam, there is at the gate, a young Gentle-man, much desires to speake with you. Ol. From the Count Orsino, is it? Ma I know not (Madam) 'tis a faire young man, andwell attended. Ol. Who of my people hold him in delay? Ma. Sir Toby Madam, your kinsman. Ol. Fetch him off I pray you, he speakes nothing butmadman: Fie on him. Go you Maluolio; If it be a suitfrom the Count, I am sicke, or not at home. What youwill, to dismisse it. Exit Maluo. Now you see sir, how your fooling growes old, & peo-ple dislike it. Clo. Thou hast spoke for vs (Madona) as if thy eldestsonne should be a foole: whose scull, Ioue cramme withbraines, for heere he comes. Enter Sir Toby. One of thy kin has a most weake Pia-mater. Ol. By mine honor halfe drunke. What is he at thegate Cosin? To. A Gentleman. Ol. A Gentleman? What Gentleman? To. 'Tis a Gentleman heere. A plague o'these pickleherring: How now Sot. Clo. Good Sir Toby. Ol. Cosin, Cosin, how haue you come so earely bythis Lethargie? To. Letcherie, I defie Letchery: there's one at thegate. Ol. I marry, what is he? To. Let him be the diuell and he will, I care not: giueme faith say I. Well, it's all one. Exit Ol. What's a drunken man like, foole? Clo. Like a drown'd man, a foole, and a madde man:One draught aboue heate, makes him a foole, the secondmaddes him, and a third drownes him. Ol. Go thou and seeke the Crowner, and let him sitteo'my Coz: for he's in the third degree of drinke: hee'sdrown'd: go looke after him. Clo. He is but mad yet Madona, and the foole shalllooke to the madman. Enter Maluolio. Mal. Madam, yond young fellow sweares hee willspeake with you. I told him you were sicke, he takes onhim to vnderstand so much, and therefore comes to speakwith you. I told him you were asleepe, he seems to hauea fore knowledge of that too, and therefore comes tospeake with you. What is to be said to him Ladie, hee'sfortified against any deniall. Ol. Tell him, he shall not speake with me. Mal. Ha's beene told so: and hee sayes hee'l stand atyour doore like a Sheriffes post, and be the supporter toa bench, but hee'l speake with you. Ol. What kinde o'man is he? Mal. Why of mankinde. Ol. What manner of man? Mal. Of verie ill manner: hee'l speake with you, willyou, or no. Ol. Of what personage, and yeeres is he? Mal. Not yet old enough for a man, nor yong enoughfor a boy: as a squash is before tis a pescod, or a Codlingwhen tis almost an Apple: Tis with him in standing wa-ter, betweene boy and man. He is verie well-fauour'd,and he speakes verie shrewishly: One would thinke hismothers milke were scarse out of him. Ol. Let him approach: Call in my Gentlewoman. Mal. Gentlewoman, my Lady calles. Exit. Enter Maria. Ol. Giue me my vaile: come throw it ore my face,Wee'l once more heare Orsinos Embassie. Enter Violenta. Vio. The honorable Ladie of the house, which is she? Ol. Speake to me, I shall answer for her: your will. Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and vnmatchable beau-tie. I pray you tell me if this bee the Lady of the house,for I neuer saw her. I would bee loath to cast away myspeech: for besides that it is excellently well pend, I hauetaken great paines to con it. Good Beauties, let mee su-staine no scorne; I am very comptible, euen to the leastsinister vsage. Ol. Whence came you sir? Vio. I can say little more then I haue studied, & thatquestion's out of my part. Good gentle one, giue meemodest assurance, if you be the Ladie of the house, that I may proceede in my speech. Ol. Are you a Comedian? Vio. No my profound heart: and yet (by the veriephangs of malice, I sweare) I am not that I play. Are youthe Ladie of the house? Ol. If I do not vsurpe my selfe, I am. Vio. Most certaine, if you are she, you do vsurp yourselfe: for what is yours to bestowe, is, not yours to re-serue. But this is from my Commission: I will on withmy speech in your praise, and then shew you the heart ofmy message. Ol. Come to what is important in't: I forgiue youthe praise. Vio. Alas, I tooke great paines to studie it, and 'tisPoeticall. Ol. It is the more like to be feigned, I pray you keepit in. I heard you were sawcy at my gates, & allowd yourapproach rather to wonder at you, then to heare you. Ifyou be not mad, be gone: if you haue reason, be breefe:'tis not that time of Moone with me, to make one in soskipping a dialogue. Ma. Will you hoyst sayle sir, here lies your way. Vio. No good swabber, I am to hull here a little lon-ger. Some mollification for your Giant, sweete Ladie;tell me your minde, I am a messenger. Ol. Sure you haue some hiddeous matter to deliuer,when the curtesie of it is so fearefull. Speake your office. Vio. It alone concernes your eare: I bring no ouer-ture of warre, no taxation of homage; I hold the Olyffein my hand: my words are as full of peace, as matter. Ol. Yet you began rudely. What are you?What would you? Vio. The rudenesse that hath appear'd in mee, haue Ilearn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and what Iwould, are as secret as maiden-head: to your eares, Di-uinity; to any others, prophanation. Ol. Giue vs the place alone,We will heare this diuinitie. Now sir, what is your text? Vio. Most sweet Ladie. Ol. A comfortable doctrine, and much may bee saideof it. Where lies your Text? Vio. In Orsinoes bosome. Ol. In his bosome? In what chapter of his bosome? Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his hart. Ol. O, I haue read it: it is heresie. Haue you no moreto say? Vio. Good Madam, let me see your face. Ol. Haue you any Commission from your Lord, tonegotiate with my face: you are now out of your Text:but we will draw the Curtain, and shew you the picture.Looke you sir, such a one I was this present: Ist not welldone? Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Ol. 'Tis in graine sir, 'twill endure winde and wea-ther. Vio. Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white,Natures owne sweet, and cunning hand laid on:Lady, you are the cruell'st shee aliue,If you will leade these graces to the graue,And leaue the world no copie. Ol. O sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will giueout diuers scedules of my beautie. It shalbe Inuentoriedand euery particle and vtensile labell'd to my will: As,Item two lippes indifferent redde, Item two grey eyes,with lids to them: Item, one necke, one chin, & so forth.Were you sent hither to praise me? Vio. I see you what you are, you are too proud:But if you were the diuell, you are faire:My Lord, and master loues you: O such loueCould be but recompenc'd, though you were crown'dThe non-pareil of beautie. Ol. How does he loue me? Vio. With adorations, fertill teares,With groanes that thunder loue, with sighes of fire. Ol. Your Lord does know my mind, I cannot loue himYet I suppose him vertuous, know him noble,Of great estate, of fresh and stainlesse youth;In voyces well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,And in dimension, and the shape of nature,A gracious person; But yet I cannot loue him:He might haue tooke his answer long ago. Vio. If I did loue you in my masters flame,With such a suffring, such a deadly life:In your deniall, I would finde no sence,I would not vnderstand it. Ol. Why, what would you? Vio. Make me a willow Cabine at your gate,And call vpon my soule within the house,Write loyall Cantons of contemned loue,And sing them lowd euen in the dead of night:Hallow your name to the reuerberate hilles,And make the babling Gossip of the aire,Cry out Oliuia: O you should not restBetweene the elements of ayre, and earth,But you should pittie me. Ol. You might do much:What is your Parentage? Vio. Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well:I am a Gentleman. Ol. Get you to your Lord:I cannot loue him: let him send no more,Vnlesse (perchance) you come to me againe,To tell me how he takes it: Fare you well:I thanke you for your paines: spend this for mee. Vio. I am no feede poast, Lady; keepe your purse,My Master, not my selfe, lackes recompence.Loue make his heart of flint, that you shal loue,And let your feruour like my masters be,Plac'd in contempt: Farwell fayre crueltie. Exit Ol. What is your Parentage?Aboue my fortunes, yet my state is well;I am a Gentleman. Ile be sworne thou art,Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbes, actions, and spirit,Do giue thee fiue-fold blazon: not too fast: soft, soft,Vnlesse the Master were the man. How now?Euen so quickly may one catch the plague?Me thinkes I feele this youths perfectionsWith an inuisible, and subtle stealthTo creepe in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.What hoa, Maluolio. Enter Maluolio. Mal. Heere Madam, at your seruice. Ol. Run after that same peeuish MessengerThe Countes man: he left this Ring behinde himWould I, or not: tell him, Ile none of it.Desire him not to flatter with his Lord,Nor hold him vp with hopes, I am not for him:If that the youth will come this way to morrow,Ile giue him reasons for't: hie thee Maluolio. Mal. Madam, I will. Exit. Ol. I do I know not what, and feare to findeMine eye too great a flatterer for my minde: Fate, shew thy force, our selues we do not owe,What is decreed, must be: and be this so. Finis, Actus primus.
Actus Secundus, Scaena prima. Enter Antonio & Sebastian. Ant. Will you stay no longer: nor will you not thatI go with you. Seb. By your patience, no: my starres shine darkelyouer me; the malignancie of my fate, might perhaps di-stemper yours; therefore I shall craue of you your leaue,that I may beare my euils alone. It were a bad recom-pence for your loue, to lay any of them on you. An. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound. Seb. No sooth sir: my determinate voyage is meereextrauagancie. But I perceiue in you so excellent a touchof modestie, that you will not extort from me, what I amwilling to keepe in: therefore it charges me in manners,the rather to expresse my selfe: you must know of meethen Antonio, my name is Sebastian (which I call'd Rodo-rigo)my father was that Sebastian of Messaline, whom Iknow you haue heard of. He left behinde him, my selfe,and a sister, both borne in an houre: if the Heauens hadbeene pleas'd, would we had so ended. But you sir, al-ter'dthat, for some houre before you tooke me from thebreach of the sea, was my sister drown'd. Ant. Alas the day. Seb. A Lady sir, though it was said shee much resem-bled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but thoghI could not with such estimable wonder ouer-farre be-leeue that, yet thus farre I will boldly publish her, sheebore a minde that enuy could not but call faire: Shee isdrown'd already sir with salt water, though I seeme todrowne her remembrance againe with more. Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment. Seb. O good Antonio, forgiue me your trouble. Ant. If you will not murther me for my loue, let meebe your seruant. Seb. If you will not vndo what you haue done, that iskill him, whom you haue recouer'd, desire it not. Fareye well at once, my bosome is full of kindnesse, and Iam yet so neere the manners of my mother, that vpon theleast occasion more, mine eyes will tell tales of me: I ambound to the Count Orsino's Court, farewell. Exit Ant. The gentlenesse of all the gods go with thee:I haue many enemies in Orsino's Court,Else would I very shortly see thee there:But come what may, I do adore thee so,That danger shall seeme sport, and I will go. Exit.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Viola and Maluolio, at seuerall doores. Mal. Were not you eu'n now, with the Countesse O-liuia? Vio. Euen now sir, on a moderate pace, I haue since a-riu'dbut hither. Mal. She returnes this Ring to you (sir) you mighthaue saued mee my paines, to haue taken it away yourselfe. She adds moreouer, that you should put your Lordinto a desperate assurance, she will none of him. And onething more, that you be neuer so hardie to come againein his affaires, vnlesse it bee to report your Lords takingof this: receiue it so. Vio. She tooke the Ring of me, Ile none of it. Mal. Come sir, you peeuishly threw it to her: andher will is, it should be so return'd: If it bee worth stoo-ping for, there it lies, in your eye: if not, bee it his thatfindes it. Exit. Vio. I left no Ring with her: what meanes this Lady?Fortune forbid my out-side haue not charm'd her:She made good view of me, indeed so much,That me thought her eyes had lost her tongue,For she did speake in starts distractedly.She loues me sure, the cunning of her passionInuites me in this churlish messenger:None of my Lords Ring? Why he sent her none;I am the man, if it be so, as tis,Poore Lady, she were better loue a dreame:Disguise, I see thou art a wickednesse,Wherein the pregnant enemie does much.How easie is it, for the proper falseIn womens waxen hearts to set their formes:Alas, O frailtie is the cause, not wee,For such as we are made, if such we bee:How will this fadge? My master loues her deerely,And I (poore monster) fond asmuch on him:And she (mistaken) seemes to dote on me:What will become of this? As I am man,My state is desperate for my maisters loue:As I am woman (now alas the day)What thriftlesse sighes shall poore Oliuia breath?O time, thou must vntangle this, not I,It is too hard a knot for me t' vnty.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew. To. Approach Sir Andrew: not to bee a bedde aftermidnight, is to be vp betimes, and Deliculo surgere, thouknow'st. And. Nay by my troth I know not: but I know, tobe vp late, is to be vp late. To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an vnfill'd Canne.To be vp after midnight, and to go to bed then is early:so that to go to bed after midnight, is to goe to bed be-times. Does not our liues consist of the foure Ele-ments? And. Faith so they say, but I thinke it rather consistsof eating and drinking. To. Th'art a scholler; let vs therefore eate and drinke Marian I say, a stoope of wine. Enter Clowne. And. Heere comes the foole yfaith. Clo. How now my harts: Did you neuer see the Pic-ture of we three? To. Welcome asse, now let's haue a catch. And. By my troth the foole has an excellent breast. Ihad rather then forty shillings I had such a legge, and sosweet a breath to sing, as the foole has. Insooth thou wastin very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas very good yfaith: I sent thee sixe pence for thy Lemon, hadst it? Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Maluolios noseis no Whip-stocke. My Lady has a white hand, and theMermidons are no bottle-ale houses. An. Excellent: Why this is the best fooling, whenall is done. Now a song. To. Come on, there is sixe pence for you. Let's hauea song. An. There's a testrill of me too: if one knight giue a Clo. Would you haue a loue-song, or a song of goodlife? To. A loue song, a loue song. An. I, I. I care not for good life. Clowne sings . O Mistris mine where are you roming?O stay and heare, your true loues coming,That can sing both high and low.Trip no further prettie sweeting.Iourneys end in louers meeting,Euery wise mans sonne doth know. An. Excellent good, ifaith. To. Good, good. Clo. What is loue, tis not heereafter,Present mirth, hath present laughter:What's to come, is still vnsure.In delay there lies no plentie,Then come kisse me sweet and twentie:Youths a stuffe will not endure. An. A mellifluous voyce, as I am true knight. To. A contagious breath. An. Very sweet, and contagious ifaith. To. To heare by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.But shall we make the Welkin dance indeed? Shall weerowze the night-Owle in a Catch, that will drawe threesoules out of one Weauer? Shall we do that? And. And you loue me, let's doo't: I am dogge at aCatch. Clo. Byrlady sir, and some dogs will catch well. An. Most certaine: Let our Catch be, Thou Knaue. Clo. Hold thy peace, thou Knaue knight. I shall be con-strain'din't, to call thee knaue, Knight. An. 'Tis not the first time I haue constrained one tocall me knaue. Begin foole: it begins, Hold thy peace. Clo. I shall neuer begin if I hold my peace. An. Good ifaith: Come begin. Catch sung Enter Maria. Mar. What a catterwalling doe you keepe heere? Ifmy Ladie haue not call'd vp her Steward Maluolio, andbid him turne you out of doores, neuer trust me. To. My Lady's a Catayan, we are politicians, Maluoliosa Peg-a-ramsie, and Three merry men be wee. Am not Iconsanguinious? Am I not of her blood: tilly vally. La-die, There dwelt a man in Babylon, Lady, Lady. Clo. Beshrew me, the knights in admirable fooling. An. I, he do's well enough if he be dispos'd, and sodo I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it morenaturall. To. O the twelfe day of December. Mar. For the loue o' God peace. Enter Maluolio. Mal. My masters are you mad? Or what are you?Haue you no wit, manners, nor honestie, but to gabblelike Tinkers at this time of night? Do yee make an Ale-house of my Ladies house, that ye squeak out your Cozi-ers Catches without any mitigation or remorse of voice?Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? To. We did keepe time sir in our Catches. Snecke vp. Mal. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My Ladybad me tell you, that though she harbors you as her kins-man, she's nothing ally'd to your disorders. If you canseparate your selfe and your misdemeanors, you are wel-come to the house: if not, and it would please you to takeleaue of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. To. Farewell deere heart, since I must needs be gone. Mar. Nay good Sir Toby. Clo. His eyes do shew his dayes are almost done. Mal. Is't euen so? To. But I will neuer dye. Clo. Sir Toby there you lye. Mal. This is much credit to you. To. Shall I bid him go. Clo. What and if you do? To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not? Clo. O no, no, no, no, you dare not. To. Out o' tune sir, ye lye: Art any more then a Stew-ard? Dost thou thinke because thou art vertuous, thereshall be no more Cakes and Ale? Clo. Yes by S[aint]. Anne, and Ginger shall bee hotte y'thmouth too. To. Th'art i'th right. Goe sir, rub your Chaine withcrums. A stope of Wine Maria. Mal. Mistris Mary, if you priz'd my Ladies fauourat any thing more then contempt, you would not giuemeanes for this vnciuill rule; she shall know of it by thishand. Exit Mar. Go shake your eares. An. 'Twere as good a deede as to drink when a mans a hungrie, to challenge him the field, and then to breakepromise with him, and make a foole of him. To. Doo't knight, Ile write thee a Challenge: or Iledeliuer thy indignation to him by word of mouth. Mar. Sweet Sir Toby be patient for to night: Sincethe youth of the Counts was to day with my Lady, she ismuch out of quiet. For Monsieur Maluolio, let me alonewith him: If I do not gull him into a nayword, and makehim a common recreation, do not thinke I haue witte e-nough to lye straight in my bed: I know I can do it. To. Possesse vs, possesse vs, tell vs something of him. Mar. Marrie sir, sometimes he is a kinde of Puritane. An. O, if I thought that, Ide beate him like a dogge. To. What for being a Puritan, thy exquisite reason,deere knight. An. I haue no exquisite reason for't, but I haue reasongood enough. Mar. The diu'll a Puritane that hee is, or any thingconstantly but a time-pleaser, an affection'd Asse, thatcons State without booke, and vtters it by great swarths.The best perswaded of himselfe: so cram'd (as he thinkes)with excellencies, that it is his grounds of faith, that allthat looke on him, loue him: and on that vice in him, willmy reuenge finde notable cause to worke. To. What wilt thou do? Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure Epistles ofloue, wherein by the colour of his beard, the shape of hislegge, the manner of his gate, the expressure of his eye,forehead, and complection, he shall finde himselfe mostfeelingly personated. I can write very like my Ladieyour Neece, on a forgotten matter wee can hardly makedistinction of our hands. To. Excellent, I smell a deuice. An. I hau't in my nose too. To. He shall thinke by the Letters that thou wilt drop that they come from my Neece, and that shee's in louewith him. Mar. My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour. An. And your horse now would make him an Asse. Mar. Asse, I doubt not. An. O twill be admirable. Mar. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Phy-sicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and letthe Foole make a third, where he shall finde the Letter:obserue his construction of it: For this night to bed, anddreame on the euent: Farewell. Exit To. Good night Penthisilea. An. Before me she's a good wench. To. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me:what o'that? An. I was ador'd once too. To. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst neede send formore money. An. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule wayout. To. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i'thend, call me Cut. An. If I do not, neuer trust me, take it how you will. To. Come, come, Ile go burne some Sacke, tis too lateto go to bed now: Come knight, come knight. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. Du. Giue me some Musick; Now good morow frends.Now good Cesario, but that peece of song,That old and Anticke song we heard last night;Me thought it did releeue my passion much,More then light ayres, and recollected termesOf these most briske and giddy-paced times.Come, but one verse. Cur. He is not heere (so please your Lordshippe) thatshould sing it? Du. Who was it? Cur. Feste the Iester my Lord, a foole that the Ladie Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about thehouse. Du. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while. Musicke playes. Come hither Boy, if euer thou shalt loueIn the sweet pangs of it, remember me:For such as I am, all true Louers are,Vnstaid and skittish in all motions else,Saue in the constant image of the creatureThat is belou'd. How dost thou like this tune? Vio. It giues a verie eccho to the seateWhere loue is thron'd. Du. Thou dost speake masterly,My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eyeHath staid vpon some fauour that it loues:Hath it not boy? Vio. A little, by your fauour. Du. What kinde of woman ist? Vio. Of your complection. Du. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith? Vio. About your yeeres my Lord. Du. Too old by heauen: Let still the woman takeAn elder then her selfe, so weares she to him;So swayes she leuell in her husbands heart:For boy, howeuer we do praise our selues,Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme,More longing, wauering, sooner lost and worne,Then womens are. Vio. I thinke it well my Lord. Du. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy selfe,Or thy affection cannot hold the bent:For women are as Roses, whose faire flowreBeing once displaid, doth fall that verie howre. Vio. And so they are: alas, that they are so:To die, euen when they to perfection grow. Enter Curio & Clowne. Du. O fellow come, the song we had last night:Marke it Cesario, it is old and plaine;The Spinsters and the Knitters in the Sun,And the free maides that weaue their thred with bones,Do vse to chaunt it: it is silly sooth,And dallies with the innocence of loue,Like the old age. Clo. Are you ready Sir? Duke. I prethee sing. Musicke. The Song. Come away, come away death, And in sad cypresse let me be laide.Fye away, fie away breath,I am slaine by a faire cruell maide: My shrowd of white, stuck all with Ew, O prepare it.My part of death no one so true did share it.Not a flower, not a flower sweeteOn my blacke coffin, let there be strewne:Not a friend, not a friend greetMy poore corpes, where my bones shall be throwne: A thousand thousand sighes to saue, lay me o where Sad true louer neuer find my graue, to weepe there. Du. There's for thy paines. Clo. No paines sir, I take pleasure in singing sir. Du. Ile pay thy pleasure then. Clo. Truely sir, and pleasure will be paide one time, oranother. Du. Giue me now leaue, to leaue thee. Clo. Now the melancholly God protect thee, and theTailor make thy doublet of changeable Taffata, for thyminde is a very Opall. I would haue men of such constan-cie put to Sea, that their businesse might be euery thing,and their intent euerie where, for that's it, that alwayesmakes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit Du. Let all the rest giue place: Once more Cesario, Get thee to yond same soueraigne crueltie:Tell her my loue, more noble then the worldPrizes not quantitie of dirtie lands,The parts that fortune hath bestow'd vpon her:Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune:But 'tis that miracle, and Queene of IemsThat nature prankes her in, attracts my soule. Vio. But if she cannot loue you sir. Du. It cannot be so answer'd. Vio. Sooth but you must.Say that some Lady, as perhappes there is,Hath for your loue as great a pang of heartAs you haue for Oliuia: you cannot loue her:You tel her so: Must she not then be answer'd? Du. There is no womans sides Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,As loue doth giue my heart: no womans heartSo bigge, to hold so much, they lacke retention.Alas, their loue may be call'd appetite,No motion of the Liuer, but the Pallat,That suffer surfet, cloyment, and reuolt,But mine is all as hungry as the Sea,And can digest as much, make no compareBetweene that loue a woman can beare me,And that I owe Oliuia. Vio. I but I know. Du. What dost thou knowe? Vio. Too well what loue women to men may owe:In faith they are as true of heart, as we.My Father had a daughter lou'd a manAs it might be perhaps, were I a womanI should your Lordship. Du. And what's her history? Vio. A blanke my Lord: she neuer told her loue,But let concealment like a worme i'th buddeFeede on her damaske cheeke: she pin'd in thought,And with a greene and yellow melancholly,She sate like Patience on a Monument,Smiling at greefe. Was not this loue indeede?We men may say more, sweare more, but indeedOur shewes are more then will: for still we proueMuch in our vowes, but little in our loue. Du. But di'de thy sister of her loue my Boy? Vio. I am all the daughters of my Fathers house,And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.Sir, shall I to this Lady? Du. I that's the Theame,To her in haste: giue her this Iewell: say,My loue can giue no place, bide no denay. exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. To. Come thy wayes Signior Fabian. Fab. Nay Ile come: if I loose a scruple of this sport,let me be boyl'd to death with Melancholly. To. Wouldst thou not be glad to haue the niggard-ly Rascally sheepe-biter, come by some notable shame? Fa. I would exult man: you know he brought me out o' fauour with my Lady, about a Beare-baiting heere. To. To anger him wee'l haue the Beare againe, andwe will foole him blacke and blew, shall we not sir An-drew? An. And we do not, it is pittie of our liues. Enter Maria. To. Heere comes the little villaine: How now myMettle of India? Mar. Get ye all three into the box tree: Maluolio'scomming downe this walke, he has beene yonder i'theSunne practising behauiour to his own shadow this halfehoure: obserue him for the loue of Mockerie: for I knowthis Letter wil make a contemplatiue Ideot of him. Closein the name of ieasting, lye thou there: for heere comesthe Trowt, that must be caught with tickling. Exit Enter Maluolio. Mal. 'Tis but Fortune, all is fortune. Maria oncetold me she did affect me, and I haue heard her self comethus neere, that should shee fancie, it should bee one ofmy complection. Besides she vses me with a more ex-alted respect, then any one else that followes her. Whatshould I thinke on't? To. Heere's an ouer-weening rogue. Fa. Oh peace: Contemplation makes a rare TurkeyCocke of him, how he iets vnder his aduanc'd plumes. And. Slight I could so beate the Rogue. To. Peace I say. Mal. To be Count Maluolio. To. Ah Rogue. An. Pistoll him, pistoll him. To. Peace, peace. Mal. There is example for't: The Lady of the Stra-chy, married the yeoman of the wardrobe. An. Fie on him Iezabel. Fa. O peace, now he's deepely in: looke how imagi-nation blowes him. Mal. Hauing beene three moneths married to her,sitting in my state. To. O for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye. Mal. Calling my Officers about me, in my branch'dVeluet gowne: hauing come from a day bedde, where Ihaue left Oliuia sleeping. To. Fire and Brimstone. Fa. O peace, peace. Mal. And then to haue the humor of state: and aftera demure trauaile of regard: telling them I knowe myplace, as I would they should doe theirs: to aske for mykinsman Toby. To. Boltes and shackles. Fa. Oh peace, peace, peace, now, now. Mal. Seauen of my people with an obedient start,make out for him: I frowne the while, and perchancewinde vp my watch, or play with my some rich Iewell: Toby approaches; curtsies there to me. To. Shall this fellow liue? Fa. Though our silence be drawne from vs with cars,yet peace. Mal. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching myfamiliar smile with an austere regard of controll. To. And do's not Toby take you a blow o'the lippes,then? Mal. Saying, Cosine Toby, my Fortunes hauing castme on your Neece, giue me this prerogatiue of speech. To. What, what? Mal. You must amend your drunkennesse. To. Out scab. Fab. Nay patience, or we breake the sinewes of ourplot? Mal. Besides you waste the treasure of your time,with a foolish knight. And. That's mee I warrant you. Mal. One sir Andrew. And. I knew 'twas I, for many do call mee foole. Mal. What employment haue we heere? Fa. Now is the Woodcocke neere the gin. To. Oh peace, and the spirit of humors intimate rea-ding aloud to him. Mal. By my life this is my Ladies hand: these bee hervery C's, her V's, and her T's, and thus makes shee hergreat P's. It is in contempt of question her hand. An. Her C's, her V's, and her T's: why that? Mal. To the vnknowne belou'd, this, and my good Wishes: Her very Phrases: By your leaue wax. Soft, and the im-pressure her Lucrece, with which she vses to seale: tis myLady: To whom should this be? Fab. This winnes him, Liuer and all. Mal. Ioue knowes I loue, but who, Lips do not mooue, no man must know. No man must know. What followes?The numbers alter'd: No man must know,If this should be thee Maluolio? To. Marrie hang thee brocke. Mal. I may command where I adore, but silence like a Lu-cresse knife: With bloodlesse stroke my heart doth gore, M.O.A.I. dothsway my life. Fa. A fustian riddle. To. Excellent Wench, say I. Mal. M.O.A.I. doth sway my life. Nay but firstlet me see, let me see, let me see. Fab. What dish a poyson has she drest him? To. And with what wing the stallion checkes at it? Mal. I may command, where I adore: Why shee maycommand me: I serue her, she is my Ladie. Why this iseuident to any formall capacitie. There is no obstructionin this, and the end: What should that Alphabeticall po-sition portend, if I could make that resemble somethingin me? Softly, M.O.A.I. To. O I, make vp that, he is now at a cold sent. Fab. Sowter will cry vpon't for all this, though it beeas ranke as a Fox. Mal. M. Maluolio, M. why that begins my name. Fab. Did not I say he would worke it out, the Curreis excellent at faults. Mal. M. But then there is no consonancy in the sequellthat suffers vnder probation: A. should follow, but O. does. Fa. And O shall end, I hope. To. I, or Ile cudgell him, and make him cry O. Mal. And then I. comes behind. Fa. I, and you had any eye behinde you, you mightsee more detraction at your heeles, then Fortunes beforeyou. Mal. M,O,A,I. This simulation is not as the former:and yet to crush this a little, it would bow to mee, for e-uery one of these Letters are in my name. Soft, here fol-lowes prose: If this fall into thy hand, reuolue. In my starsI am aboue thee, but be not affraid of greatnesse: Someare become great, some atcheeues greatnesse, and somehaue greatnesse thrust vppon em. Thy fates open theyrhands, let thy blood and spirit embrace them, and to in-vre thy selfe to what thou art like to be: cast thy humbleslough, and appeare fresh. Be opposite with a kinsman,surly with seruants: Let thy tongue tang arguments ofstate; put thy selfe into the tricke of singularitie. Sheethus aduises thee, that sighes for thee. Remember whocommended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see theeeuer crosse garter'd: I say remember, goe too, thou artmade if thou desir'st to be so: If not, let me see thee a ste-ward still, the fellow of seruants, and not woorthie totouch Fortunes fingers Farewell, Shee that would alterseruices with thee, the fortunate vnhappy daylight andchampian discouers not more: This is open, I will beeproud, I will reade politicke Authours, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off grosse acquaintance, I will be pointdeuise, the very man. I do not now foole my selfe, to letimagination iade mee; for euery reason excites to this,that my Lady loues me. She did commend my yellowstockings of late, shee did praise my legge being crosse-garter'd,and in this she manifests her selfe to my loue, &with a kinde of iniunction driues mee to these habites ofher liking. I thanke my starres, I am happy: I will beestrange, stout, in yellow stockings, and crosse Garter'd,euen with the swiftnesse of putting on. Ioue, and mystarres be praised. Heere is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainst my loue, let it appeare in thy smiling, thy smiles become thee well. There-fore in my presence still smile, deero my sweete, I prethee. IoueI thanke thee, I will smile, I wil do euery thing that thouwilt haue me. Exit Fab. I will not giue my part of this sport for a pensi-on of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. To. I could marry this wench for this deuice. An. So could I too. To. And aske no other dowry with her, but such ano-ther iest. Enter Maria. An. Nor I neither. Fab. Heere comes my noble gull catcher. To. Wilt thou set thy foote o'my necke. An. Or o'mine either? To. Shall I play my freedome at tray-trip, and becomthy bondslaue? An. Ifaith, or I either? Tob. Why, thou hast put him in such a dreame, thatwhen the image of it leaues him, he must run mad. Ma. Nay but say true, do's it worke vpon him? To. Like Aqua vite with a Midwife. Mar. If you will then see the fruites of the sport, markhis first approach before my Lady: hee will come to herin yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhorres, andcrosse garter'd, a fashion shee detests: and hee will smilevpon her, which will now be so vnsuteable to her dispo-sition, being addicted to a melancholly, as shee is, that itcannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you wilsee it follow me. To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent diuellof wit. And. Ile make one too. Exeunt. Finis Actus secundus
Actus Tertius, Scaena prima. Enter Viola and Clowne. Vio. Saue thee Friend and thy Musick: dost thou liueby thy Tabor? Clo. No sir, I liue by the Church. Vio. Art thou a Churchman? Clo. No such matter sir, I do liue by the Church: For,I do liue at my house, and my house dooth stand by theChurch. Vio. So thou maist say the Kings lyes by a begger, if abegger dwell neer him: or the Church stands by thy Ta-bor, if thy Tabor stand by the Church. Clo. You haue said sir: To see this age: A sentence isbut a cheu'rill gloue to a good witte, how quickely thewrong side may be turn'd outward. Vio. Nay that's certaine: they that dally nicely withwords, may quickely make them wanton. Clo. I would therefore my sister had had no name Sir. Vio. Why man? Clo. Why sir, her names a word, and to dallie withthat word, might make my sister wanton: But indeede,words are very Rascals, since bonds disgrac'd them. Vio. Thy reason man? Clo. Troth sir, I can yeeld you none without wordes,and wordes are growne so false, I am loath to proue rea-son with them. Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and car'st fornothing. Clo. Not so sir, I do care for something: but in my con-science sir, I do not care for you: if that be to care for no-thing sir, I would it would make you inuisible. Vio. Art not thou the Lady Oliuia's foole? Clo. No indeed sir, the Lady Oliuia has no folly, sheewill keepe no foole sir, till she be married, and fooles areas like husbands, as Pilchers are to Herrings, the Hus-bands the bigger, I am indeede not her foole, but hir cor-rupter of words. Vio. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. Clo. Foolery sir, does walke about the Orbe like theSun, it shines euery where. I would be sorry sir, but theFoole should be as oft with your Master, as with my Mi-stris: I thinke I saw your wisedome there. Vio. Nay, and thou passe vpon me, Ile no more withthee. Hold there's expences for thee. Clo. Now Ioue in his next commodity of hayre, sendthee a beard. Vio. By my troth Ile tell thee, I am almost sicke forone, though I would not haue it grow on my chinne. Isthy Lady within? Clo Would not a paire of these haue bred sir? Vio. Yes being kept together, and put to vse. Clo. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia sir, to bringa Cressida to this Troylus. Vio. I vnderstand you sir, tis well begg'd. Clo. The matter I hope is not great sir; begging, but abegger: Cressida was a begger. My Lady is within sir. Iwill conster to them whence you come, who you are, andwhat you would are out of my welkin, I might say Ele-ment, but the word is ouer-worne. exit Vio. This fellow is wise enough to play the foole,And to do that well, craues a kinde of wit:He must obserue their mood on whom he iests,The quality of persons, and the time:And like the Haggard, checke at euery FeatherThat comes before his eye. This is a practice,As full of labour as a Wise-mans Art:For folly that he wisely shewes, is fit;But wisemens folly falne, quite taint their wit. Enter Sir Toby and Andrew. To. Saue you Gentleman. Vio. And you sir. And. Dieu vou guard Monsieur. Vio. Et vouz ousie vostre seruiture. An. I hope sir, you are, and I am yours. To. Will you incounter the house, my Neece is desi-rous you should enter, if your trade be to her. Vio. I am bound to your Neece sir, I meane she is thelist of my voyage. To. Taste your legges sir, put them to motion. Vio. My legges do better vnderstand me sir, then I vn-derstand what you meane by bidding me taste my legs. To. I meane to go sir, to enter. Vio. I will answer you with gate and entrance, but weare preuented. Enter Oliuia, and Gentlewoman. Most excellent accomplish'd Lady, the heauens raine O-dours on you. And. That youth's a rare Courtier, raine odours, wel. Vio. My matter hath no voice Lady, but to your ownemost pregnant and vouchsafed eare. And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed: Ile get 'emall three already. Ol. Let the Garden doore be shut, and leaue mee tomy hearing. Giue me your hand sir. Vio. My dutie Madam, and most humble seruice. Ol. What is your name? Vio. Cesario is your seruants name, faire Princesse. Ol. My seruant sir? 'Twas neuer merry world,Since lowly feigning was call'd complement:Y'are seruant to the Count Orsino youth. Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:Your seruants seruant, is your seruant Madam. Ol. For him, I thinke not on him: for his thoughts,Would they were blankes, rather then fill'd with me. Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughtsOn his behalfe. Ol. O by your leaue I pray you.I bad you neuer speake againe of him;But would you vndertake another suiteI had rather heare you, to solicit that,Then Musicke from the spheares. Vio. Deere Lady. Ol. Giue me leaue, beseech you: I did send,After the last enchantment you did heare,A Ring in chace of you. So did I abuseMy selfe, my seruant, and I feare me you:Vnder your hard construction must I sit,To force that on you in a shamefull cunningWhich you knew none of yours. What might you think?Haue you not set mine Honor at the stake,And baited it with all th' vnmuzled thoughtsThat tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiuingEnough is shewne, a Cipresse, not a bosome,Hides my heart: so let me heare you speake. Vio. I pittie you. Ol. That's a degree to loue. Vio. No not a grize: for tis a vulgar proofeThat verie oft we pitty enemies. Ol. Why then me thinkes 'tis time to smile agen:O world, how apt the poore are to be proud?If one should be a prey, how much the betterTo fall before the Lion, then the Wolfe? Clocke strikes. The clocke vpbraides me with the waste of time:Be not affraid good youth, I will not haue you,And yet when wit and youth is come to haruest,Your wife is like to reape a proper man:There lies your way, due West. Vio. Then Westward hoe:Grace and good disposition attend your Ladyship:You'l nothing Madam to my Lord, by me: Ol. Stay: I prethee tell me what thou thinkst of me? Vio. That you do thinke you are not what you are. Ol. If I thinke so, I thinke the same of you. Vio. Then thinke you right: I am not what I am. Ol. I would you were, as I would haue you be. Vio. Would it be better Madam, then I am?I wish it might, for now I am your foole. Ol. O what a deale of scorne, lookes beautifull?In the contempt and anger of his lip,A murdrous guilt shewes not it selfe more soone,Then loue that would seeme hid: Loues night, is noone. Cesario, by the Roses of the Spring,By maid-hood, honor, truth, and euery thing,I loue thee so, that maugre all thy pride, Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide:Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause:But rather reason thus, with reason fetter;Loue sought, is good: but giuen vnsought, is better. Vio. By innocence I sweare, and by my youth,I haue one heart, one bosome, and one truth,And that no woman has, nor neuer noneShall mistris be of it, saue I alone.And so adieu good Madam, neuer more,Will I my Masters teares to you deplore. Ol. Yet come againe: for thou perhaps mayst moueThat heart which now abhorres, to like his loue. Exeunt
Scoena Secunda. Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. And. No faith, Ile not stay a iot longer: To. Thy reason deere venom, giue thy reason. Fab. You must needes yeelde your reason, Sir An-drew? And. Marry I saw your Neece do more fauours to theCounts Seruing-man, then euer she bestow'd vpon mee:I saw't i'th Orchard. To. Did she see the while, old boy, tell me that. And. As plaine as I see you now. Fab. This was a great argument of loue in her towardyou. And. S'light; will you make an Asse o'me. Fab. I will proue it legitimate sir, vpon the Oathes ofiudgement, and reason. To. And they haue beene grand Iurie men, since before Noah was a Saylor. Fab. Shee did shew fauour to the youth in your sight,onely to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour,to put fire in your Heart, and brimstone in your Liuer:you should then haue accosted her, and with some excel-lent iests, fire-new from the mint, you should haue bangdthe youth into dumbenesse: this was look'd for at yourhand, and this was baulkt: the double gilt of this oppor-tunitie you let time wash off, and you are now sayld intothe North of my Ladies opinion, where you will hanglike an ysickle on a Dutchmans beard, vnlesse you do re-deeme it, by some laudable attempt, either of valour orpolicie. And. And't be any way, it must be with Valour, forpolicie I hate: I had as liefe be a Brownist, as a Politi-cian. To. Why then build me thy fortunes vpon the basis ofvalour. Challenge me the Counts youth to fight with himhurt him in eleuen places, my Neece shall take note of it,and assure thy selfe, there is no loue-Broker in the world,can more preuaile in mans commendation with woman,then report of valour. Fab. There is no way but this sir Andrew. An. Will either of you beare me a challenge to him? To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst and briefe:it is no matter how wittie, so it bee eloquent, and full ofinuention: taunt him with the license of Inke: if thouthou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amisse, and as ma-ny Lyes, as will lye in thy sheete of paper, although thesheete were bigge enough for the bedde of Ware in Eng-land, set 'em downe, go about it. Let there bee gaulle e-nough in thy inke, though thou write with a Goose-pen,no matter: about it. And. Where shall I finde you? To. Wee'l call thee at the Cubiculo: Go. Exit Sir Andrew. Fa. This is a deere Manakin to you Sir Toby. To. I haue beene deere to him lad, some two thousandstrong, or so. Fa. We shall haue a rare Letter from him; but you'lenot deliuer't. To. Neuer trust me then: and by all meanes stirre onthe youth to an answer. I thinke Oxen and waine-ropescannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'dand you finde so much blood in his Liuer, as will clog thefoote of a flea, Ile eate the rest of th' anatomy. Fab. And his opposit the youth beares in his visage nogreat presage of cruelty. Enter Maria. To. Looke where the youngest Wren of mine comes. Mar. If you desire the spleene, and will laughe yourselues into stitches, follow me; yond gull Maluolio is tur-ned Heathen, a verie Renegatho; for there is no christianthat meanes to be saued by beleeuing rightly, can euerbeleeue such impossible passages of grossenesse. Hee's inyellow stockings. To. And crosse garter'd? Mar. Most villanously: like a Pedant that keepes aSchoole i'th Church: I haue dogg'd him like his murthe-rer. He does obey euery point of the Letter that I dropt,to betray him: He does smile his face into more lynes,then is in the new Mappe, with the augmentation of theIndies: you haue not seene such a thing as tis: I can hard-ly forbeare hurling things at him, I know my Ladie willstrike him: if shee doe, hee'l smile, and take't for a greatfauour. To. Come bring vs, bring vs where he is. Exeunt Omnes.
Scaena Tertia. Enter Sebastian and Anthonio. Seb. I would not by my will haue troubled you,But since you make your pleasure of your paines,I will no further chide you. Ant. I could not stay behinde you: my desire(More sharpe then filed steele) did spurre me forth,And not all loue to see you (though so muchAs might haue drawne one to a longer voyage)But iealousie, what might befall your trauell,Being skillesse in these parts: which to a stranger,Vnguided, and vnfriended, often proueRough, and vnhospitable. My willing loue,The rather by these arguments of feareSet forth in your pursuite. Seb. My kinde Anthonio, I can no other answer make, but thankes,And thankes: and euer oft good turnes,Are shuffel'd off with such vncurrant pay:But were my worth, as is my conscience firme, You should finde better dealing: what's to do?Shall we go see the reliques of this Towne? Ant. To morrow sir, best first go see your Lodging? Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to nightI pray you let vs satisfie our eyesWith the memorials, and the things of fameThat do renowne this City. Ant. Would youl'd pardon me:I do not without danger walke these streetes.Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his gallies,I did some seruice, of such note indeede,That were I tane heere, it would scarse be answer'd. Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people. Ant. Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature,Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrellMight well haue giuen vs bloody argument:It might haue since bene answer'd in repayingWhat we tooke from them, which for Traffiques sakeMost of our City did. Onely my selfe stood out,For which if I be lapsed in this placeI shall pay deere. Seb. Do not then walke too open. Ant. It doth not fit me: hold sir, here's my purse,In the South Suburbes at the ElephantIs best to lodge: I will bespeake our dyet,Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your knowledgeWith viewing of the Towne, there shall you haue me. Seb. Why I your purse? Ant. Haply your eye shall light vpon some toyYou haue desire to purchase: and your storeI thinke is not for idle Markets, sir. Seb. Ile be your purse-bearer, and leaue youFor an houre. Ant. To th' Elephant. Seb. I do remember. Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Oliuia and Maria. Ol. I haue sent after him, he sayes hee'l come:How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?For youth is bought more oft, then begg'd, or borrow'd.I speake too loud: Where's Maluolio, he is sad, and ciuill,And suites well for a seruant with my fortunes,Where is Maluolio? Mar. He's comming Madame:But in very strange manner. He is sure possest Madam. Ol. Why what's the matter, does he raue? Mar. No Madam, he does nothing but smile: your La-dyship were best to haue some guard about you, if heecome, for sure the man is tainted in's wits. Ol. Go call him hither. Enter Maluolio. I am as madde as hee,If sad and merry madnesse equall bee.How now Maluolio? Mal. Sweet Lady, ho, ho. Ol. Smil'st thou? I sent for thee vpon a sad occasion. Mal. Sad Lady, I could be sad:This does make some obstruction in the blood:This crosse-gartering, but what of that?If it please the eye of one, it is with me as the very trueSonnet is: Please one, and please all. Mal. Why how doest thou man?What is the matter with thee? Mal. Not blacke in my minde, though yellow in mylegges: It did come to his hands, and Commaunds shallbe executed. I thinke we doe know the sweet Romanehand. Ol. Wilt thou go to bed Maluolio? Mal. To bed? I sweet heart, and Ile come to thee. Ol. God comfort thee: Why dost thou smile so, andkisse thy hand so oft? Mar. How do you Maluolio? Maluo. At your request:Yes Nightingales answere Dawes. Mar. Why appeare you with this ridiculous bold-nesse before my Lady. Mal. Be not afraid of greatnesse: 'twas well writ. Ol. What meanst thou by that Maluolio? Mal. Some are borne great. Ol. Ha? Mal. Some atcheeue greatnesse. Ol. What sayst thou? Mal. And some haue greatnesse thrust vpon them. Ol. Heauen restore thee. Mal. Remember who commended thy yellow stock-ings. Ol. Thy yellow stockings? Mal. And wish'd to see thee crosse garter'd. Ol. Crosse garter'd? Mal. Go too, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so. Ol. Am I made? Mal. If not, let me see thee a seruant still. Ol. Why this is verie Midsommer madnesse. Enter Seruant. Ser. Madame, the young Gentleman of the Count Orsino's is return'd, I could hardly entreate him backe: heattends your Ladyships pleasure. Ol. Ile come to him.Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd too. Where's myCosine Toby, let some of my people haue a speciall careof him, I would not haue him miscarrie for the halfe ofmy Dowry. exit Mal. Oh ho, do you come neere me now: no worseman then sir Toby to looke to me. This concurres direct-ly with the Letter, she sends him on purpose, that I mayappeare stubborne to him: for she incites me to that inthe Letter. Cast thy humble slough sayes she: be oppo-site with a Kinsman, surly with seruants, let thy tonguelanger with arguments of state, put thy selfe into thetricke of singularity: and consequently setts downe themanner how: as a sad face, a reuerend carriage, a slowtongue, in the habite of some Sir of note, and so foorth.I haue lymde her, but it is Ioues doing, and Ioue make methankefull. And when she went away now, let this Fel-low be look'd too: Fellow? not Maluolio, nor after mydegree, but Fellow. Why euery thing adheres togither,that no dramme of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, noobstacle, no incredulous or vnsafe circumstance: Whatcan be saide? Nothing that can be, can come betweeneme, and the full prospect of my hopes. Well Ioue, not I,is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. Enter Toby, Fabian, and Maria. To. Which way is hee in the name of sanctity. If allthe diuels of hell be drawne in little, and Legion himselfepossest him, yet Ile speake to him. Fab. Heere he is, heere he is: how ist with you sir?How ist with you man? Mal. Go off, I discard you: let me enioy my priuate:go off. Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speakes within him;did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my Lady prayes you to hauea care of him. Mal. Ah ha, does she so? To. Go too, go too: peace, peace, wee must dealegently with him: Let me alone. How do you Maluolio?How ist with you? What man, defie the diuell: consider,he's an enemy to mankinde. Mal. Do you know what you say? Mar. La you, and you speake ill of the diuell, howhe takes it at heart. Pray God he be not bewitch'd. Fab. Carry his water to th' wise woman. Mar. Marry and it shall be done to morrow morningif I liue. My Lady would not loose him for more then ilesay. Mal. How now mistris? Mar. Oh Lord. To. Prethee hold thy peace, this is not the way: Doeyou not see you moue him? Let me alone with him. Fa. No way but gentlenesse, gently, gently: the Fiendis rough, and will not be roughly vs'd. To. Why how now my bawcock? how dost thou chuck? Mal. Sir. To. I biddy, come with me. What man, tis not forgrauity to play at cherrie-pit with sathan Hang him foulColliar. Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good sir Toby gettehim to pray. Mal. My prayers Minx. Mar. No I warrant you, he will not heare of godly-nesse. Mal. Go hang your selues all: you are ydle shallowethings, I am not of your element, you shall knowe moreheereafter. Exit To. Ist possible? Fa. If this were plaid vpon a stage now, I could con-demne it as an improbable fiction. To. His very genius hath taken the infection of thedeuice man. Mar. Nay pursue him now, least the deuice take ayre,and taint. Fa. Why we shall make him mad indeede. Mar. The house will be the quieter. To. Come, wee'l haue him in a darke room & bound.My Neece is already in the beleefe that he's mad: we maycarry it thus for our pleasure, and his pennance, til our ve-ry pastime tyred out of breath, prompt vs to haue mercyon him: at which time, we wil bring the deuice to the barand crowne thee for a finder of madmen: but see, but see. Enter Sir Andrew. Fa. More matter for a May morning. An. Heere's the Challenge, reade it: I warrant there'svinegar and pepper in't. Fab. Ist so sawcy? And. I, ist? I warrant him: do but read. To. Giue me. Youth, whatsoeuer thou art, thou art but a scuruy fellow. Fa. Good, and valiant. To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy minde why I doe callthee so, for I will shew thee no reason for't. Fa. A good note, that keepes you from the blow of the  Law To. Thou comst to the Lady Oliuia, and in my sight she vses thee kindly: but thou lyest in thy throat, that is not the matterI challenge thee for. Fa. Very breefe, and to exceeding good sence-lesse. To. I will way-lay thee going home, where if it be thy chanceto kill me. Fa. Good. To. Thou kilst me like a rogue and a villaine. Fa. Still you keepe o'th windie side of the Law: good. Tob. Fartheewell, and God haue mercie vpon one of our soules. He may haue mercie vpon mine, but my hope is better, and so looke to thy selfe. Thy friend as thou vsest him, & thysworne enemie, Andrew Ague-cheeke. To. If this Letter moue him not, his legges cannot:Ile giu't him. Mar. You may haue verie fit occasion for't: he is nowin some commerce with my Ladie, and will by and bydepart. To. Go sir Andrew: scout mee for him at the cornerof the Orchard like a bum-Baylie: so soone as euer thouseest him, draw, and as thou draw'st, sweare horrible: forit comes to passe oft, that a terrible oath, with a swagge-ring accent sharpely twang'd off, giues manhoode moreapprobation, then euer proofe it selfe would haue earn'dhim. Away. And. Nay let me alone for swearing. Exit To. Now will not I deliuer his Letter: for the behaui-our of the yong Gentleman, giues him out to be of goodcapacity, and breeding: his employment betweene hisLord and my Neece, confirmes no lesse. Therefore, thisLetter being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terrorin the youth: he will finde it comes from a Clodde-pole.But sir, I will deliuer his Challenge by word of mouth;set vpon Ague-cheeke a notable report of valor, and driuethe Gentleman (as I know his youth will aptly receiue it)into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, furie, andimpetuositie. This will so fright them both, that they wilkill one another by the looke, like Cockatrices. Enter Oliuia and Viola. Fab. Heere he comes with your Neece, giue them waytill he take leaue, and presently after him. To. I wil meditate the while vpon some horrid messagefor a Challenge. Ol. I haue said too much vnto a hart of stone,And laid mine honour too vnchary on't:There's something in me that reproues my fault:But such a head-strong potent fault it is,That it but mockes reproofe. Vio. With the same hauiour that your passion beares,Goes on my Masters greefes. Ol. Heere, weare this Iewell for me, tis my picture:Refuse it not, it hath no tongue, to vex you:And I beseech you come againe to morrow.What shall you aske of me that Ile deny,That honour (sau'd) may vpon asking giue. Vio. Nothing but this, your true loue for my master. Ol. How with mine honor may I giue him that,Which I haue giuen to you. Vio. I will acquit you. Ol. Well, come againe to morrow: far-thee-well,A Fiend like thee might beare my soule to hell. Enter Toby and Fabian. To. Gentleman, God saue thee. Vio. And you sir. To. That defence thou hast, betake the too't: of whatnature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I knowe not:but thy intercepter full of despight, bloody as the Hun-ter, attends thee at the Orchard end: dismount thy tucke,be yare in thy preparation, for thy assaylant is quick, skil-full, and deadly. Vio. You mistake sir I am sure, no man hath any quar-rell to me: my remembrance is very free and cleere fromany image of offence done to any man. To. You'l finde it otherwise I assure you: therefore, ifyou hold your life at any price, betake you to your gard:for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, skill,and wrath, can furnish man withall. Vio. I pray you sir what is he? To. He is knight dubb'd with vnhatch'd Rapier, andon carpet consideration, but he is a diuell in priuate brall,soules and bodies hath he diuorc'd three, and his incense-ment at this moment is so implacable, that satisfactioncan be none, but by pangs of death and sepulcher: Hob,nob, is his word: giu't or take't. Vio. I will returne againe into the house, and desiresome conduct of the Lady. I am no fighter, I haue heardof some kinde of men, that put quarrells purposely on o-thers, to taste their valour: belike this is a man of thatquirke. To. Sir, no: his indignation deriues it selfe out of a ve-ry computent iniurie, therefore get you on, and giue himhis desire. Backe you shall not to the house, vnlesse youvndertake that with me, which with as much safetie youmight answer him: therefore on, or strippe your swordstarke naked: for meddle you must that's certain, or for-sweare to weare iron about you. Vio. This is as vnciuill as strange. I beseech you doeme this courteous office, as to know of the Knight whatmy offence to him is: it is something of my negligence,nothing of my purpose. To. I will doe so. Signiour Fabian, stay you by thisGentleman, till my returne. Exit Toby. Vio. Pray you sir, do you know of this matter? Fab. I know the knight is incenst against you, euen toa mortall arbitrement, but nothing of the circumstancemore. Vio. I beseech you what manner of man is he? Fab. Nothing of that wonderfull promise to read himby his forme, as you are like to finde him in the proofe ofhis valour. He is indeede sir, the most skilfull, bloudy, &fatall opposite that you could possibly haue found in aniepart of Illyria: will you walke towards him, I will makeyour peace with him, if I can. Vio. I shall bee much bound to you for't: I am one,that had rather go with sir Priest, then sir knight: I carenot who knowes so much of my mettle. Exeunt. Enter Toby and Andrew. To. Why man hee s a verie diuell, I haue not seen sucha firago: I had a passe with him, rapier, scabberd, and all:and he giues me the stucke in with such a mortall motionthat it is ineuitable: and on the answer, he payes you assurely, as your feete hits the ground they step on. Theysay, he has bin Fencer to the Sophy. And. Pox on't, Ile not meddle with him. To. I but he will not now be pacified, Fabian can scarse hold him yonder. An. Plague on't, and I thought he had beene valiant,and so cunning in Fence, I'de haue seene him damn'd ereI'de haue challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, andIle giue him my horse, gray Capilet. To. Ile make the motion: stand heere, make a goodshew on't, this shall end without the perdition of soules,marry Ile ride your horse as well as I ride you. Enter Fabian and Viola. I haue his horse to take vp the quarrell, I haue perswadedhim the youths a diuell. Fa. He is as horribly conceited of him: and pants, &lookes pale, as if a Beare were at his heeles. To. There's no remedie sir, he will fight with you for'soath sake: marrie hee hath better bethought him of hisquarrell, and hee findes that now scarse to bee worth tal-king of: therefore draw for the supportance of his vowe,he protests he will not hurt you. Vio. Pray God defend me: a little thing would makeme tell them how much I lacke of a man. Fab. Giue ground if you see him furious. To. Come sir Andrew, there's no remedie, the Gen-tleman will for his honors sake haue one bowt with you:he cannot by the Duello auoide it: but hee has promisedme, as he is a Gentleman and a Soldiour, he will not hurtyou. Come on, too't. And. Pray God he keepe his oath. Enter Antonio. Vio. I do assure you tis against my will. Ant. Put vp your sword: if this yong GentlemanHaue done offence, I take the fault on me:If you offend him, I for him defie you. To. You sir? Why, what are you? Ant. One sir, that for his loue dares yet do moreThen you haue heard him brag to you he will. To. Nay, if you be an vndertaker, I am for you. Enter Officers. Fab. O good sir Toby hold: heere come the Officers. To. Ile be with you anon. Vio. Pray sir, put your sword vp if you please. And. Marry will I sir: and for that I promis'd you Ilebe as good as my word. Hee will beare you easily, andraines well. 1.Off. This is the man, do thy Office. 2.Off. Anthonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino An. You do mistake me sir. 1.Off. No sir, no iot: I know your fauour well:Though now you haue no sea-cap on your head:Take him away, he knowes I know him well. Ant. I must obey. This comes with seeking you:But there's no remedie, I shall answer it:What will you do: now my necessitieMakes me to aske you for my purse. It greeues meeMuch more, for what I cannot do for you,Then what befals my selfe: you stand amaz'd,But be of comfort. 2.Off. Come sir away. Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. Vio. What money sir?For the fayre kindnesse you haue shew'd me heere,And part being prompted by your present trouble,Out of my leane and low abilityIle lend you something: my hauing is not much,Ile make diuision of my present with you:Hold, there's halfe my Coffer. Ant. Will you deny me now,Ist possible that my deserts to youCan lacke perswasion. Do not tempt my misery,Least that it make me so vnsound a manAs to vpbraid you with those kindnesses That I haue done for you. Vio. I know of none,Nor know I you by voyce, or any feature:I hate ingratitude more in a man,Then lying, vainnesse, babling drunkennesse,Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruptionInhabites our fraile blood. Ant. Oh heauens themselues. 2.Off. Come sir, I pray you go. Ant. Let me speake a little. This youth that you see heere,I snatch'd one halfe out of the iawes of death,Releeu'd him with such sanctitie of loue;And to his image, which me thought did promiseMost venerable worth, did I deuotion. 1.Off. What's that to vs, the time goes by: Away. Ant. But oh, how vilde an idoll proues this God:Thou hast Sebastian done good feature, shame.In Nature, there's no blemish but the minde:None can be call'd deform'd, but the vnkinde.Vertue is beauty, but the beauteous euillAre empty trunkes, ore-flourish'd by the deuill. 1.Off. The man growes mad, away with him:Come, come sir. Ant. Leade me on. Exit Vio. Me thinkes his words do from such passion flyeThat he beleeues himselfe, so do not I:Proue true imagination, oh proue true,That I deere brother, be now tane for you. To. Come hither Knight, come hither Fabian: Weelwhisper ore a couplet or two of most sage sawes. Vio. He nam'd Sebastian: I my brother knowYet liuing in my glasse: euen such, and soIn fauour was my Brother, and he wentStill in this fashion, colour, ornament,For him I imitate: Oh if it proue,Tempests are kinde, and salt waues fresh in loue. To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a cowardthen a Hare, his dishonesty appeares, in leauing his frendheere in necessity, and denying him: and for his coward-ship aske Fabian. Fab. A Coward, a most deuout Coward, religious init. And. Slid Ile after him againe, and beate him. To. Do, cuffe him soundly, but neuer draw thy sword And. And I do not. Fab. Come, let's see the euent. To. I dare lay any money, twill be nothing yet. Exit
Actus Quartus, Scaena prima. Enter Sebastian and Clowne. Clo. Will you make me beleeue, that I am not sent foryou? Seb. Go too, go too, thou art a foolish fellow,Let me be cleere of thee. Clo. Well held out yfaith: No, I do not know you,nor I am not sent to you by my Lady, to bid you comespeake with her: nor your name is not Master Cesario, nor this is not my nose neyther: Nothing that is so, is so. Seb. I prethee vent thy folly some-where else, thouknow'st not me. Clo. Vent my folly: He has heard that word of somegreat man, and now applyes it to a foole. Vent my fol-ly: I am affraid this great lubber the World will proue aCockney: I prethee now vngird thy strangenes, and tellme what I shall vent to my Lady? Shall I vent to hir thatthou art comming? Seb. I prethee foolish greeke depart from me, there'smoney for thee, if you tarry longer, I shall giue worsepaiment. Clo. By my troth thou hast an open hand: these Wise-men that giue fooles money, get themselues a good re-port, after foureteene yeares purchase. Enter Andrew, Toby, and Fabian. And. Now sir, haue I met you again: ther's for you. Seb. Why there's for thee, and there, and there,Are all the people mad? To. Hold sir, or Ile throw your dagger ore the house Clo. This will I tell my Lady straight, I would not bein some of your coats for two pence. To. Come on sir, hold. An. Nay let him alone, Ile go another way to workewith him: Ile haue an action of Battery against him, ifthere be any law in Illyria: though I stroke him first, yetit's no matter for that. Seb. Let go thy hand. To. Come sir, I will not let you go. Come my yongsouldier put vp your yron: you are well flesh'd: Comeon. Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now?If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. To. What, what? Nay then I must haue an Ounce ortwo of this malapert blood from you. Enter Oliuia. Ol. Hold Toby, on thy life I charge thee hold. To. Madam. Ol. Will it be euer thus? Vngracious wretch,Fit for the Mountaines, and the barbarous Caues,Where manners nere were preach'd: out of my sight.Be not offended, deere Cesario: Rudesbey be gone. I prethee gentle friend,Let thy fayre wisedome, not thy passion swayIn this vnciuill, and vniust extentAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,And heare thou there how many fruitlesse prankesThis Ruffian hath botch'd vp, that thou therebyMayst smile at this: Thou shalt not choose but goe:Do not denie, beshrew his soule for mee,He started one poore heart of mine, in thee. Seb. What rellish is in this? How runs the streame?Or I am mad, or else this is a dreame:Let fancie still my sense in Lethe steepe,If it be thus to dreame, still let me sleepe. Ol. Nay come I prethee, would thoud'st be rul'd by me Seb. Madam, I will. Ol. O say so, and so be. Exeunt
Scoena Secunda. Enter Maria and Clowne. Mar. Nay, I prethee put on this gown, & this beard,make him beleeue thou art sir Topas the Curate, doe itquickly. Ile call sir Toby the whilst. Clo. Well, Ile put it on, and I will dissemble my selfein't, and I would I were the first that euer dissembled in in such a gowne. I am not tall enough to become thefunction well, nor leane enough to bee thought a goodStudient: but to be said an honest man and a good hous-keeper goes as fairely, as to say, a carefull man, & a greatscholler. The Competitors enter. Enter Toby. To. Ioue blesse thee M[aster]. Parson. Clo. Bonos dies sir Toby: for as the old hermit of Prage that neuer saw pen and inke, very wittily sayd to a Neeceof King Gorbodacke, that that is, is: so I being M[aster]. Parson,am M[aster]. Parson; for what is that, but that? and is, but is? To. To him sir Topas. Clow. What hoa, I say, Peace in this prison. To. The knaue counterfets well: a good knaue. Maluolio within. Mal. Who cals there? Clo. Sir Topas the Curate, who comes to visit Maluo-lio the Lunaticke. Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas goe to myLadie. Clo. Out hyperbolicall fiend, how vexest thou thisman? Talkest thou nothing but of Ladies? Tob. Well said M[aster]. Parson. Mal. Sir Topas, neuer was man thus wronged, goodsir Topas do not thinke I am mad: they haue layde meeheere in hideous darknesse. Clo. Fye, thou dishonest sathan: I call thee by themost modest termes, for I am one of those gentle ones,that will vse the diuell himselfe with curtesie: sayst thouthat house is darke? Mal. As hell sir Topas. Clo. Why it hath bay Windowes transparant as bari-cadoes, and the cleere stores toward the South north, areas lustrous as Ebony: and yet complainest thou of ob-struction? Mal. I am not mad sir Topas, I say to you this house isdarke. Clo. Madman thou errest: I say there is no darknessebut ignorance, in which thou art more puzel'd then theAegyptians in their fogge. Mal. I say this house is as darke as Ignorance, thoghIgnorance were as darke as hell; and I say there was ne-uer man thus abus'd, I am no more madde then you are,make the triall of it in any constant question. Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerningWilde-fowle? Mal. That the soule of our grandam, might happilyinhabite a bird. Clo. What thinkst thou of his opinion? Mal. I thinke nobly of the soule, and no way aprouehis opinion. Clo. Fare thee well: remaine thou still in darkenesse,thou shalt hold th' opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allowof thy wits, and feare to kill a Woodcocke, lest thou dis-possesse the soule of thy grandam. Fare thee well. Mal. Sir Topas, sir Topas. Tob. My most exquisite sir Topas. Clo. Nay I am for all waters. Mar. Thou mightst haue done this without thy berdand gowne, he sees thee not. To. To him in thine owne voyce, and bring me wordhow thou findst him: I would we were well ridde of thisknauery. If he may bee conueniently deliuer'd, I wouldhe were, for I am now so farre in offence with my Niece,that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport the vppe-shot. Come by and by to my Chamber. Exit Clo. Hey Robin, iolly Robin, tell me how thy Ladydoes. Mal. Foole. Clo. My Lady is vnkind, perdie. Mal. Foole. Clo. Alas why is she so? Mal. Foole, I say. Clo. She loues another. Who calles, ha? Mal. Good foole, as euer thou wilt deserue well atmy hand, helpe me to a Candle, and pen, inke, and paper:as I am a Gentleman, I will liue to bee thankefull to theefor't. Clo. M[aster]. Maluolio? Mal. I good Foole. Clo. Alas sir, how fell you besides your fiue witts? Mall. Foole, there was neuer man so notoriouslie a-bus'd:I am as well in my wits (foole) as thou art. Clo. But as well: then you are mad indeede, if you beno better in your wits then a foole. Mal. They haue heere propertied me: keepe mee indarkenesse, send Ministers to me, Asses, and doe all theycan to face me out of my wits. Clo. Aduise you what you say: the Minister is heere. Maluolio, Maluolio, thy wittes the heauens restore: en-deauour thy selfe to sleepe, and leaue thy vaine bibblebabble. Mal. Sir Topas. Clo. Maintaine no words with him good fellow.Who I sir, not I sir. God buy you good sir Topas: Mar-ry Amen. I will sir, I will. Mal. Foole, foole, foole I say. Clo. Alas sir be patient. What say you sir, I am shentfor speaking to you. Mal. Good foole, helpe me to some light, and somepaper, I tell thee I am as well in my wittes, as any man inIllyria. Clo. Well-a-day, that you were sir. Mal. By this hand I am: good foole, some inke, pa-per, and light: and conuey what I will set downe to myLady: it shall aduantage thee more, then euer the bea-ring of Letter did. Clo. I will help you too't. But tel me true, are you notmad indeed, or do you but counterfeit. Mal. Beleeue me I am not, I tell thee true. Clo. Nay, Ile nere beleeue a madman till I see his brainsI will fetch you light, and paper, and inke. Mal. Foole, Ile requite it in the highest degree:I prethee be gone. Clo. I am gone sir, and anon sir,Ile be with you againe:In a trice, like to the old vice,your neede to sustaine.Who with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath,cries ah ha, to the diuell:Like a mad lad, paire thy nayles dad,Adieu good man diuell. Exit
Scaena Tertia. Enter Sebastian. This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne,This pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't,And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus, Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,I could not finde him at the Elephant,Yet there he was, and there I found this credite,That he did range the towne to seeke me out,His councell now might do me golden seruice,For though my soule disputes well with my sence,That this may be some error, but no madnesse,Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,So farre exceed all instance, all discourse,That I am readie to distrust mine eyes,And wrangle with my reason that perswades meTo any other trust, but that I am mad,Or else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so,She could not sway her house, command her followers,Take, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch,With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearingAs I perceiue she do's: there's something in'tThat is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes. Enter Oliuia, and Priest. Ol. Blame not this haste of mine: if you meane wellNow go with me, and with this holy manInto the Chantry by: there before him,And vnderneath that consecrated roofe,Plight me the full assurance of your faith,That my most iealious, and too doubtfull souleMay liue at peace. He shall conceale it,Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,What time we will our celebration keepeAccording to my birth, what do you say? Seb. Ile follow this good man, and go with you,And hauing sworne truth, euer will be true. Ol. Then lead the way good father, & heauens so shine,That they may fairely note this acte of mine. Exeunt. Finis Actus Quartus.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter Clowne and Fabian. Fab. Now as thou lou'st me, let me see his Letter. Clo. Good M[aster]. Fabian, grant me another request. Fab. Any thing. Clo. Do not desire to see this Letter. Fab. This is to giue a dogge, and in recompence desiremy dogge againe. Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords. Duke. Belong you to the Lady Oliuia, friends? Clo. I sir, we are some of her trappings. Duke. I know thee well: how doest thou my goodFellow? Clo. Truely sir, the better for my foes, and the worsefor my friends. Du. Iust the contrary: the better for thy friends. Clo. No sir, the worse. Du. How can that be? Clo. Marry sir, they praise me, and make an asse of me,now my foes tell me plainly, I am an Asse: so that by myfoes sir, I profit in the knowledge of my selfe, and by myfriends I am abused: so that conclusions to be as kisses, ifyour foure negatiues make your two affirmatiues, whythen the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes. Du. Why this is excellent. Clo. By my troth sir, no: though it please you to beone of my friends. Du. Thou shalt not be the worse for me, there's gold. Clo. But that it would be double dealing sir, I wouldyou could make it another. Du. O you giue me ill counsell. Clo. Put your grace in your pocket sir, for this once,and let your flesh and blood obey it. Du. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a doubledealer: there's another. Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play, and the oldesaying is, the third payes for all: the triplex sir, is a goodtripping measure, or the belles of S[aint]. Bennet sir, may putyou in minde, one, two, three. Du. You can foole no more money out of mee at thisthrow: if you will let your Lady know I am here to speakwith her, and bring her along with you, it may awake mybounty further. Clo. Marry sir, lullaby to your bountie till I come a-gen. I go sir, but I would not haue you to thinke, thatmy desire of hauing is the sinne of couetousnesse: but asyou say sir, let your bounty take a nappe, I will awake itanon. Exit Enter Anthonio and Officers. Vio. Here comes the man sir, that did rescue mee. Du. That face of his I do remember well,Yet when I saw it last, it was besmear'dAs blacke as Vulcan, in the smoake of warre:A bawbling Vessell was he Captaine of,For shallow draught and bulke vnprizable,With which such scathfull grapple did he make,With the most noble bottome of our Fleete,That very enuy, and the tongue of losseCride fame and honor on him: What's the matter? 1.Offi. Orsino, this is that Anthonio That tooke the Phoenix, and her fraught from Candy, And this is he that did the Tiger boord,When your yong Nephew Titus lost his legge;Heere in the streets, desperate of shame and state,In priuate brabble did we apprehend him. Vio. He did me kindnesse sir, drew on my side,But in conclusion put strange speech vpon me,I know not what 'twas, but distraction. Du. Notable Pyrate, thou salt-water Theefe,What foolish boldnesse brought thee to their mercies,Whom thou in termes so bloudie, and so deereHast made thine enemies? Ant. Orsino: Noble sir,Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you giue mee: Anthonio neuer yet was Theefe, or Pyrate,Though I confesse, on base and ground enough Orsino's enemie. A witchcraft drew me hither:That most ingratefull boy there by your side,From the rude seas enrag'd and foamy mouthDid I redeeme: a wracke past hope he was:His life I gaue him, and did thereto addeMy loue without retention, or restraint,All his in dedication. For his sake,Did I expose my selfe (pure for his loue)Into the danger of this aduerse Towne,Drew to defend him, when he was beset:Where being apprehended, his false cunning(Not meaning to partake with me in danger)Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, And grew a twentie yeeres remoued thingWhile one would winke: denide me mine owne purse,Which I had recommended to his vse,Not halfe an houre before. Vio. How can this be? Du. When came he to this Towne? Ant. To day my Lord: and for three months before,No intrim, not a minutes vacancie,Both day and night did we keepe companie. Enter Oliuia and attendants. Du. Heere comes the Countesse, now heauen walkeson earth:But for thee fellow, fellow thy words are madnesse,Three monthes this youth hath tended vpon mee,But more of that anon. Take him aside. Ol. What would my Lord, but that he may not haue,Wherein Oliuia may seeme seruiceable? Cesario, you do not keepe promise with me. Vio. Madam: Du. Gracious Oliuia. Ol. What do you say Cesario? Good my Lord. Vio. My Lord would speake, my dutie hushes me. Ol. If it be ought to the old tune my Lord,It is as fat and fulsome to mine eareAs howling after Musicke. Du. Still so cruell? Ol. Still so constant Lord. Du. What to peruersenesse? you vnciuill LadieTo whose ingrate, and vnauspicious AltarsMy soule the faithfull'st offrings haue breath'd outThat ere deuotion tender'd. What shall I do? Ol. Euen what it please my Lord, that shal becom him Du. Why should I not, (had I the heart to do it)Like to th' Egyptian theefe, at point of deathKill what I loue: (a sauage iealousie,That sometime sauours nobly) but heare me this:Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,And that I partly know the instrumentThat screwes me from my true place in your fauour:Liue you the Marble-brested Tirant still.But this your Minion, whom I know you loue,And whom, by heauen I sweare, I tender deerely,Him will I teare out of that cruell eye,Where he sits crowned in his masters spight.Come boy with me, my thoughts are ripe in mischiefe:Ile sacrifice the Lambe that I do loue,To spight a Rauens heart within a Doue. Vio. And I most iocund, apt, and willinglie,To do you rest, a thousand deaths would dye. Ol. Where goes Cesario? Vio. After him I loue,More then I loue these eyes, more then my life,More by all mores, then ere I shall loue wife.If I do feigne, you witnesses abouePunish my life, for tainting of my loue. Ol. Aye me detested, how am I beguil'd? Vio. Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong? Ol. Hast thou forgot thy selfe? Is it so long?Call forth the holy Father. Du. Come, away. Ol. Whether my Lord? Cesario, Husband, stay. Du. Husband? Ol. I Husband. Can he that deny? Du. Her husband, sirrah? Vio. No my Lord, not I. Ol. Alas, it is the basenesse of thy feare,That makes thee strangle thy propriety:Feare not Cesario, take thy fortunes vp,Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou artAs great as that thou fear'st. Enter Priest. O welcome Father:Father, I charge thee by thy reuerenceHeere to vnfold, though lately we intendedTo keepe in darkenesse, what occasion nowReueales before 'tis ripe: what thou dost knowHath newly past, betweene this youth, and me. Priest. A Contract of eternall bond of loue,Confirm'd by mutuall ioynder of your hands,Attested by the holy close of lippes,Strengthned by enterchangement of your rings,And all the Ceremonie of this compactSeal'd in my function, by my testimony:Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my graueI haue trauail'd but two houres. Du. O thou dissembling Cub: what wilt thou beWhen time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?Or will not else thy craft so quickely grow,That thine owne trip shall be thine ouerthrow:Farewell, and take her, but direct thy feete,Where thou, and I (henceforth) may neuer meet. Vio. My Lord, I do protest. Ol. O do not sweare,Hold little faith, though thou hast too much feare. Enter Sir Andrew. And. For the loue of God a Surgeon, send one pre-sently to sir Toby. Ol. What's the matter? And. H'as broke my head a-crosse, and has giuen Sir Toby a bloody Coxcombe too: for the loue of God yourhelpe, I had rather then forty pound I were at home. Ol. Who has done this sir Andrew? And. The Counts Gentleman, one Cesario: we tookehim for a Coward, but hee's the verie diuell, incardinate. Du. My Gentleman Cesario? And. Odd's lifelings heere he is: you broke my headfor nothing, and that that I did, I was set on to do't by sir Toby. Vio. Why do you speake to me, I neuer hurt you:You drew your sword vpon me without cause,But I bespake you faire, and hurt you not. Enter Toby and Clowne. And. If a bloody coxcombe be a hurt, you haue hurtme: I thinke you set nothing by a bloody Coxecombe.Heere comes sir Toby halting, you shall heare more: but ifhe had not beene in drinke, hee would haue tickel'd youother gates then he did. Du. How now Gentleman? how ist with you? To. That's all one, has hurt me, and there's th' end on't:Sot, didst see Dicke Surgeon, sot? Clo. O he's drunke sir Toby an houre agone: his eyeswere set at eight i'th morning. To. Then he's a Rogue, and a passy measures pauyn: Ihate a drunken rogue. Ol. Away with him? Who hath made this hauockewith them? And. Ile helpe you sir Toby, because we'll be drest to-gether. To. Will you helpe an Asse-head, and a coxcombe, &a knaue: a thin fac'd knaue, a gull? Ol. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd too. Enter Sebastian. Seb. I am sorry Madam I haue hurt your kinsman:But had it beene the brother of my blood,I must haue done no lesse with wit and safety.You throw a strange regard vpon me, and by thatI do perceiue it hath offended you:Pardon me (sweet one) euen for the vowesWe made each other, but so late ago. Du. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,A naturall Perspectiue, that is, and is not. Seb. Anthonio: O my deere Anthonio, How haue the houres rack'd, and tortur'd me,Since I haue lost thee? Ant. Sebastian are you? Seb. Fear'st thou that Anthonio? Ant. How haue you made diuision of your selfe,An apple cleft in two, is not more twinThen these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? Ol. Most wonderfull. Seb. Do I stand there? I neuer had a brother:Nor can there be that Deity in my natureOf heere, and euery where. I had a sister,Whom the blinde waues and surges haue deuour'd:Of charity, what kinne are you to me?What Countreyman? What name? What Parentage? Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my Father,Such a Sebastian was my brother too:So went he suited to his watery tombe:If spirits can assume both forme and suite,You come to fright vs. Seb. A spirit I am indeed,But am in that dimension grossely clad,Which from the wombe I did participate.Were you a woman, as the rest goes euen,I should my teares let fall vpon your cheeke,And say, thrice welcome drowned Viola. Vio. My father had a moale vpon his brow. Seb. And so had mine. Vio. And dide that day when Viola from her birthHad numbred thirteene yeares. Seb. O that record is liuely in my soule,He finished indeed his mortall acteThat day that made my sister thirteene yeares. Vio. If nothing lets to make vs happie both,But this my masculine vsurp'd attyre:Do not embrace me, till each circumstance,Of place, time, fortune, do co-here and iumpeThat I am Viola, which to confirme,Ile bring you to a Captaine in this Towne,Where lye my maiden weeds: by whose gentle helpe,I was preseru'd to serue this Noble Count:All the occurrence of my fortune sinceHath beene betweene this Lady, and this Lord. Seb. So comes it Lady, you haue beene mistooke:But Nature to her bias drew in that.You would haue bin contracted to a Maid,Nor are you therein (by my life) deceiu'd,You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. Du. Be not amaz'd, right noble is his blood:If this be so, as yet the glasse seemes true,I shall haue share in this most happy wracke,Boy, thou hast saide to me a thousand times,Thou neuer should'st loue woman like to me. Vio. And all those sayings, will I ouer sweare,And all those swearings keepe as true in soule,As doth that Orbed Continent, the fire,That seuers day from night. Du. Giue me thy hand,And let me see thee in thy womans weedes. Vio. The Captaine that did bring me first on shoreHath my Maides garments: he vpon some ActionIs now in durance, at Maluolio's suite,a Gentleman, and follower of my Ladies. Ol. He shall inlarge him: fetch Maluolio hither,And yet alas, now I remember me,They say poore Gentleman, he's much distract. Enter Clowne with a Letter, and Fabian. A most extracting frensie of mine owneFrom my remembrance, clearly banisht his.How does he sirrah? Cl. Truely Madam, he holds Belzebub at the staues end aswell as a man in his case may do: has heere writ a letter toyou, I should haue giuen't you to day morning. But as amadmans Epistles are no Gospels, so it skilles not muchwhen they are deliuer'd. Ol. Open't, and read it. Clo. Looke then to be well edified, when the Fooledeliuers the Madman. By the Lord Madam. Ol. How now, art thou mad? Clo. No Madam, I do but reade madnesse: and yourLadyship will haue it as it ought to bee, you must allow Vox. Ol. Prethee reade i'thy right wits. Clo. So I do Madona: but to reade his right wits, is toreade thus: therefore, perpend my Princesse, and giueeare. Ol. Read it you, sirrah. Fab. Reads. By the Lord Madam, you wrong me, andthe world shall know it: Though you haue put mee intodarkenesse, and giuen your drunken Cosine rule ouer me,yet haue I the benefit of my senses as well as your Ladie-ship. I haue your owne letter, that induced mee to thesemblance I put on; with the which I doubt not, but todo my selfe much right, or you much shame: thinke ofme as you please. I leaue my duty a little vnthought of,and speake out of my iniury. The madly vs'd Maluolio. Ol. Did he write this? Clo. I Madame. Du. This sauours not much of distraction. Ol. See him deliuer'd Fabian, bring him hither:My Lord, so please you, these things further thought on,To thinke me as well a sister, as a wife,One day shall crowne th' alliance on't, so please you,Heere at my house, and at my proper cost. Du. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer:Your Master quits you: and for your seruice done him,So much against the mettle of your sex,So farre beneath your soft and tender breeding,And since you call'd me Master, for so long:Heere is my hand, you shall from this time beeYour Masters Mistris. Ol. A sister, you are she. Enter Maluolio. Du. Is this the Madman? Ol. I my Lord, this same: How now Maluolio? Mal. Madam, you haue done me wrong,Notorious wrong. Ol. Haue I Maluolio? No. Mal. Lady you haue, pray you peruse that Letter.You must not now denie it is your hand,Write from it if you can, in hand, or phrase, Or say, tis not your seale, not your inuention:You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,And tell me in the modestie of honor,Why you haue giuen me such cleare lights of fauour,Bad me come smiling, and crosse-garter'd to you,To put on yellow stockings, and to frowneVpon sir Toby, and the lighter people:And acting this in an obedient hope,Why haue you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,Kept in a darke house, visited by the Priest,And made the most notorious gecke and gull,That ere inuention plaid on? Tell me why? Ol. Alas Maluolio, this is not my writing,Though I confesse much like the Charracter:But out of question, tis Marias hand.And now I do bethinke me, it was sheeFirst told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling,And in such formes, which heere were presuppos'dVpon thee in the Letter: prethee be content,This practice hath most shrewdly past vpon thee:But when we know the grounds, and authors of it,Thou shalt be both the Plaintiffe and the IudgeOf thine owne cause. Fab. Good Madam heare me speake,And let no quarrell, nor no braule to come,Taint the condition of this present houre,Which I haue wondred at. In hope it shall not,Most freely I confesse my selfe, and Toby Set this deuice against Maluolio heere,Vpon some stubborne and vncourteous partsWe had conceiu'd against him. Maria writThe Letter, at sir Tobyes great importance,In recompence whereof, he hath married her:How with a sportfull malice it was follow'd,May rather plucke on laughter then reuenge,If that the iniuries be iustly weigh'd,That haue on both sides past. Ol. Alas poore Foole, how haue they baffel'd thee? Clo. Why some are borne great, some atchieue great-nesse, and some haue greatnesse throwne vpon them. Iwas one sir, in this Enterlude, one sir Topas sir, but that'sall one: By the Lord Foole, I am not mad: but do you re-member, Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascall,and you smile not he's gag'd: and thus the whirlegiggeof time, brings in his reuenges. Mal. Ile be reueng'd on the whole packe of you? Ol. He hath bene most notoriously abus'd. Du. Pursue him, and entreate him to a peace:He hath not told vs of the Captaine yet,When that is knowne, and golden time conuentsA solemne Combination shall be madeOf our deere soules. Meane time sweet sister,We will not part from hence. Cesario come(For so you shall be while you are a man:)But when in other habites you are seene, Orsino's Mistris, and his fancies Queene. Exeunt Clowne sings . When that I was and a little tine boy,with hey, ho, the winde and the raine:A foolish thing was but a toy,for the raine it raineth euery day.But when I came to mans estate,with hey ho, &c.Gainst Knaues and Theeues men shut their gate,for the raine, &c.But when I came alas to wiue,with hey ho, &c.By swaggering could I neuer thriue,for the raine, &c.But when I came vnto my beds,with hey ho, &c.With tospottes still had drunken heades,for the raine, &c.A great while ago the world begon,hey ho, &c.But that's all one, our Play is done,and wee'l striue to please you euery day.
FINIS. The Winters Tale.
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Camillo and Archidamus. Arch. If you shall chance (Camillo) to visit Bohemia, onthe like occasion whereon my seruices are nowon-foot, you shall see (as I haue said) great dif-ference betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia. Cam. I thinke, this comming Summer, the King of Sicilia meanes to pay Bohemia the Visitation, which heeiustly owes him. Arch. Wherein our Entertainment shall shame vs: wewill be iustified in our Loues: for indeed—— Cam. 'Beseech you—— Arch. Verely I speake it in the freedome of my know-ledge: we cannot with such magnificence—— in so rare——I know not what to say—— Wee will giue you sleepieDrinkes, that your Sences (vn-intelligent of our insuffi-cience) may, though they cannot prayse vs, as little ac-cuse vs. Cam. You pay a great deale to deare, for what's giuenfreely. Arch. 'Beleeue me, I speake as my vnderstanding in-structs me, and as mine honestie puts it to vtterance. Cam. Sicilia cannot shew himselfe ouer-kind to Bohe-mia: They were trayn'd together in their Child-hoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,which cannot chuse but braunch now. Since their moremature Dignities, and Royall Necessities, made seperati-on of their Societie, their Encounters (though not Perso-nall) hath been Royally attornyed with enter-change ofGifts, Letters, louing Embassies, that they haue seem'd tobe together, though absent: shooke hands, as ouer a Vast;and embrac'd as it were from the ends of opposed Winds.The Heauens continue their Loues. Arch. I thinke there is not in the World, either Maliceor Matter, to alter it. You haue an vnspeakable comfortof your young Prince Mamillius: it is a Gentleman of thegreatest Promise, that euer came into my Note. Cam. I very well agree with you, in the hopes of him:it is a gallant Child; one, that (indeed) Physicks the Sub-iect, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on Crutchesere he was borne, desire yet their life, to see him a Man. Arch. Would they else be content to die? Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse, why they shoulddesire to liue. Arch. If the King had no Sonne, they would desire toliue on Crutches till he had one. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Leontes, Hermione, Mamillius, Polixenes, Camillo. Pol. Nine Changes of the Watry-Starre hath beenThe Shepheards Note, since we haue left our ThroneWithout a Burthen: Time as long againeWould be fill'd vp (my Brother) with our Thanks,And yet we should, for perpetuitie,Goe hence in debt: And therefore, like a Cypher(Yet standing in rich place) I multiplyWith one we thanke you, many thousands moe,That goe before it. Leo. Stay your Thanks a while,And pay them when you part. Pol. Sir, that's to morrow:I am question'd by my feares, of what may chance,Or breed vpon our absence, that may blowNo sneaping Winds at home, to make vs say,This is put forth too truly: besides, I haue stay'dTo tyre your Royaltie. Leo. We are tougher (Brother)Then you can put vs to't. Pol. No longer stay. Leo. One Seue' night longer. Pol. Very sooth, to morrow. Leo. Wee'le part the time betweene's then: and in thatIle no gaine-saying. Pol. Presse me not ('beseech you) so:There is no Tongue that moues; none, none i'th' WorldSo soone as yours, could win me: so it should now,Were there necessitie in your request, although'Twere needfull I deny'd it. My AffairesDoe euen drag me home-ward: which to hinder,Were (in your Loue) a Whip to me; my stay,To you a Charge, and Trouble: to saue both,Farewell (our Brother.) Leo. Tongue-ty'd our Queene? speake you. Her. I had thought (Sir) to haue held my peace, vntillYou had drawne Oathes from him, not to stay: you (Sir)Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sureAll in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction,The by-gone-day proclaym'd, say this to him,He's beat from his best ward. Leo. Well said, Hermione. Her. To tell, he longs to see his Sonne, were strong:But let him say so then, and let him goe;But let him sweare so, and he shall not stay,Wee'l thwack him hence with Distaffes.Yet of your Royall presence, Ile aduentureThe borrow of a Weeke. When at Bohemia You take my Lord, Ile giue him my Commission,To let him there a Moneth, behind the GestPrefix'd for's parting: yet (good-deed) Leontes, I loue thee not a Iarre o'th' Clock, behind What Lady she her Lord. You'le stay? Pol. No, Madame. Her. Nay, but you will? Pol. I may not verely. Her. Verely?You put me off with limber Vowes: but I,Though you would seek t' vnsphere the Stars with Oaths,Should yet say, Sir, no going: VerelyYou shall not goe; a Ladyes Verely 'isAs potent as a Lords. Will you goe yet?Force me to keepe you as a Prisoner,Not like a Guest: so you shall pay your FeesWhen you depart, and saue your Thanks. How say you?My Prisoner? or my Guest? by your dread Verely,One of them you shall be. Pol. Your Guest then, Madame:To be your Prisoner, should import offending;Which is for me, lesse easie to commit,Then you to punish. Her. Not your Gaoler then,But your kind Hostesse. Come, Ile question youOf my Lords Tricks, and yours, when you were Boyes:You were pretty Lordings then? Pol. We were (faire Queene)Two Lads, that thought there was no more behind,But such a day to morrow, as to day,And to be Boy eternall. Her. Was not my LordThe veryer Wag o'th' two? Pol. We were as twyn'd Lambs, that did frisk i'th' Sun,And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,Was Innocence, for Innocence: we knew notThe Doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'dThat any did: Had we pursu'd that life,And our weake Spirits ne're been higher rear'dWith stronger blood, we should haue answer'd HeauenBoldly, not guilty; the Imposition clear'd,Hereditarie ours. Her. By this we gatherYou haue tript since. Pol. O my most sacred Lady,Temptations haue since then been borne to's: forIn those vnfledg'd dayes, was my Wife a Girle;Your precious selfe had then not cross'd the eyesOf my young Play-fellow. Her. Grace to boot:Of this make no conclusion, least you sayYour Queene and I are Deuils: yet goe on,Th' offences we haue made you doe, wee'le answere,If you first sinn'd with vs: and that with vsYou did continue fault; and that you slipt notWith any, but with vs. Leo. Is he woon yet? Her. Hee'le stay (my Lord.) Leo. At my request, he would not: Hermione (my dearest) thou neuer spoak'stTo better purpose. Her. Neuer? Leo. Neuer, but once. Her. What? haue I twice said well? when was't before?I prethee tell me: cram's with prayse, and make'sAs fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tonguelesse,Slaughters a thousand, wayting vpon that.Our prayses are our Wages. You may ride'sWith one soft Kisse a thousand Furlongs, ereWith Spur we heat an Acre. But to th' Goale:My last good deed, was to entreat his stay.What was my first? it ha's an elder Sister,Or I mistake you: O, would her Name were Grace. But once before I spoke to th' purpose? when?Nay, let me haue't: I long. Leo. Why, that was whenThree crabbed Moneths had sowr'd themselues to death,Ere I could make thee open thy white Hand: A clap thy selfe, my Loue; then didst thou vtter,I am yours for euer. Her. 'Tis Grace indeed.Why lo-you now; I haue spoke to th' purpose twice:The one, for euer earn'd a Royall Husband;Th' other, for some while a Friend. Leo. Too hot, too hot:To mingle friendship farre, is mingling bloods.I haue Tremor Cordis on me: my heart daunces,But not for ioy; not ioy. This EntertainmentMay a free face put on: deriue a LibertieFrom Heartinesse, from Bountie, fertile Bosome,And well become the Agent: 't may; I graunt:But to be padling Palmes, and pinching Fingers,As now they are, and making practis'd SmilesAs in a Looking-Glasse; and then to sigh, as 'twereThe Mort o'th' Deere: oh, that is entertainmentMy Bosome likes not, nor my Browes. Mamillius, Art thou my Boy? Mam. I, my good Lord. Leo. I'fecks:Why that's my Bawcock: what? has't smutch'd thy Nose?They say it is a Coppy out of mine. Come Captaine,We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, Captaine:And yet the Steere, the Heycfer, and the Calfe,Are all call'd Neat. Still VirginallingVpon his Palme? How now (you wanton Calfe)Art thou my Calfe? Mam. Yes, if you will (my Lord.) Leo. Thou want'st a rough pash, & the shoots that I haueTo be full, like me: yet they say we areAlmost as like as Egges; Women say so,(That will say any thing.) But were they falseAs o're-dy'd Blacks, as Wind, as Waters; falseAs Dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixesNo borne 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true,To say this Boy were like me. Come (Sir Page)Looke on me with your Welkin eye: sweet Villaine,Most dear'st, my Collop: Can thy Dam, may't beAffection? thy Intention stabs the Center.Thou do'st make possible things not so held,Communicat'st with Dreames (how can this be?)With what's vnreall: thou coactiue art,And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent,Thou may'st co-ioyne with something, and thou do'st,(And that beyond Commission) and I find it,(And that to the infection of my Braines,And hardning of my Browes.) Pol. What meanes Sicilia? Her. He something seemes vnsetled. Pol. How? my Lord? Leo. What cheere? how is't with you, best Brother? Her. You look as if you held a Brow of much distraction:Are you mou'd (my Lord?) Leo. No, in good earnest.How sometimes Nature will betray it's folly?It's tendernesse? and make it selfe a PastimeTo harder bosomes? Looking on the Lynes Of my Boyes face, me thoughts I did requoyleTwentie three yeeres, and saw my selfe vn-breech'd,In my greene Veluet Coat; my Dagger muzzel'd,Least it should bite it's Master, and so proue(As Ornaments oft do's) too dangerous:How like (me thought) I then was to this Kernell,This Squash, this Gentleman. Mine honest Friend,Will you take Egges for Money? Mam. No (my Lord) Ile fight. Leo. You will: why happy man be's dole. My BrotherAre you so fond of your young Prince, as weDoe seeme to be of ours? Pol. If at home (Sir)He's all my Exercise, my Mirth, my Matter;Now my sworne Friend, and then mine Enemy;My Parasite, my Souldier: States-man; all:He makes a Iulyes day, short as December,And with his varying child-nesse, cures in meThoughts, that would thick my blood. Leo. So stands this SquireOffic'd with me: We two will walke (my Lord)And leaue you to your grauer steps. Hermione, How thou lou'st vs, shew in our Brothers welcome;Let what is deare in Sicily, be cheape:Next to thy selfe, and my young Rouer, he'sApparant to my heart. Her. If you would seeke vs,We are yours i'th' Garden: shall's attend you there? Leo. To your owne bents dispose you: you'le be found,Be you beneath the Sky: I am angling now,(Though you perceiue me not how I giue Lyne)Goe too, goe too.How she holds vp the Neb? the Byll to him?And armes her with the boldnesse of a WifeTo her allowing Husband. Gone already,Ynch-thick, knee-deepe; ore head and eares a fork'd one.Goe play (Boy) play: thy Mother playes, and IPlay too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issueWill hisse me to my Graue: Contempt and ClamorWill be my Knell. Goe play (Boy) play, there haue been(Or I am much deceiu'd) Cuckolds ere now,And many a man there is (euen at this present,Now, while I speake this) holds his Wife by th' Arme,That little thinkes she ha's been sluyc'd in's absence,And his Pond fish'd by his next Neighbor (bySir Smile, his Neighbor:) nay, there's comfort in't,Whiles other men haue Gates, and those Gates open'd(As mine) against their will. Should all despaireThat haue reuolted Wiues, the tenth of MankindWould hang themselues. Physick for't, there's none:It is a bawdy Planet, that will strikeWhere 'tis predominant; and 'tis powrefull: thinke it:From East, West, North, and South, be it concluded,No Barricado for a Belly. Know't,It will let in and out the Enemy,With bag and baggage: many thousand on'sHaue the Disease, and feele't not. How now Boy? Mam. I am like you say. Leo. Why, that's some comfort.What? Camillo there? Cam. I, my good Lord. Leo. Goe play (Mamillius) thou'rt an honest man: Camillo, this great Sir will yet stay longer. Cam. You had much adoe to make his Anchor hold,When you cast out, it still came home. Leo. Didst note it? Cam. He would not stay at your Petitions, madeHis Businesse more materiall. Leo. Didst perceiue it?They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding:Sicilia is a so-forth: 'tis farre gone,When I shall gust it last. How cam't (Camillo)That he did stay? Cam. At the good Queenes entreatie. Leo. At the Queenes be't: Good should be pertinent,But so it is, it is not. Was this takenBy any vnderstanding Pate but thine?For thy Conceit is soaking, will draw inMore then the common Blocks. Not noted, is't,But of the finer Natures? by some SeuerallsOf Head-peece extraordinarie? Lower MessesPerchance are to this Businesse purblind? say. Cam. Businesse, my Lord? I thinke most vnderstand Bohemia stayes here longer. Leo. Ha? Cam. Stayes here longer. Leo. I, but why? Cam. To satisfie your Highnesse, and the EntreatiesOf our most gracious Mistresse. Leo. Satisfie?Th' entreaties of your Mistresse? Satisfie?Let that suffice. I haue trusted thee (Camillo)With all the neerest things to my heart, as wellMy Chamber-Councels, wherein (Priest-like) thouHast cleans'd my Bosome: I, from thee departedThy Penitent reform'd: but we haue beenDeceiu'd in thy Integritie, deceiu'dIn that which seemes so. Cam. Be it forbid (my Lord.) Leo. To bide vpon't: thou art not honest: orIf thou inclin'st that way, thou art a Coward,Which hoxes honestie behind, restrayningFrom Course requir'd: or else thou must be countedA Seruant, grafted in my serious Trust,And therein negligent: or else a Foole,That seest a Game play'd home, the rich Stake drawne,And tak'st it all for ieast. Cam. My gracious Lord,I may be negligent, foolish, and fearefull,In euery one of these, no man is free,But that his negligence, his folly, feare,Among the infinite doings of the World,Sometime puts forth in your affaires (my Lord.)If euer I were wilfull-negligent,It was my folly: if industriouslyI play'd the Foole, it was my negligence,Not weighing well the end: if euer fearefullTo doe a thing, where I the issue doubted,Whereof the execution did cry outAgainst the non-performance, 'twas a feareWhich oft infects the wisest: these (my Lord)Are such allow'd Infirmities, that honestieIs neuer free of. But beseech your GraceBe plainer with me, let me know my TrespasBy it's owne visage; if I then deny it,'Tis none of mine. Leo. Ha' not you seene Camillo?(But that's past doubt: you haue, or your eye-glasseIs thicker then a Cuckolds Horne) or heard?(For to a Vision so apparant, RumorCannot be mute) or thought? (for CogitationResides not in that man, that do's not thinke) My Wife is slipperie? If thou wilt confesse,Or else be impudently negatiue,To haue nor Eyes, nor Eares, nor Thought, then sayMy Wife's a Holy-Horse, deserues a NameAs ranke as any Flax-Wench, that puts toBefore her troth-plight: say't, and iustify't. Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to heareMy Soueraigne Mistresse clouded so, withoutMy present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart,You neuer spoke what did become you lesseThen this; which to reiterate, were sinAs deepe as that, though true. Leo. Is whispering nothing?Is leaning Cheeke to Cheeke? is meating Noses?Kissing with in-side Lip? stopping the CariereOf Laughter, with a sigh? (a Note infallibleOf breaking Honestie) horsing foot on foot?Skulking in corners? wishing Clocks more swift?Houres, Minutes? Noone, Mid-night? and all EyesBlind with the Pin and Web, but theirs; theirs onely,That would vnseene be wicked? Is this nothing?Why then the World, and all that's in't, is nothing,The couering Skie is nothing, Bohemia nothing,My Wife is nothing, nor Nothing haue these Nothings,If this be nothing. Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'dOf this diseas'd Opinion, and betimes,For 'tis most dangerous. Leo. Say it be, 'tis true. Cam. No, no, my Lord. Leo. It is: you lye, you lye:I say thou lyest Camillo, and I hate thee,Pronounce thee a grosse Lowt, a mindlesse Slaue,Or else a houering Temporizer, thatCanst with thine eyes at once see good and euill,Inclining to them both: were my Wiues LiuerInfected (as her life) she would not liueThe running of one Glasse. Cam. Who do's infect her? Leo. Why he that weares her like her Medull, hangingAbout his neck (Bohemia) who, if IHad Seruants true about me, that bare eyesTo see alike mine Honor, as their Profits,(Their owne particular Thrifts) they would doe thatWhich should vndoe more doing: I, and thouHis Cup-bearer, whom I from meaner formeHaue Bench'd, and rear'd to Worship, who may'st seePlainely, as Heauen sees Earth, and Earth sees Heauen,How I am gall'd, might'st be-spice a Cup,To giue mine Enemy a lasting Winke:Which Draught to me, were cordiall. Cam. Sir (my Lord)I could doe this, and that with no rash Potion,But with a lingring Dram, that should not workeMaliciously, like Poyson: But I cannotBeleeue this Crack to be in my dread Mistresse(So soueraignely being Honorable.)I haue lou'd thee, Leo. Make that thy question, and goe rot:Do'st thinke I am so muddy, so vnsetled,To appoint my selfe in this vexation?Sully the puritie and whitenesse of my Sheetes(Which to preserue, is Sleepe; which being spotted,Is Goades, Thornes, Nettles, Tayles of Waspes)Giue scandall to the blood o'th' Prince, my Sonne,(Who I doe thinke is mine, and loue as mine)Without ripe mouing to't? Would I doe this?Could man so blench? Cam. I must beleeue you (Sir)I doe, and will fetch off Bohemia for't:Prouided, that when hee's remou'd, your HighnesseWill take againe your Queene, as yours at first,Euen for your Sonnes sake, and thereby for sealingThe Iniurie of Tongues, in Courts and KingdomesKnowne, and ally'd to yours. Leo. Thou do'st aduise me,Euen so as I mine owne course haue set downe:Ile giue no blemish to her Honor, none. Cam. My Lord,Goe then; and with a countenance as cleareAs Friendship weares at Feasts, keepe with Bohemia, And with your Queene: I am his Cup-bearer,If from me he haue wholesome Beueridge,Account me not your Seruant. Leo. This is all:Do't, and thou hast the one halfe of my heart;Do't not, thou splitt'st thine owne. Cam. Ile do't, my Lord. Leo. I wil seeme friendly, as thou hast aduis'd me. Exit Cam. O miserable Lady. But for me,What case stand I in? I must be the poysonerOf good Polixenes, and my ground to do't,Is the obedience to a Master; one,Who in Rebellion with himselfe, will haueAll that are his, so too. To doe this deed,Promotion followes: If I could find exampleOf thousand's that had struck anoynted Kings,And flourish'd after, Il'd not do't: But sinceNor Brasse, nor Stone, nor Parchment beares not one,Let Villanie it selfe forswear't. I mustForsake the Court: to do't, or no, is certaineTo me a breake-neck. Happy Starre raigne now,Here comes Bohemia. Enter Polixenes. Pol. This is strange: Me thinkesMy fauor here begins to warpe. Not speake?Good day Camillo. Cam. Hayle most Royall Sir. Pol. What is the Newes i'th' Court? Cam. None rare (my Lord.) Pol. The King hath on him such a countenance,As he had lost some Prouince, and a RegionLou'd, as he loues himselfe: euen now I met himWith customarie complement, when heeWafting his eyes to th' contrary, and fallingA Lippe of much contempt, speedes from me, andSo leaues me, to consider what is breeding,That changes thus his Manners. Cam. I dare not know (my Lord.) Pol. How, dare not? doe not? doe you know, and dare not?Be intelligent to me, 'tis thereabouts:For to your selfe, what you doe know, you must,And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang'd complexions are to me a Mirror,Which shewes me mine chang'd too: for I must beA partie in this alteration, findingMy selfe thus alter'd with't. Cam. There is a sicknesseWhich puts some of vs in distemper, butI cannot name the Disease, and it is caughtOf you, that yet are well. Pol. How caught of me?Make me not sighted like the Basilisque. I haue look'd on thousands, who haue sped the betterBy my regard, but kill'd none so: Camillo, As you are certainely a Gentleman, theretoClerke-like experienc'd, which no lesse adornesOur Gentry, then our Parents Noble Names,In whose successe we are gentle: I beseech you,If you know ought which do's behoue my knowledge,Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't notIn ignorant concealement. Cam. I may not answere. Pol. A Sicknesse caught of me, and yet I well?I must be answer'd. Do'st thou heare Camillo, I coniure thee, by all the parts of man,Which Honor do's acknowledge, whereof the leastIs not this Suit of mine, that thou declareWhat incidencie thou do'st ghesse of harmeIs creeping toward me; how farre off, how neere,Which way to be preuented, if to be:If not, how best to beare it. Cam. Sir, I will tell you,Since I am charg'd in Honor, and by himThat I thinke Honorable: therefore marke my counsaile,Which must be eu'n as swiftly followed, asI meane to vtter it; or both your selfe, and me,Cry lost, and so good night. Pol. On, good Camillo. Cam. I am appointed him to murther you. Pol. By whom, Camillo? Cam. By the King. Pol. For what? Cam. He thinkes, nay with all confidence he sweares,As he had seen't, or beene an InstrumentTo vice you to't, that you haue toucht his QueeneForbiddenly. Pol. Oh then, my best blood turneTo an infected Gelly, and my NameBe yoak'd with his, that did betray the Best:Turne then my freshest Reputation toA sauour, that may strike the dullest NosthrillWhere I arriue, and my approch be shun'd,Nay hated too, worse then the great'st InfectionThat ere was heard, or read. Cam. Sweare his thought ouerBy each particular Starre in Heauen, andBy all their Influences; you may as wellForbid the Sea for to obey the Moone,As (or by Oath) remoue, or (Counsaile) shakeThe Fabrick of his Folly, whose foundationIs pyl'd vpon his Faith, and will continueThe standing of his Body. Pol. How should this grow? Cam. I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer toAuoid what's growne, then question how 'tis borne.If therefore you dare trust my honestie,That lyes enclosed in this Trunke, which youShall beare along impawnd, away to Night,Your Followers I will whisper to the Businesse,And will by twoes, and threes, at seuerall Posternes,Cleare them o'th' Citie: For my selfe, Ile putMy fortunes to your seruice (which are hereBy this discouerie lost.) Be not vncertaine,For by the honor of my Parents, IHaue vttred Truth: which if you seeke to proue,I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer,Then one condemnd by the Kings owne mouth:Thereon his Execution sworne. Pol. I doe beleeue thee:I saw his heart in's face. Giue me thy hand,Be Pilot to me, and thy places shallStill neighbour mine. My Ships are ready, andMy people did expect my hence departureTwo dayes agoe. This IealousieIs for a precious Creature: as shee's rare,Must it be great; and, as his Person's mightie,Must it be violent: and, as he do's conceiue,He is dishonor'd by a man, which euerProfess'd to him: why his Reuenges mustIn that be made more bitter. Feare ore-shades me:Good Expedition be my friend, and comfortThe gracious Queene, part of his Theame; but nothingOf his ill-ta'ne suspition. Come Camillo, I will respect thee as a Father, ifThou bear'st my life off, hence: Let vs auoid. Cam. It is in mine authoritie to commandThe Keyes of all the Posternes: Please your HighnesseTo take the vrgent houre. Come Sir, away. Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Hermione, Mamillius, Ladies: Leontes,Antigonus, Lords. Her. Take the Boy to you: he so troubles me,'Tis past enduring. Lady. Come (my gracious Lord)Shall I be your play-fellow? Mam. No, Ile none of you. Lady. Why (my sweet Lord?) Mam. You'le kisse me hard, and speake to me, as ifI were a Baby still. I loue you better. 2.Lady. And why so (my Lord?) Mam. Not for becauseYour Browes are blacker (yet black-browes they sayBecome some Women best, so that there be notToo much haire there, but in a Cemicircle,Or a halfe-Moone, made with a Pen.) 2.Lady. Who taught 'this? Mam. I learn'd it out of Womens faces: pray now,What colour are your eye-browes? Lady. Blew (my Lord.) Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I haue seene a Ladies NoseThat ha's beene blew, but not her eye-browes. Lady. Harke ye,The Queene (your Mother) rounds apace: we shallPresent our seruices to a fine new PrinceOne of these dayes, and then youl'd wanton with vs,If we would haue you. 2.Lady. She is spread of lateInto a goodly Bulke (good time encounter her.) Her. What wisdome stirs amongst you? Come Sir, nowI am for you againe: 'Pray you sit by vs,And tell's a Tale. Mam. Merry, or sad, shal't be? Her. As merry as you will. Mam. A sad Tale's best for Winter:I haue one of Sprights, and Goblins. Her. Let's haue that (good Sir.)Come-on, sit downe, come-on, and doe your best,To fright me with your Sprights: you're powrefull at it. Mam. There was a man. Her. Nay, come sit downe: then on. Mam. Dwelt by a Church-yard: I will tell it softly,Yond Crickets shall not heare it. Her. Come on then, and giu't me in mine eare. Leon. Was hee met there? his Traine? Camillo withhim? Lord. Behind the tuft of Pines I met them, neuerSaw I men scowre so on their way: I eyed themEuen to their Ships. Leo. How blest am IIn my iust Censure? in my true Opinion?Alack, for lesser knowledge, how accurs'd,In being so blest? There may be in the CupA Spider steep'd, and one may drinke; depart,And yet partake no venome: (for his knowledgeIs not infected) but if one presentTh' abhor'd Ingredient to his eye, make knowneHow he hath drunke, he cracks his gorge, his sidesWith violent Hefts: I haue drunke, and seene the Spider. Camillo was his helpe in this, his Pandar:There is a Plot against my Life, my Crowne;All's true that is mistrusted: that false Villaine,Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him:He ha's discouer'd my Designe, and IRemaine a pinch'd Thing; yea, a very TrickFor them to play at will: how came the PosternesSo easily open? Lord. By his great authority,Which often hath no lesse preuail'd, then so,On your command. Leo. I know't too well.Giue me the Boy, I am glad you did not nurse him:Though he do's beare some signes of me, yet youHaue too much blood in him. Her. What is this? Sport? Leo. Beare the Boy hence, he shall not come about her,Away with him, and let her sport her selfeWith that shee's big-with, for 'tis Polixenes Ha's made thee swell thus. Her. But Il'd say he had not;And Ile be sworne you would beleeue my saying,How e're you leane to th' Nay-ward. Leo. You (my Lords)Looke on her, marke her well: be but aboutTo say she is a goodly Lady, andThe iustice of your hearts will thereto adde'Tis pitty shee's not honest: Honorable;Prayse her but for this her without-dore-Forme,(Which on my faith deserues high speech) and straightThe Shrug, the Hum, or Ha, (these Petty-brandsThat Calumnie doth vse; Oh, I am out,That Mercy do's, for Calumnie will seareVertue it selfe) these Shrugs, these Hum's, and Ha's,When you haue said shee's goodly, come betweene,Ere you can say shee's honest: But be't knowne(From him that ha's most cause to grieue it should be)Shee's an Adultresse. Her. Should a Villaine say so,(The most replenish'd Villaine in the World)He were as much more Villaine: you (my Lord)Doe but mistake. Leo. You haue mistooke (my Lady) Polixenes for Leontes: O thou Thing,(Which Ile not call a Creature of thy place,Least Barbarisme (making me the precedent)Should a like Language vse to all degrees,And mannerly distinguishment leaue out,Betwixt the Prince and Begger:) I haue saidShee's an Adultresse, I haue said with whom:More; shee's a Traytor, and Camillo isA Federarie with her, and one that knowesWhat she should shame to know her selfe,But with her most vild Principall: that shee'sA Bed-swaruer, euen as bad as thoseThat Vulgars giue bold'st Titles; I, and priuyTo this their late escape. Her. No (by my life)Priuy to none of this: how will this grieue you,When you shall come to clearer knowledge, thatYou thus haue publish'd me? Gentle my Lord,You scarce can right me throughly, then, to sayYou did mistake. Leo. No: if I mistakeIn those Foundations which I build vpon,The Centre is not bigge enough to beareA Schoole-Boyes Top. Away with her, to Prison:He who shall speake for her, is a farre-off guiltie,But that he speakes. Her. There's some ill Planet raignes:I must be patient, till the Heauens lookeWith an aspect more fauorable. Good my Lords,I am not prone to weeping (as our SexCommonly are) the want of which vaine dewPerchance shall dry your pitties: but I haueThat honorable Griefe lodg'd here, which burnesWorse then Teares drowne: 'beseech you all (my Lords)With thoughts so qualified, as your CharitiesShall best instruct you, measure me; and soThe Kings will be perform'd. Leo. Shall I be heard? Her. Who is't that goes with me? 'beseech your HighnesMy Women may be with me, for you seeMy plight requires it. Doe not weepe (good Fooles)There is no cause: When you shall know your MistrisHa's deseru'd Prison, then abound in Teares,As I come out; this Action I now goe on,Is for my better grace. Adieu (my Lord)I neuer wish'd to see you sorry, nowI trust I shall: my Women come, you haue leaue. Leo. Goe, doe our bidding: hence. Lord. Beseech your Highnesse call the Queene againe. Antig. Be certaine what you do (Sir) least your IusticeProue violence, in the which three great ones suffer,Your Selfe, your Queene, your Sonne. Lord. For her (my Lord)I dare my life lay downe, and will do't (Sir)Please you t' accept it, that the Queene is spotlesseI'th' eyes of Heauen, and to you (I meaneIn this, which you accuse her.) Antig. If it proueShee's otherwise, Ile keepe my Stables whereI lodge my Wife, Ile goe in couples with her:Then when I feele, and see her, no farther trust her:For euery ynch of Woman in the World, I, euery dram of Womans flesh is false,If she be. Leo. Hold your peaces. Lord. Good my Lord. Antig. It is for you we speake, not for our selues:You are abus'd, and by some putter on,That will be damn'd for't: would I knew the Villaine, I would Land-damne him: be she honor-flaw'd,I haue three daughters: the eldest is eleuen;The second, and the third, nine: and some fiue:If this proue true, they'l pay for't. By mine HonorIle gell'd em all: fourteene they shall not seeTo bring false generations: they are co-heyres,And I had rather glib my selfe, then theyShould not produce faire issue. Leo. Cease, no more:You smell this businesse with a sence as coldAs is a dead-mans nose: but I do see't, and feel't,As you feele doing thus: and see withallThe Instruments that feele. Antig. If it be so,We neede no graue to burie honesty,There's not a graine of it, the face to sweetenOf the whole dungy-earth. Leo. What? lacke I credit? Lord. I had rather you did lacke then I (my Lord)Vpon this ground: and more it would content meTo haue her Honor true, then your suspitionBe blam'd for't how you might. Leo. Why what neede weCommune with you of this? but rather followOur forcefull instigation? Our prerogatiueCals not your Counsailes, but our naturall goodnesseImparts this: which, if you, or stupified,Or seeming so, in skill, cannot, or will notRellish a truth, like vs: informe your selues,We neede no more of your aduice: the matter,The losse, the gaine, the ord'ring on't,Is all properly ours. Antig. And I wish (my Liege)You had onely in your silent iudgement tride it,Without more ouerture. Leo. How could that be?Either thou art most ignorant by age,Or thou wer't borne a foole: Camillo's flightAdded to their Familiarity(Which was as grosse, as euer touch'd coniecture,That lack'd sight onely, nought for approbationBut onely seeing, all other circumstancesMade vp to'th deed) doth push-on this proceeding.Yet, for a greater confirmation(For in an Acte of this importance, 'twereMost pitteous to be wilde) I haue dispatch'd in post,To sacred Delphos, to Appollo's Temple, Cleomines and Dion, whom you knowOf stuff'd-sufficiency: Now, from the OracleThey will bring all, whose spirituall counsaile hadShall stop, or spurre me. Haue I done well? Lord. Well done (my Lord.) Leo. Though I am satisfide, and neede no moreThen what I know, yet shall the OracleGiue rest to th' mindes of others; such as heWhose ignorant credulitie, will notCome vp to th' truth. So haue we thought it goodFrom our free person, she should be confinde,Least that the treachery of the two, fled hence,Be left her to performe. Come follow vs,We are to speake in publique: for this businesseWill raise vs all. Antig. To laughter, as I take it,If the good truth, were knowne. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Paulina, a Gentleman, Gaoler, Emilia. Paul. The Keeper of the prison, call to him:Let him haue knowledge who I am. Good Lady,No Court in Europe is too good for thee,What dost thou then in prison? Now good Sir,You know me, do you not? Gao. For a worthy Lady,And one, who much I honour. Pau. Pray you then,Conduct me to the Queene. Gao. I may not (Madam)To the contrary I haue expresse commandment. Pau. Here's a-do, to locke vp honesty & honour fromTh' accesse of gentle visitors. Is't lawfull pray youTo see her Women? Any of them? Emilia? Gao. So please you (Madam)To put a-part these your attendants, IShall bring Emilia forth. Pau. I pray now call her:With-draw your selues. Gao. And Madam,I must be present at your Conference. Pau. Well: be't so: prethee.Heere's such a-doe, to make no staine, a staine,As passes colouring. Deare Gentlewoman,How fares our gracious Lady? Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorneMay hold together: On her frights, and greefes(Which neuer tender Lady hath borne greater)She is, something before her time, deliuer'd. Pau. A boy? Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe,Lusty, and like to liue: the Queene receiuesMuch comfort in't: Sayes, my poore prisoner,I am innocent as you, Pau. I dare be sworne:These dangerous, vnsafe Lunes i'th' King, beshrew them:He must be told on't, and he shall: the officeBecomes a woman best. Ile take't vpon me,If I proue hony-mouth'd, let my tongue blister.And neuer to my red-look'd Anger beeThe Trumpet any more: pray you (Emilia)Commend my best obedience to the Queene,If she dares trust me with her little babe,I'le shew't the King, and vndertake to beeHer Aduocate to th' lowd'st. We do not knowHow he may soften at the sight o'th' Childe:The silence often of pure innocencePerswades, when speaking failes. Emil. Most worthy Madam,Your honor, and your goodnesse is so euident,That your free vndertaking cannot misseA thriuing yssue: there is no Lady liuingSo meete for this great errand; please your LadishipTo visit the next roome, Ile presentlyAcquaint the Queene of your most noble offer,Who, but to day hammered of this designe,But durst not tempt a minister of honourLeast she should be deny'd. Paul. Tell her (Emilia)Ile vse that tongue I haue: If wit flow from'tAs boldnesse from my bosome, le't not be doubtedI shall do good, Emil. Now be you blest for it.Ile to the Queene: please you come something neerer. Gao. Madam, if't please the Queene to send the babe,I know not what I shall incurre, to passe it,Hauing no warrant. Pau. You neede not feare it (sir)This Childe was prisoner to the wombe, and isBy Law and processe of great Nature, thenceFree'd, and enfranchis'd, not a partie toThe anger of the King, nor guilty of(If any be) the trespasse of the Queene. Gao. I do beleeue it. Paul. Do not you feare: vpon mine honor, IWill stand betwixt you, and danger. Exeunt
Scaena Tertia. Enter Leontes, Seruants, Paulina, Antigonus,and Lords. Leo. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but weaknesseTo beare the matter thus: meere weaknesse, ifThe cause were not in being: part o'th cause,She, th' Adultresse: for the harlot-KingIs quite beyond mine Arme, out of the blankeAnd leuell of my braine: plot-proofe: but shee,I can hooke to me: say that she were gone,Giuen to the fire, a moity of my restMight come to me againe. Whose there? Ser. My Lord. Leo. How do's the boy? Ser. He tooke good rest to night: 'tis hop'dHis sicknesse is discharg'd. Leo. To see his Noblenesse,Conceyuing the dishonour of his Mother.He straight declin'd, droop'd, tooke it deeply,Fasten'd, and fix'd the shame on't in himselfe:Threw-off his Spirit, his Appetite, his Sleepe,And down-right languish'd. Leaue me solely: goe,See how he fares: Fie, fie, no thought of him,The very thought of my Reuenges that wayRecoyle vpon me: in himselfe too mightie,And in his parties, his Alliance; Let him be,Vntill a time may serue. For present vengeanceTake it on her: Camillo, and Polixenes Laugh at me: make their pastime at my sorrow:They should not laugh, if I could reach them, norShall she, within my powre. Enter Paulina. Lord. You must not enter. Paul. Nay rather (good my Lords) be second to me:Feare you his tyrannous passion more (alas)Then the Queenes life? A gracious innocent soule,More free, then he is iealous. Antig. That's enough. Ser. Madam; he hath not slept to night, commandedNone should come at him. Pau. Not so hot (good Sir)I come to bring him sleepe. 'Tis such as youThat creepe like shadowes by him, and do sigheAt each his needlesse heauings: such as youNourish the cause of his awaking. IDo come with words, as medicinall, as true;(Honest, as either;) to purge him of that humor,That presses him from sleepe. Leo. Who noyse there, hoe? Pau. No noyse (my Lord) but needfull conference,About some Gossips for your Highnesse. Leo. How?Away with that audacious Lady. Antigonus, I charg'd thee that she should not come about me,I knew she would. Ant. I told her so (my Lord)On your displeasures perill, and on mine,She should not visit you. Leo. What? canst not rule her? Paul. From all dishonestie he can: in this(Vnlesse he take the course that you haue done)Commit me, for committing honor, trust it,He shall not rule me: Ant. La-you now, you heare,When she will take the raine, I let her run,But shee'l not stumble. Paul. Good my Liege, I come:And I beseech you heare me, who professesMy selfe your loyall Seruant, your Physitian,Your most obedient Counsailor: yet that daresLesse appeare so, in comforting your Euilles,Then such as most seeme yours. I say, I comeFrom your good Queene. Leo. Good Queene? Paul. Good Queene (my Lord) good Queene,I say good Queene,And would by combate, make her good so, were IA man, the worst about you. Leo. Force her hence. Pau. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyesFirst hand me: on mine owne accord, Ile off,But first, Ile do my errand. The good Queene(For she is good) hath brought you forth a daughter,Heere 'tis. Commends it to your blessing. Leo. Out:A mankinde Witch? Hence with her, out o' dore:A most intelligencing bawd. Paul. Not so:I am as ignorant in that, as you,In so entit'ling me: and no lesse honestThen you are mad: which is enough, Ile warrant(As this world goes) to passe for honest: Leo. Traitors;Will you not push her out? Giue her the Bastard,Thou dotard, thou art woman-tyr'd: vnroostedBy thy dame Partlet heere. Take vp the Bastard,Take't vp, I say: giue't to thy Croane. Paul. For euerVnvenerable be thy hands, if thouTak'st vp the Princesse, by that forced basenesseWhich he ha's put vpon't. Leo. He dreads his Wife. Paul. So I would you did: then 'twere past all doubtYoul'd call your children, yours. Leo. A nest of Traitors. Ant. I am none, by this good light. Pau. Nor I: nor anyBut one that's heere: and that's himselfe: for he, The sacred Honor of himselfe, his Queenes,His hopefull Sonnes, his Babes, betrayes to Slander,Whose sting is sharper then the Swords; and will not(For as the case now stands, it is a CurseHe cannot be compell'd too't) once remoueThe Root of his Opinion, which is rotten,As euer Oake, or Stone was sound. Leo. A CallatOf boundlesse tongue, who late hath beat her Husband,And now bayts me: This Brat is none of mine,It is the Issue of Polixenes. Hence with it, and together with the Dam,Commit them to the fire. Paul. It is yours:And might we lay th' old Prouerb to your charge,So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold (my Lords)Although the Print be little, the whole MatterAnd Coppy of the Father: (Eye, Nose, Lippe,The trick of's Frowne, his Fore-head, nay, the Valley,The pretty dimples of his Chin, and Cheeke; his Smiles:The very Mold, and frame of Hand, Nayle, Finger.)And thou good Goddesse Nature, which hast made itSo like to him that got it, if thou hastThe ordering of the Mind too, 'mongst all ColoursNo Yellow in't, least she suspect, as he do's,Her Children, not her Husbands. Leo. A grosse Hagge:And Lozell, thou art worthy to be hang'd,That wilt not stay her Tongue. Antig. Hang all the HusbandsThat cannot doe that Feat, you'le leaue your selfeHardly one Subiect. Leo. Once more take her hence. Paul. A most vnworthy, and vnnaturall LordCan doe no more. Leo. Ile ha' thee burnt. Paul. I care not:It is an Heretique that makes the fire,Not she which burnes in't. Ile not call you Tyrant:But this most cruell vsage of your Queene(Not able to produce more accusationThen your owne weake-hindg'd Fancy) something sauorsOf Tyrannie, and will ignoble make you,Yea, scandalous to the World. Leo. On your Allegeance,Out of the Chamber with her. Were I a Tyrant,Where were her life? she durst not call me so,If she did know me one. Away with her. Paul. I pray you doe not push me, Ile be gone.Looke to your Babe (my Lord) 'tis yours: Ioue send herA better guiding Spirit. What needs these hands?You that are thus so tender o're his Follyes,Will neuer doe him good, not one of you.So, so: Farewell, we are gone. Exit. Leo. Thou (Traytor) hast set on thy Wife to this.My Child? away with't? euen thou, that hastA heart so tender o're it, take it hence,And see it instantly consum'd with fire.Euen thou, and none but thou. Take it vp straight:Within this houre bring me word 'tis done,(And by good testimonie) or Ile seize thy life,With what thou else call'st thine: if thou refuse,And wilt encounter with my Wrath, say so;The Bastard-braynes with these my proper handsShall I dash out. Goe, take it to the fire,For thou sett'st on thy Wife. Antig. I did not, Sir:These Lords, my Noble Fellowes, if they please,Can cleare me in't. Lords. We can: my Royall Liege,He is not guiltie of her comming hither. Leo. You're lyers all. Lord. Beseech your Highnesse, giue vs better credit:We haue alwayes truly seru'd you, and beseech'So to esteeme of vs: and on our knees we begge,(As recompence of our deare seruicesPast, and to come) that you doe change this purpose,Which being so horrible, so bloody, mustLead on to some foule Issue. We all kneele. Leo. I am a Feather for each Wind that blows:Shall I liue on, to see this Bastard kneele,And call me Father? better burne it now,Then curse it then. But be it: let it liue.It shall not neyther. You Sir, come you hither:You that haue beene so tenderly officiousWith Lady Margerie, your Mid-wife there,To saue this Bastards life; for 'tis a Bastard,So sure as this Beard's gray. What will you aduenture,To saue this Brats life? Antig. Any thing (my Lord)That my abilitie may vndergoe,And Noblenesse impose: at least thus much;Ile pawne the little blood which I haue left,To saue the Innocent: any thing possible. Leo. It shall be possible: Sweare by this SwordThou wilt performe my bidding. Antig. I will (my Lord.) Leo. Marke, and performe it: seest thou? for the faileOf any point in't, shall not onely beDeath to thy selfe, but to thy lewd-tongu'd Wife,(Whom for this time we pardon) We enioyne thee,As thou art Liege-man to vs, that thou carryThis female Bastard hence, and that thou beare itTo some remote and desart place, quite outOf our Dominions; and that there thou leaue it(Without more mercy) to it owne protection,And fauour of the Climate: as by strange fortuneIt came to vs, I doe in Iustice charge thee,On thy Soules perill, and thy Bodyes torture,That thou commend it strangely to some place,Where Chance may nurse, or end it: take it vp. Antig. I sweare to doe this: though a present deathHad beene more mercifull. Come on (poore Babe)Some powerfull Spirit instruct the Kytes and RauensTo be thy Nurses. Wolues and Beares, they say,(Casting their sauagenesse aside) haue doneLike offices of Pitty. Sir, be prosperousIn more then this deed do's require; and BlessingAgainst this Crueltie, fight on thy side(Poore Thing, condemn'd to losse.) Exit. Leo. No: Ile not reareAnothers Issue. Enter a Seruant. Seru. Please' your Highnesse, PostsFrom those you sent to th' Oracle, are comeAn houre since: Cleomines and Dion, Being well arriu'd from Delphos, are both landed,Hasting to th' Court. Lord. So please you (Sir) their speedHath beene beyond accompt. Leo. Twentie three dayesThey haue beene absent: 'tis good speed: fore-tellsThe great Apollo suddenly will haue The truth of this appeare: Prepare you Lords,Summon a Session, that we may arraigneOur most disloyall Lady: for as she hathBeen publikely accus'd, so shall she haueA iust and open Triall. While she liues,My heart will be a burthen to me. Leaue me,And thinke vpon my bidding. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Cleomines and Dion. Cleo. The Clymat's delicate, the Ayre most sweet,Fertile the Isle, the Temple much surpassingThe common prayse it beares. Dion. I shall report,For most it caught me, the Celestiall Habits,(Me thinkes I so should terme them) and the reuerenceOf the graue Wearers. O, the Sacrifice,How ceremonious, solemne, and vn-earthlyIt was i'th' Offring? Cleo. But of all, the burstAnd the eare-deaff'ning Voyce o'th' Oracle,Kin to Ioues Thunder, so surpriz'd my Sence,That I was nothing. Dio. If th' euent o'th' IourneyProue as successefull to the Queene (O be't so)As it hath beene to vs, rare, pleasant, speedie,The time is worth the vse on't. Cleo. Great Apollo Turne all to th' best: these Proclamations,So forcing faults vpon Hermione, I little like. Dio. The violent carriage of itWill cleare, or end the Businesse, when the Oracle(Thus by Apollo's great Diuine seal'd vp)Shall the Contents discouer: something rareEuen then will rush to knowledge. Goe: fresh Horses,And gracious be the issue. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Leontes, Lords, Officers: Hermione (as to herTriall) Ladies: Cleomines, Dion. Leo. This Sessions (to our great griefe we pronounce)Euen pushes 'gainst our heart. The partie try'd,The Daughter of a King, our Wife, and oneOf vs too much belou'd. Let vs be clear'dOf being tyrannous, since we so openlyProceed in Iustice, which shall haue due course,Euen to the Guilt, or the Purgation:Produce the Prisoner. Officer. It is his Highnesse pleasure, that the QueeneAppeare in person, here in Court. Silence. Leo. Reade the Indictment. Officer. Hermione, Queene to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of High Trea-son, in committing Adultery with Polixenes King of Bohemia, and conspiring with Camillo to take away the Life of our Soue-raigne Lord the King, thy Royall Husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly layd open, thou (Hermione) con-trary to the Faith and Allegeance of a true Subiect, didst coun-saile and ayde them, for their better safetie, to flye away byNight. Her. Since what I am to say, must be but thatWhich contradicts my Accusation, andThe testimonie on my part, no otherBut what comes from my selfe, it shall scarce boot meTo say, Not guiltie: mine IntegritieBeing counted Falsehood, shall (as I expresse it)Be so receiu'd. But thus, if Powres DiuineBehold our humane Actions (as they doe)I doubt not then, but Innocence shall makeFalse Accusation blush, and TyrannieTremble at Patience. You (my Lord) best know(Whom least will seeme to doe so) my past lifeHath beene as continent, as chaste, as true,As I am now vnhappy; which is moreThen Historie can patterne, though deuis'd,And play'd, to take Spectators. For behold me,A Fellow of the Royall Bed, which oweA Moitie of the Throne: a great Kings Daughter,The Mother to a hopefull Prince, here standingTo prate and talke for Life, and Honor, foreWho please to come, and heare. For Life, I prize itAs I weigh Griefe (which I would spare:) For Honor,'Tis a deriuatiue from me to mine,And onely that I stand for. I appealeTo your owne Conscience (Sir) before Polixenes Came to your Court, how I was in your grace,How merited to be so: Since he came,With what encounter so vncurrant, IHaue strayn'd t' appeare thus; if one iot beyondThe bound of Honor, or in act, or will That way enclining, hardned be the heartsOf all that heare me, and my neer'st of KinCry fie vpon my Graue. Leo. I ne're heard yet,That any of these bolder Vices wantedLesse Impudence to gaine-say what they did,Then to performe it first. Her. That's true enough,Though 'tis a saying (Sir) not due to me. Leo. You will not owne it. Her. More then Mistresse of,Which comes to me in name of Fault, I must notAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes (With whom I am accus'd) I doe confesseI lou'd him, as in Honor he requir'd:With such a kind of Loue, as might becomeA Lady like me; with a Loue, euen such,So, and no other, as your selfe commanded:Which, not to haue done, I thinke had been in meBoth Disobedience, and IngratitudeTo you, and toward your Friend, whose Loue had spoke,Euen since it could speake, from an Infant, freely,That it was yours. Now for Conspiracie,I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'dFor me to try how: All I know of it,Is, that Camillo was an honest man;And why he left your Court, the Gods themselues(Wotting no more then I) are ignorant. Leo. You knew of his departure, as you knowWhat you haue vnderta'ne to doe in's absence. Her. Sir,You speake a Language that I vnderstand not:My Life stands in the leuell of your Dreames,Which Ile lay downe. Leo. Your Actions are my Dreames.You had a Bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it: As you were past all shame,(Those of your Fact are so) so past all truth;Which to deny, concernes more then auailes: for asThy Brat hath been cast out, like to it selfe,No Father owning it (which is indeedMore criminall in thee, then it) so thouShalt feele our Iustice; in whose easiest passage,Looke for no lesse then death. Her. Sir, spare your Threats:The Bugge which you would fright me with, I seeke:To me can Life be no commoditie;The crowne and comfort of my Life (your Fauor)I doe giue lost, for I doe feele it gone,But know not how it went. My second Ioy,And first Fruits of my body, from his presenceI am bar'd, like one infectious. My third comfort(Star'd most vnluckily) is from my breast(The innocent milke in it most innocent mouth)Hal'd out to murther. My selfe on euery PostProclaym'd a Strumpet: With immodest hatredThe Child-bed priuiledge deny'd, which longsTo Women of all fashion. Lastly, hurriedHere, to this place, i'th' open ayre, beforeI haue got strength of limit. Now (my Liege)Tell me what blessings I haue here aliue,That I should feare to die? Therefore proceed:But yet heare this: mistake me not: no Life,(I prize it not a straw) but for mine Honor,Which I would free: if I shall be condemn'dVpon surmizes (all proofes sleeping else,But what your Iealousies awake) I tell you'Tis Rigor, and not Law. Your Honors all,I doe referre me to the Oracle: Apollo be my Iudge. Lord. This your requestIs altogether iust: therefore bring forth(And in Apollo's Name) his Oracle. Her. The Emperor of Russia was my Father.Oh that he were aliue, and here beholdingHis Daughters Tryall: that he did but seeThe flatnesse of my miserie; yet with eyesOf Pitty, not Reuenge. Officer. You here shal sweare vpon this Sword of Iustice,That you (Cleomines and Dion) haueBeen both at Delphos, and from thence haue broughtThis seal'd-vp Oracle, by the Hand deliuer'dOf great Apollo's Priest; and that since then,You haue not dar'd to breake the holy Seale,Nor read the Secrets in't. Cleo. Dio. All this we sweare. Leo. Breake vp the Seales, and read. Officer. Hermione is chast, Polixenes blamelesse, Camillo a true Subiect, Leontes a iealous Tyrant, his innocent Babe truly begotten, and the King shall liue without an Heire, if thatwhich is lost, be not found. Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo. Her. Praysed. Leo. Hast thou read truth? Offic. I (my Lord) euen so as it is here set downe. Leo. There is no truth at all i'th' Oracle:The Sessions shall proceed: this is meere falsehood. Ser. My Lord the King: the King? Leo. What is the businesse? Ser. O Sir, I shall be hated to report it.The Prince your Sonne, with meere conceit, and feareOf the Queenes speed, is gone. Leo. How? gone? Ser. Is dead. Leo. Apollo's angry, and the Heauens themseluesDoe strike at my Iniustice. How now there? Paul. This newes is mortall to the Queene: Look downeAnd see what Death is doing. Leo. Take her hence:Her heart is but o're-charg'd: she will recouer.I haue too much beleeu'd mine owne suspition:'Beseech you tenderly apply to herSome remedies for life. Apollo pardonMy great prophanenesse 'gainst thine Oracle.Ile reconcile me to Polixenes, New woe my Queene, recall the good Camillo (Whom I proclaime a man of Truth, of Mercy:)For being transported by my IealousiesTo bloody thoughts, and to reuenge, I chose Camillo for the minister, to poysonMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,But that the good mind of Camillo tardiedMy swift command: though I with Death, and withReward, did threaten and encourage him,Not doing it, and being done: he (most humane,And fill'd with Honor) to my Kingly GuestVnclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here(Which you knew great) and to the hazardOf all Incertainties, himselfe commended,No richer then his Honor: How he glistersThrough my Rust? and how his PietieDo's my deeds make the blacker? Paul. Woe the while:O cut my Lace, least my heart (cracking it)Breake too. Lord. What fit is this? good Lady? Paul. What studied torments (Tyrant) hast for me?What Wheeles? Racks? Fires? What flaying? boyling?In Leads, or Oyles? What old, or newer TortureMust I receiue? whose euery word deseruesTo taste of thy most worst. Thy Tyranny(Together working with thy Iealousies,Fancies too weake for Boyes, too greene and idleFor Girles of Nine) O thinke what they haue done,And then run mad indeed: starke-mad: for allThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.That thou betrayed'st Polixenes, 'twas nothing,(That did but shew thee, of a Foole, inconstant,And damnable ingratefull:) Nor was't much.Thou would'st haue poyson'd good Camillo's Honor,To haue him kill a King: poore Trespasses,More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckonThe casting forth to Crowes, thy Baby-daughter,To be or none, or little; though a DeuillWould haue shed water out of fire, ere don't;Nor is't directly layd to thee, the deathOf the young Prince, whose honorable thoughts(Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heartThat could conceiue a grosse and foolish SireBlemish'd his gracious Dam: this is not, no,Layd to thy answere: but the last: O Lords,When I haue said, cry woe: the Queene, the Queene, The sweet'st, deer'st creature's dead: & vengeance for'tNot drop'd downe yet. Lord. The higher powres forbid. Pau. I say she's dead: Ile swear't. If word, nor oathPreuaile not, go and see: if you can bringTincture, or lustre in her lip, her eyeHeate outwardly, or breath within, Ile serue youAs I would do the Gods. But, O thou Tyrant,Do not repent these things, for they are heauierThen all thy woes can stirre: therefore betake theeTo nothing but dispaire. A thousand knees,Ten thousand yeares together, naked, fasting,Vpon a barren Mountaine, and still WinterIn storme perpetuall, could not moue the GodsTo looke that way thou wer't. Leo. Go on, go on:Thou canst not speake too much, I haue deseru'dAll tongues to talke their bittrest. Lord. Say no more;How ere the businesse goes, you haue made faultI'th boldnesse of your speech. Pau. I am sorry for't;All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,I do repent: Alas, I haue shew'd too muchThe rashnesse of a woman: he is touchtTo th' Noble heart. What's gone, and what's past helpeShould be past greefe: Do not receiue afflictionAt my petition; I beseech you, ratherLet me be punish'd, that haue minded youOf what you should forget. Now (good my Liege)Sir, Royall Sir, forgiue a foolish woman:The loue I bore your Queene (Lo, foole againe)Ile speake of her no more, nor of your Children:Ile not remember you of my owne Lord,(Who is lost too:) take your patience to you,And Ile say nothing. Leo. Thou didst speake but well,When most the truth: which I receyue much better,Then to be pittied of thee. Prethee bring meTo the dead bodies of my Queene, and Sonne,One graue shall be for both: Vpon them shallThe causes of their death appeare (vntoOur shame perpetuall) once a day, Ile visitThe Chappell where they lye, and teares shed thereShall be my recreation. So long as NatureWill beare vp with this exercise, so longI dayly vow to vse it. Come, and leade meTo these sorrowes. Exeunt
Scaena Tertia. Enter Antigonus, a Marriner, Babe, Sheepe-heard, and Clowne. Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath toucht vponThe Desarts of Bohemia. Mar. I (my Lord) and feareWe haue Landed in ill time: the skies looke grimly,And threaten present blusters. In my conscienceThe heauens with that we haue in hand, are angry,And frowne vpon's. Ant. Their sacred wil's be done: go get a-boord,Looke to thy barke, Ile not be long beforeI call vpon thee. Mar. Make your best haste, and go notToo-farre i'th Land: 'tis like to be lowd weather,Besides this place is famous for the CreaturesOf prey, that keepe vpon't. Antig. Go thou away,Ile follow instantly. Mar. I am glad at heartTo be so ridde o'th businesse. Exit Ant. Come, poore babe;I haue heard (but not beleeu'd) the Spirits o'th' deadMay walke againe: if such thing be, thy MotherAppear'd to me last night: for ne're was dreameSo like a waking. To me comes a creature,Sometimes her head on one side, some another,I neuer saw a vessell of like sorrowSo fill'd, and so becomming: in pure white RobesLike very sanctity she did approachMy Cabine where I lay: thrice bow'd before me,And (gasping to begin some speech) her eyesBecame two spouts; the furie spent, anonDid this breake from her. Good Antigonus, Since Fate (against thy better disposition)Hath made thy person for the Thrower-outOf my poore babe, according to thine oath,Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weepe, and leaue it crying: and for the babeIs counted lost for euer, Perdita I prethee call't: For this vngentle businessePut on thee, by my Lord, thou ne're shalt seeThy Wife Paulina more: and so, with shriekesShe melted into Ayre. Affrighted much,I did in time collect my selfe, and thoughtThis was so, and no slumber: Dreames, are toyes,Yet for this once, yea superstitiously,I will be squar'd by this. I do beleeue Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that Apollo would (this being indeede the issueOf King Polixenes) it should heere be laide(Either for life, or death) vpon the earthOf it's right Father. Blossome, speed thee well,There lye, and there thy charracter: there these,Which may if Fortune please, both breed thee (pretty)And still rest thine. The storme beginnes, poore wretch,That for thy mothers fault, art thus expos'dTo losse, and what may follow. Weepe I cannot,But my heart bleedes: and most accurst am ITo be by oath enioyn'd to this. Farewell,The day frownes more and more: thou'rt like to haueA lullabie too rough: I neuer sawThe heauens so dim, by day. A sauage clamor?Well may I get a-boord: This is the Chace,I am gone for euer. Exit pursued by a Beare. Shep. I would there were no age betweene ten andthree and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest:for there is nothing (in the betweene) but getting wen-ches with childe, wronging the Auncientry, stealing,fighting, hearke you now: would any but these boylde-braines of nineteene, and two and twenty hunt this wea-ther? They haue scarr'd away two of my best Sheepe,which I feare the Wolfe will sooner finde then the Mai-ster; if any where I haue them, 'tis by the sea-side, brou-zing of Iuy. Good-lucke (and't be thy will) what hauewe heere? Mercy on's, a Barne? A very pretty barne; Aboy, or a Childe I wonder? (A pretty one, a verie prettieone) sure some Scape; Though I am not bookish, yet I can reade Waiting-Gentlewoman in the scape: this hasbeene some staire-worke, some Trunke-worke, some be-hinde-dooreworke: they were warmer that got this,then the poore Thing is heere. Ile take it vp for pity, yetIle tarry till my sonne come: he hallow'd but euen now.Whoa-ho-hoa. Enter Clowne. Clo. Hilloa, loa. Shep. What? art so neere? If thou'lt see a thing totalke on, when thou art dead and rotten, come hither:what ayl'st thou, man? Clo. I haue seene two such sights, by Sea & by Land:but I am not to say it is a Sea, for it is now the skie, be-twixt the Firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkinspoint. Shep. Why boy, how is it? Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it ra-ges, how it takes vp the shore, but that's not to the point:Oh, the most pitteous cry of the poore soules, sometimesto see 'em, and not to see 'em: Now the Shippe boaringthe Moone with her maine Mast, and anon swallowedwith yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a Corke into a hogs-head. And then for the Land-seruice, to see how theBeare tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cride to meefor helpe, and said his name was Antigonus, a Nobleman:But to make an end of the Ship, to see how the Sea flap-dragon'dit: but first, how the poore soules roared, andthe sea mock'd them: and how the poore Gentleman roa-red, and the Beare mock'd him, both roaring lowderthen the sea, or weather. Shep. Name of mercy, when was this boy? Clo. Now, now: I haue not wink'd since I saw thesesights: the men are not yet cold vnder water, nor theBeare halfe din'd on the Gentleman: he's at it now. Shep. Would I had bin by, to haue help'd the oldeman. Clo. I would you had beene by the ship side, to hauehelp'd her; there your charity would haue lack'd footing. Shep. Heauy matters, heauy matters: but looke theeheere boy. Now blesse thy selfe: thou met'st with thingsdying, I with things new borne. Here's a sight for thee:Looke thee, a bearing-cloath for a Squires childe: lookethee heere, take vp, take vp (Boy:) open't: so, let's see, itwas told me I should be rich by the Fairies. This is someChangeling: open't: what's within, boy? Clo. You're a mad olde man: If the sinnes of youryouth are forgiuen you, you're well to liue. Golde, allGold. Shep. This is Faiery Gold boy, and 'twill proue so: vpwith't, keepe it close: home, home, the next way. Weare luckie (boy) and to bee so still requires nothing butsecrecie. Let my sheepe go: Come (good boy) the nextway home. Clo. Go you the next way with your Findings, Ile gosee if the Beare bee gone from the Gentleman, and howmuch he hath eaten: they are neuer curst but when theyare hungry: if there be any of him left, Ile bury it. Shep. That's a good deed: if thou mayest discerne bythat which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' sightof him. Clowne. 'Marry will I: and you shall helpe to put himi'th' ground. Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and wee'l do good deedson't. Exeunt
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Time, the Chorus. Time. I that please some, try all: both ioy and terrorOf good, and bad: that makes, and vnfolds error,Now take vpon me (in the name of Time)To vse my wings: Impute it not a crimeTo me, or my swift passage, that I slideOre sixteene yeeres, and leaue the growth vntrideOf that wide gap, since it is in my powreTo orethrow Law, and in one selfe-borne howreTo plant, and ore-whelme Custome. Let me passeThe same I am, ere ancient'st Order was,Or what is now receiu'd. I witnesse toThe times that brought them in, so shall I doTo th' freshest things now reigning, and make staleThe glistering of this present, as my TaleNow seemes to it: your patience this allowing,I turne my glasse, and giue my Scene such growingAs you had slept betweene: Leontes leauingTh' effects of his fond iealousies, so greeuingThat he shuts vp himselfe. Imagine me(Gentle Spectators) that I now may beIn faire Bohemia, and remember well,I mentioned a sonne o'th' Kings, which Florizell I now name to you: and with speed so paceTo speake of Perdita, now growne in graceEquall with wond'ring. What of her insuesI list not prophesie: but let Times newesBe knowne when 'tis brought forth. A shepherds daughter And what to her adheres, which followes after,Is th' argument of Time: of this allow,If euer you haue spent time worse, ere now:If neuer, yet that Time himselfe doth say,He wishes earnestly, you neuer may. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Polixenes, and Camillo. Pol. I pray thee (good Camillo) be no more importu-nate: 'tis a sicknesse denying thee any thing: a death togrant this. Cam. It is fifteene yeeres since I saw my Countrey:though I haue (for the most part) bin ayred abroad, I de-sire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King(my Master) hath sent for me, to whose feeling sorrowesI might be some allay, or I oreweene to thinke so) whichis another spurre to my departure. Pol. As thou lou'st me (Camillo) wipe not out the restof thy seruices, by leauing me now: the neede I haue ofthee, thine owne goodnesse hath made: better not tohaue had thee, then thus to want thee, thou hauing mademe Businesses, (which none (without thee) can suffici-ently manage) must either stay to execute them thy selfe,or take away with thee the very seruices thou hast done:which if I haue not enough considered (as too much Icannot) to bee more thankefull to thee, shall bee my stu-die, and my profite therein, the heaping friendshippes.Of that fatall Countrey Sicillia, prethee speake no more,whose very naming, punnishes me with the remembrance of that penitent (as thou calst him) and reconciled Kingmy brother, whose losse of his most precious Queene &Children, are euen now to be a-fresh lamented. Say tome, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizell my son? Kingsare no lesse vnhappy, their issue, not being gracious, thenthey are in loosing them, when they haue approued theirVertues. Cam. Sir, it is three dayes since I saw the Prince: whathis happier affayres may be, are to me vnknowne: but Ihaue (missingly) noted, he is of late much retyred fromCourt, and is lesse frequent to his Princely exercises thenformerly he hath appeared. Pol. I haue considered so much (Camillo) and withsome care, so farre, that I haue eyes vnder my seruice,which looke vpon his remouednesse: from whom I hauethis Intelligence, that he is seldome from the house of amost homely shepheard: a man (they say) that from verynothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbors,is growne into an vnspeakable estate. Cam. I haue heard (sir) of such a man, who hath adaughter of most rare note: the report of her is extendedmore, then can be thought to begin from such a cottage Pol. That's likewise part of my Intelligence: but (Ifeare) the Angle that pluckes our sonne thither. Thoushalt accompany vs to the place, where we will (not ap-pearing what we are) haue some question with the shep-heard; from whose simplicity, I thinke it not vneasie toget the cause of my sonnes resort thether. 'Prethe be mypresent partner in this busines, and lay aside the thoughtsof Sicillia. Cam. I willingly obey your command. Pol. My best Camillo, we must disguise our selues. Exit
Scena Tertia. Enter Autolicus singing. When Daffadils begin to peere,With heigh the Doxy ouer the dale,Why then comes in the sweet o'the yeere,For the red blood raigns in the winters pale.The white sheete bleaching on the hedge,With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing:Doth set my pugging tooth an edge,For a quart of Ale is a dish for a King.The Larke, that tirra Lyra chaunts,With heigh, the Thrush and the Iay:Are Summer songs for me and my AuntsWhile we lye tumbling in the hay. I haue seru'd Prince Florizell, and in my time wore threepile, but now I am out of seruice. But shall I go mourne for that (my deere)the pale Moone shines by night:And when I wander here, and thereI then do most go right.If Tinkers may haue leaue to liue,and beare the Sow-skin Bowget,Then my account I well may giue,and in the Stockes auouch-it. My Trafficke is sheetes: when the Kite builds, looke tolesser Linnen. My Father nam'd me Autolicus, who be-ing (as I am) lytter'd vnder Mercurie, was likewise asnapper-vp of vnconsidered trifles: With Dye and drab,I purchas'd this Caparison, and my Reuennew is the sillyCheate. Gallowes, and Knocke, are too powerfull onthe Highway. Beating and hanging are terrors to mee:For the life to come, I sleepe out the thought of it. Aprize, a prize. Enter Clowne. Clo. Let me see, euery Leauen-weather toddes, euerytod yeeldes pound and odde shilling: fifteene hundredshorne, what comes the wooll too? Aut. If the sprindge hold, the Cocke's mine. Clo. I cannot do't without Compters. Let mee see,what am I to buy for our Sheepe-shearing-Feast? Threepound of Sugar, fiue pound of Currence, Rice: Whatwill this sister of mine do with Rice? But my father hathmade her Mistris of the Feast, and she layes it on. Sheehath made-me four and twenty Nose-gayes for the shea-rers (three-man song-men, all, and very good ones) butthey are most of them Meanes and Bases; but one Puri-tan amongst them, and he sings Psalmes to horne-pipes.I must haue Saffron to colour the Warden Pies, Mace:Dates, none: that's out of my note: Nutmegges, seuen;a Race or two of Ginger, but that I may begge: Fourepound of Prewyns, and as many of Reysons o'th Sun. Aut. Oh, that euer I was borne. Clo. I'th' name of me. Aut. Oh helpe me, helpe mee: plucke but off theseragges: and then, death, death. Clo. Alacke poore soule, thou hast need of more ragsto lay on thee, rather then haue these off. Aut. Oh sir, the loathsomnesse of them offend mee,more then the stripes I haue receiued, which are mightieones and millions. Clo. Alas poore man, a million of beating may cometo a great matter. Aut. I am rob'd sir, and beaten: my money, and ap-parrell tane from me, and these detestable things put vp-on me. Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man? Aut. A footman (sweet sir) a footman. Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garmentshe has left with thee: If this bee a horsemans Coate, ithath seene very hot seruice. Lend me thy hand, Ile helpethee. Come, lend me thy hand. Aut. Oh good sir, tenderly, oh. Clo. Alas poore soule. Aut. Oh good sir, softly, good sir: I feare (sir) myshoulder-blade is out. Clo. How now? Canst stand? Aut. Softly, deere sir: good sir, softly: you ha doneme a charitable office. Clo. Doest lacke any mony? I haue a little mony forthee. Aut. No, good sweet sir: no, I beseech you sir: I hauea Kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, vntowhome I was going: I shall there haue money, or aniething I want: Offer me no money I pray you, that killesmy heart. Clow. What manner of Fellow was hee that robb'dyou? Aut. A fellow (sir) that I haue knowne to goe aboutwith Troll-my-dames: I knew him once a seruant of thePrince: I cannot tell good sir, for which of his Ver-tues it was, but hee was certainely Whipt out of theCourt. Clo. His vices you would say: there's no vertue whiptout of the Court: they cherish it to make it stay there;and yet it will no more but abide. Aut. Vices I would say (Sir.) I know this man well,he hath bene since an Ape-bearer, then a Processe-seruer(a Bayliffe) then hee compast a Motion of the Prodigallsonne, and married a Tinkers wife, within a Mile wheremy Land and Liuing lyes; and (hauing flowne ouer ma-ny knauish professions) he setled onely in Rogue: somecall him Autolicus. Clo. Out vpon him: Prig, for my life Prig: he hauntsWakes, Faires, and Beare-baitings. Aut. Very true sir: he sir hee: that's the Rogue thatput me into this apparrell. Clo. Not a more cowardly Rogue in all Bohemia; Ifyou had but look'd bigge, and spit at him, hee'ld hauerunne. Aut. I must confesse to you (sir) I am no fighter: I amfalse of heart that way, & that he knew I warrant him. Clo. How do you now? Aut. Sweet sir, much better then I was: I can stand,and walke: I will euen take my leaue of you, & pace soft-ly towards my Kinsmans. Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? Aut. No, good fac'd sir, no sweet sir. Clo. Then fartheewell, I must go buy Spices for oursheepe-shearing. Exit. Aut. Prosper you sweet sir. Your purse is not hot e-nough to purchase your Spice: Ile be with you at yoursheepe-shearing too: If I make not this Cheat bring outanother, and the sheerers proue sheepe, let me be vnrold,and my name put in the booke of Vertue.Song. Iog-on, Iog-on, the foot-path way,And merrily hent the Stile-a:A merry heart goes all the day,Your sad tyres in a Mile-a. Exit.
Scena Quarta. Enter Florizell, Perdita, Shepherd, Clowne, Polixenes, Ca-millo, Mopsa, Dorcas, Seruants, Autolicus. Flo. These your vnvsuall weeds, to each part of youDo's giue a life: no Shepherdesse, but Flora Peering in Aprils front. This your sheepe-shearing,Is as a meeting of the petty Gods,And you the Queene on't. Perd. Sir: my gracious Lord,To chide at your extreames, it not becomes me:(Oh pardon, that I name them:) your high selfeThe gracious marke o'th' Land, you haue obscur'dWith a Swaines wearing: and me (poore lowly Maide)Most Goddesse-like prank'd vp: But that our FeastsIn euery Messe, haue folly; and the FeedersDigest with a Custome, I should blushTo see you so attyr'd: sworne I thinke,To shew my selfe a glasse. Flo. I blesse the timeWhen my good Falcon, made her flight a-crosseThy Fathers ground. Perd. Now Ioue affoord you cause:To me the difference forges dread (your GreatnesseHath not beene vs'd to feare:) euen now I trembleTo thinke your Father, by some accidentShould passe this way, as you did: Oh the Fates,How would he looke, to see his worke, so noble,Vildely bound vp? What would he say? Or howShould I (in these my borrowed Flaunts) beholdThe sternnesse of his presence? Flo. ApprehendNothing but iollity: the Goddes themselues(Humbling their Deities to loue) haue takenThe shapes of Beasts vpon them. Iupiter,Became a Bull, and bellow'd: the greene NeptuneA Ram, and bleated: and the Fire-roab'd-GodGolden Apollo, a poore humble Swaine,As I seeme now. Their transformations,Were neuer for a peece of beauty, rarer,Nor in a way so chaste: since my desiresRun not before mine honor: nor my LustsBurne hotter then my Faith. Perd. O but Sir,Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tisOppos'd (as it must be) by th' powre of the King:One of these two must be necessities,Which then will speake, that you must change this purpose,Or I my life. Flo. Thou deer'st Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I prethee darken notThe Mirth o'th' Feast: Or Ile be thine (my Faire)Or not my Fathers. For I cannot beMine owne, nor any thing to any, ifI be not thine. To this I am most constant,Though destiny say no. Be merry (Gentle)Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thingThat you behold the while. Your guests are comming:Lift vp your countenance, as it were the dayOf celebration of that nuptiall, whichWe two haue sworne shall come. Perd. O Lady Fortune,Stand you auspicious. Flo. See, your Guests approach,Addresse your selfe to entertaine them sprightly,And let's be red with mirth. Shep. Fy (daughter) when my old wife liu'd: vponThis day, she was both Pantler, Butler, Cooke,Both Dame and Seruant: Welcom'd all: seru'd all,Would sing her song, and dance her turne: now heereAt vpper end o'th Table; now, i'th middle:On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fireWith labour, and the thing she tooke to quench itShe would to each one sip. You are retyred,As if you were a feasted one: and notThe Hostesse of the meeting: Pray you bidThese vnknowne friends to's welcome, for it isA way to make vs better Friends, more knowne.Come, quench your blushes, and present your selfeThat which you are, Mistris o'th' Feast. Come on,And bid vs welcome to your sheepe-shearing,As your good flocke shall prosper. Perd. Sir, welcome:It is my Fathers will, I should take on meeThe Hostesseship o'th' day: you're welcome sir.Giue me those Flowres there (Dorcas.) Reuerend Sirs,For you, there's Rosemary, and Rue, these keepeSeeming, and sauour all the Winter long:Grace, and Remembrance be to you both,And welcome to our Shearing. Pol. Shepherdesse,(A faire one are you:) well you fit our agesWith flowres of Winter. Perd. Sir, the yeare growing ancient,Not yet on summers death, nor on the birthOf trembling winter, the fayrest flowres o'th seasonAre our Carnations, and streak'd Gilly-vors,(Which some call Natures bastards) of that kindOur rusticke Gardens barren, and I care notTo get slips of them. Pol. Wherefore (gentle Maiden)Do you neglect them. Perd. For I haue heard it said,There is an Art, which in their pidenesse sharesWith great creating-Nature. Pol. Say there be:Yet Nature is made better by no meane,But Nature makes that Meane: so ouer that Art,(Which you say addes to Nature) is an Art That Nature makes: you see (sweet Maid) we marryA gentler Sien, to the wildest Stocke,And make conceyue a barke of baser kindeBy bud of Nobler race. This is an Art Which do's mend Nature: change it rather, butThe Art it selfe, is Nature. Perd. So it is. Pol. Then make you Garden rich in Gilly' vors,And do not call them bastards. Perd. Ile not putThe Dible in earth, to set one slip of them:No more then were I painted, I would wishThis youth should say 'twer well: and onely thereforeDesire to breed by me. Here's flowres for you:Hot Lauender, Mints, Sauory, Mariorum,The Mary-gold, that goes to bed with' Sun,And with him rises, weeping: These are flowresOf middle summer, and I thinke they are giuenTo men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. Cam. I should leaue grasing, were I of your flocke,And onely liue by gazing. Perd. Out alas:You'ld be so leane, that blasts of IanuaryWould blow you through and through. Now (my fairst Friend,I would I had some Flowres o'th Spring, that mightBecome your time of day: and yours, and yours,That weare vpon your Virgin-branches yetYour Maiden-heads growing: O Proserpina, For the Flowres now, that (frighted) thou let'st fallFrom Dysses Waggon: Daffadils,That come before the Swallow dares, and takeThe windes of March with beauty: Violets (dim,But sweeter then the lids of Iuno's eyes,Or Cytherea's breath) pale Prime-roses,That dye vnmarried, ere they can beholdBright Phoebus in his strength (a MaladieMost incident to Maids:) bold Oxlips, andThe Crowne Imperiall: Lillies of all kinds,(The Flowre-de-Luce being one.) O, these I lacke,To make you Garlands of) and my sweet friend,To strew him o're, and ore. Flo. What? like a Coarse? Perd. No, like a banke, for Loue to lye, and play on:Not like a Coarse: or if: not to be buried,But quicke, and in mine armes. Come, take your flours,Me thinkes I play as I haue seene them doIn Whitson-Pastorals: Sure this Robe of mineDo's change my disposition: Flo. What you do,Still betters what is done. When you speake (Sweet)I'ld haue you do it euer: When you sing,I'ld haue you buy, and sell so: so giue Almes,Pray so: and for the ord'ring your Affayres,To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish youA waue o'th Sea, that you might euer doNothing but that: moue still, still so:And owne no other Function. Each your doing,(So singular, in each particular)Crownes what you are doing, in the present deeds,That all your Actes, are Queenes. Perd. O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youthAnd the true blood which peepes fairely through't,Do plainly giue you out an vnstain'd ShepherdWith wisedome, I might feare (my Doricles)You woo'd me the false way. Flo. I thinke you haueAs little skill to feare, as I haue purposeTo put you to't. But come, our dance I pray,Your hand (my Perdita:) so Turtles paireThat neuer meane to part. Perd. Ile sweare for 'em. Pol. This is the prettiest Low-borne Lasse, that euerRan on the greene-sord: Nothing she do's, or seemesBut smackes of something greater then her selfe,Too Noble for this place. Cam. He tels her somethingThat makes her blood looke on't: Good sooth she isThe Queene of Curds and Creame. Clo. Come on: strike vp. Dorcas. Mopsa must be your Mistris: marry Garlickto mend her kissing with. Mop. Now in good time. Clo. Not a word, a word, we stand vpon our manners,Come, strike vp. Heere a Daunce of Shepheards andShephearddesses. Pol. Pray good Shepheard, what faire Swaine is this,Which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doricles, and boasts himselfeTo haue a worthy Feeding; but I haue itVpon his owne report, and I beleeue it:He lookes like sooth: he sayes he loues my daughter,I thinke so too; for neuer gaz'd the MooneVpon the water, as hee'l stand and readeAs 'twere my daughters eyes: and to be plaine,I thinke there is not halfe a kisse to chooseWho loues another best. Pol. She dances featly. Shep. So she do's any thing, though I report itThat should be silent: If yong Doricles Do light vpon her, she shall bring him thatWhich he not dreames of. Enter Seruant. Ser. O Master: if you did but heare the Pedler at thedoore, you would neuer dance againe after a Tabor andPipe: no, the Bag-pipe could not moue you: hee singesseuerall Tunes, faster then you'l tell money: hee vttersthem as he had eaten ballads, and all mens eares grew tohis Tunes. Clo. He could neuer come better: hee shall come in:I loue a ballad but euen too well, if it be dolefull mattermerrily set downe: or a very pleasant thing indeede, andsung lamentably. Ser. He hath songs for man, or woman, of all sizes:No Milliner can so fit his customers with Gloues: he hasthe prettiest Loue-songs for Maids, so without bawdrie(which is strange,) with such delicate burthens of Dil-do'sand Fadings: Iump-her, and thump-her; and wheresome stretch-mouth'd Rascall, would (as it were) meanemischeefe, and breake a fowle gap into the Matter, heemakes the maid to answere, Whoop, doe me no harme good man: put's him off, slights him, with Whoop, doe mee noharme good man. Pol. This is a braue fellow. Clo. Beleeue mee, thou talkest of an admirable con-ceited fellow, has he any vnbraided Wares? Ser. Hee hath Ribbons of all the colours i'th Raine-bow; Points, more then all the Lawyers in Bohemia, canlearnedly handle, though they come to him by th' grosse:Inckles, Caddysses, Cambrickes, Lawnes: why he singsem ouer, as they were Gods, or Goddesses: you wouldthinke a Smocke were a shee-Angell, he so chauntes tothe sleeue-hand, and the worke about the square on't. Clo. Pre'thee bring him in, and let him approach sin-ging. Perd. Forewarne him, that he vse no scurrilous wordsin's tunes. Clow. You haue of these Pedlers, that haue more inthem, then youl'd thinke (Sister.) Perd. I, good brother, or go about to thinke. Enter Autolicus singing. Lawne as white as driuen Snow,Cypresse blacke as ere was Crow,Gloues as sweete as Damaske Roses,Maskes for faces, and for noses:Bugle-bracelet, Necke-lace Amber,Perfume for a Ladies Chamber:Golden Quoifes, and StomachersFor my Lads, to giue their deers:Pins, and poaking-stickes of steele.What Maids lacke from head to heele:Come buy of me, come: come buy, come buy,Buy Lads, or else your Lasses cry: Come buy. Clo. If I were not in loue with Mopsa, thou shouldsttake no money of me, but being enthrall'd as I am, it willalso be the bondage of certaine Ribbons and Gloues. Mop. I was promis'd them against the Feast, but theycome not too late now. Dor. He hath promis'd you more then that, or therebe lyars. Mop. He hath paid you all he promis'd you: 'May behe has paid you more, which will shame you to giue himagaine. Clo. Is there no manners left among maids? Will theyweare their plackets, where they should bear their faces?Is there not milking-time? When you are going to bed?Or kill-hole? To whistle of these secrets, but you mustbe tittle-tatling before all our guests? 'Tis well they arewhispring: clamor your tongues, and not a word more. Mop. I haue done; Come you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a paire of sweet Gloues. Clo. Haue I not told thee how I was cozen'd by theway, and lost all my money. Aut. And indeed Sir, there are Cozeners abroad, ther-fore it behooues men to be wary. Clo. Feare not thou man, thou shalt lose nothing here Aut. I hope so sir, for I haue about me many parcelsof charge. Clo. What hast heere? Ballads? Mop. Pray now buy some: I loue a ballet in print, alife, for then we are sure they are true. Aut. Here's one, to a very dolefull tune, how a Vsu-rers wife was brought to bed of twenty money baggs ata burthen, and how she long'd to eate Adders heads, andToads carbonado'd. Mop. Is it true, thinke you? Aut. Very true, and but a moneth old. Dor. Blesse me from marrying a Vsurer. Aut. Here's the Midwiues name to't: one Mist[ris]. Tale-Porter, and fiue or six honest Wiues, that were present.Why should I carry lyes abroad? Mop. 'Pray you now buy it. Clo. Come-on, lay it by: and let's first see moe Bal-lads: Wee'l buy the other things anon. Aut. Here's another ballad of a Fish, that appearedvpon the coast, on wensday the fourescore of April, fortiethousand fadom aboue water, & sung this ballad againstthe hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a Wo-man, and was turn'd into a cold fish, for she wold not ex-change flesh with one that lou'd her: The Ballad is verypittifull, and as true. Dor. Is it true too, thinke you. Autol. Fiue Iustices hands at it, and witnesses morethen my packe will hold. Clo. Lay it by too; another. Aut. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. Mop. Let's haue some merry ones. Aut. Why this is a passing merry one, and goes to thetune of two maids wooing a man: there's scarse a Maidewestward but she sings it: 'tis in request, I can tell you. Mop. We can both sing it: if thou'lt beare a part, thoushalt heare, 'tis in three parts. Dor. We had the tune on't, a month agoe. Aut. I can beare my part, you must know 'tis my oc-cupation: Haue at it with you: Song Get you hence, for I must goe Aut. Where it fits not you to know. Dor. Whether? Mop. O whether? Dor. Whether? Mop. It becomes thy oath full well,Thou to me thy secrets tell. Dor: Me too: Let me go thether: Mop: Or thou goest to th' Grange, or Mill, Dor: If to either thou dost ill, Aut: Neither. Dor: What neither? Aut: Neither: Dor: Thou hast sworne my Loue to be, Mop: Thou hast sworne it more to mee.Then whether goest? Say whether? Clo. Wee'l haue this song out anon by our selues: MyFather, and the Gent. are in sad talke, & wee'll not troublethem: Come bring away thy pack after me, Wenches Ilebuy for you both: Pedler let's haue the first choice; folowme girles. Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. Song. Will you buy any Tape, or Lace for your Cape?My dainty Ducke, my deere-a?Any Silke, any Thred, any Toyes for your headOf the news't, and fins't, fins't weare-a.Come to the Pedler, Money's a medler,That doth vtter all mens ware-a. Exit Seruant. Mayster, there is three Carters, three Shep-herds, three Neat-herds, three Swine-herds that haue made themselues all men of haire, they cal themselues Saltiers,and they haue a Dance, which the Wenches say is a gal-ly-maufreyof Gambols, because they are not in't: butthey themselues are o'th' minde (if it bee not too roughfor some, that know little but bowling) it will pleaseplentifully. Shep. Away: Wee'l none on't; heere has beene toomuch homely foolery already. I know (Sir) wee wea-rie you. Pol. You wearie those that refresh vs: pray let's seethese foure-threes of Heardsmen. Ser. One three of them, by their owne report (Sir,)hath danc'd before the King: and not the worst of thethree, but iumpes twelue foote and a halfe by th' squire. Shep. Leaue your prating, since these good men arepleas'd, let them come in: but quickly now. Ser. Why, they stay at doore Sir. Heere a Dance of twelue Satyres. Pol. O Father, you'l know more of that heereafter:Is it not too farre gone? 'Tis time to part them,He's simple, and tels much. How now (faire shepheard)Your heart is full of something, that do's takeYour minde from feasting. Sooth, when I was yong,And handed loue, as you do; I was wontTo load my Shee with knackes: I would haue ransacktThe Pedlers silken Treasury, and haue powr'd itTo her acceptance: you haue let him go,And nothing marted with him. If your LasseInterpretation should abuse, and call thisYour lacke of loue, or bounty, you were straitedFor a reply at least, if you make a careOf happie holding her. Flo. Old Sir, I knowShe prizes not such trifles as these are:The gifts she lookes from me, are packt and locktVp in my heart, which I haue giuen already,But not deliuer'd. O heare me breath my lifeBefore this ancient Sir, whom (it should seeme)Hath sometime lou'd: I take thy hand, this hand,As soft as Doues-downe, and as white as it,Or Ethyopians tooth, or the fan'd snow, that's boltedBy th' Northerne blasts, twice ore. Pol. What followes this?How prettily th' yong Swaine seemes to washThe hand, was faire before? I haue put you out,But to your protestation: Let me heareWhat you professe. Flo. Do, and be witnesse too't. Pol. And this my neighbour too? Flo. And he, and moreThen he, and men: the earth, the heauens, and all;That were I crown'd the most Imperiall MonarchThereof most worthy: were I the fayrest youthThat euer made eye swerue, had force and knowledgeMore then was euer mans, I would not prize themWithout her Loue; for her, employ them all,Commend them, and condemne them to her seruice,Or to their owne perdition. Pol. Fairely offer'd. Cam. This shewes a sound affection. Shep. But my daughter,Say you the like to him. Per. I cannot speakeSo well, (nothing so well) no, nor meane betterBy th' patterne of mine owne thoughts, I cut outThe puritie of his. Shep. Take hands, a bargaine;And friends vnknowne, you shall beare witnesse to't:I giue my daughter to him, and will makeHer Portion, equall his. Flo. O, that must beeI'th Vertue of your daughter: One being dead,I shall haue more then you can dreame of yet,Enough then for your wonder: but come-on,Contract vs fore these Witnesses. Shep. Come, your hand:And daughter, yours. Pol. Soft Swaine a-while, beseech you,Haue you a Father? Flo. I haue: but what of him? Pol. Knowes he of this? Flo. He neither do's, nor shall. Pol. Me-thinkes a Father,Is at the Nuptiall of his sonne, a guestThat best becomes the Table: Pray you once moreIs not your Father growne incapeableOf reasonable affayres? Is he not stupidWith Age, and altring Rheumes? Can he speake? heare?Know man, from man? Dispute his owne estate?Lies he not bed-rid? And againe, do's nothingBut what he did, being childish? Flo. No good Sir:He has his health, and ampler strength indeedeThen most haue of his age. Pol. By my white beard,You offer him (if this be so) a wrongSomething vnfilliall: Reason my sonneShould choose himselfe a wife, but as good reasonThe Father (all whose ioy is nothing elseBut faire posterity) should hold some counsaileIn such a businesse. Flo. I yeeld all this;But for some other reasons (my graue Sir)Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaintMy Father of this businesse. Pol. Let him know't. Flo. He shall not. Pol. Prethee let him. Flo. No, he must not. Shep. Let him (my sonne) he shall not need to greeueAt knowing of thy choice. Flo. Come, come, he must not:Marke our Contract. Pol. Marke your diuorce (yong sir)Whom sonne I dare not call: Thou art too baseTo be acknowledge. Thou a Scepters heire,That thus affects a sheepe-hooke? Thou, old Traitor,I am sorry, that by hanging thee, I canBut shorten thy life one weeke. And thou, fresh peeceOf excellent Witchcraft, whom of force must knowThe royall Foole thou coap'st with. Shep. Oh my heart. Pol. Ile haue thy beauty scratcht with briers & madeMore homely then thy state. For thee (fond boy)If I may euer know thou dost but sigh,That thou no more shalt neuer see this knacke (as neuerI meane thou shalt) wee'l barre thee from succession,Not hold thee of our blood, no not our Kin,Farre then Deucalion off: (marke thou my words)Follow vs to the Court. Thou Churle, for this time(Though full of our displeasure) yet we free theeFrom the dead blow of it. And you Enchantment, Worthy enough a Heardsman: yea him too,That makes himselfe (but for our Honor therein)Vnworthy thee. If euer henceforth, thouThese rurall Latches, to his entrance open,Or hope his body more, with thy embraces,I will deuise a death, as cruell for theeAs thou art tender to't. Exit. Perd. Euen heere vndone:I was not much a-fear'd: for once, or twiceI was about to speake, and tell him plainely,The selfe-same Sun, that shines vpon his Court,Hides not his visage from our Cottage, butLookes on alike. Wilt please you (Sir) be gone?I told you what would come of this: Beseech youOf your owne state take care: This dreame of mineBeing now awake, Ile Queene it no inch farther,But milke my Ewes, and weepe. Cam. Why how now Father,Speake ere thou dyest. Shep. I cannot speake, nor thinke,Nor dare to know, that which I know: O Sir,You haue vndone a man of fourescore three,That thought to fill his graue in quiet: yea,To dye vpon the bed my father dy'de,To lye close by his honest bones; but nowSome Hangman must put on my shrowd, and lay meWhere no Priest shouels-in dust. Oh cursed wretch,That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst aduentureTo mingle faith with him. Vndone, vndone:If I might dye within this houre, I haue liu'dTo die when I desire. Exit. Flo. Why looke you so vpon me?I am but sorry, not affear'd: delaid,But nothing altred: What I was, I am:More straining on, for plucking backe; not followingMy leash vnwillingly. Cam. Gracious my Lord,You know my Fathers temper: at this timeHe will allow no speech: (which I do ghesseYou do not purpose to him:) and as hardlyWill he endure your sight, as yet I feare;Then till the fury of his Highnesse settleCome not before him. Flo. I not purpose it:I thinke Camillo. Cam. Euen he, my Lord. Per. How often haue I told you 'twould be thus?How often said my dignity would lastBut till 'twer knowne? Flo. It cannot faile, but byThe violation of my faith, and thenLet Nature crush the sides o'th earth together,And marre the seeds within. Lift vp thy lookes:From my succession wipe me (Father) IAm heyre to my affection. Cam. Be aduis'd. Flo. I am: and by my fancie, if my ReasonWill thereto be obedient: I haue reason:If not, my sences better pleas'd with madnesse,Do bid it welcome. Cam. This is desperate (sir.) Flo. So call it: but it do's fulfill my vow:I needs must thinke it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pompe that mayBe thereat gleaned: for all the Sun sees, orThe close earth wombes, or the profound seas, hidesIn vnknowne fadomes, will I breake my oathTo this my faire belou'd: Therefore, I pray you,As you haue euer bin my Fathers honour'd friend,When he shall misse me, as (in faith I meane notTo see him any more) cast your good counsailesVpon his passion: Let my selfe, and FortuneTug for the time to come. This you may know,And so deliuer, I am put to SeaWith her, who heere I cannot hold on shore:And most opportune to her neede, I haueA Vessell rides fast by, but not prepar'dFor this designe. What course I meane to holdShall nothing benefit your knowledge, norConcerne me the reporting. Cam. O my Lord,I would your spirit were easier for aduice,Or stronger for your neede. Flo. Hearke Perdita, Ile heare you by and by. Cam. Hee's irremoueable,Resolu'd for flight: Now were I happy ifHis going, I could frame to serue my turne,Saue him from danger, do him loue and honor,Purchase the sight againe of deere Sicillia,And that vnhappy King, my Master, whomI so much thirst to see. Flo. Now good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious businesse, thatI leaue out ceremony. Cam. Sir, I thinkeYou haue heard of my poore seruices, i'th loueThat I haue borne your Father? Flo. Very noblyHaue you deseru'd: It is my Fathers MusickeTo speake your deeds: not little of his careTo haue them recompenc'd, as thought on. Cam. Well (my Lord)If you may please to thinke I loue the King,And through him, what's neerest to him, which isYour gracious selfe; embrace but my direction,If your more ponderous and setled proiectMay suffer alteration. On mine honor,Ile point you where you shall haue such receiuingAs shall become your Highnesse, where you mayEnioy your Mistris; from the whom, I seeThere's no disiunction to be made, but by(As heauens forefend) your ruine: Marry her,And with my best endeuours, in your absence,Your discontenting Father, striue to qualifieAnd bring him vp to liking. Flo. How Camillo May this (almost a miracle) be done?That I may call thee something more then man,And after that trust to thee. Cam. Haue you thought onA place whereto you'l go? Flo. Not any yet:But as th' vnthought-on accident is guiltieTo what we wildely do, so we professeOur selues to be the slaues of chance, and flyesOf euery winde that blowes. Cam. Then list to me:This followes, if you will not change your purposeBut vndergo this flight: make for Sicillia,And there present your selfe, and your fayre Princesse,(For so I see she must be) 'fore Leontes; She shall be habited, as it becomesThe partner of your Bed. Me thinkes I see Leontes opening his free Armes, and weepingHis Welcomes forth: asks thee there Sonne forgiuenesse,As 'twere i'th' Fathers person: kisses the handsOf your fresh Princesse; ore and ore diuides him,'Twixt his vnkindnesse, and his Kindnesse: th' oneHe chides to Hell, and bids the other growFaster then Thought, or Time. Flo. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my Visitation, shall IHold vp before him? Cam. Sent by the King your FatherTo greet him, and to giue him comforts. Sir,The manner of your bearing towards him, withWhat you (as from your Father) shall deliuer,Things knowne betwixt vs three, Ile write you downe,The which shall point you forth at euery sittingWhat you must say: that he shall not perceiue,But that you haue your Fathers Bosome there,And speake his very Heart. Flo. I am bound to you:There is some sappe in this. Cam. A Course more promising,Then a wild dedication of your seluesTo vnpath'd Waters, vndream'd Shores; most certaine,To Miseries enough: no hope to helpe you,But as you shake off one, to take another:Nothing so certaine, as your Anchors, whoDoe their best office, if they can but stay you,Where you'le be loth to be: besides you know,Prosperitie's the very bond of Loue,Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together,Affliction alters. Perd. One of these is true:I thinke Affliction may subdue the Cheeke,But not take-in the Mind. Cam. Yea? say you so?There shall not, at your Fathers House, these seuen yeeresBe borne another such. Flo. My good Camillo, She's as forward, of her Breeding, asShe is i'th' reare' our Birth. Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pittyShe lacks Instructions, for she seemes a MistresseTo most that teach. Perd. Your pardon Sir, for this,Ile blush you Thanks. Flo. My prettiest Perdita. But O, the Thornes we stand vpon: (Camillo)Preseruer of my Father, now of me,The Medicine of our House: how shall we doe?We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's Sonne,Nor shall appeare in Sicilia. Cam. My Lord,Feare none of this: I thinke you know my fortunesDoe all lye there: it shall be so my care,To haue you royally appointed, as ifThe Scene you play, were mine. For instance Sir,That you may know you shall not want: one word. Enter Autolicus. Aut. Ha, ha, what a Foole Honestie is? and Trust (hissworne brother) a very simple Gentleman. I haue soldall my Tromperie: not a counterfeit Stone, not a Ribbon,Glasse, Pomander, Browch, Table-booke, Ballad, Knife,Tape, Gloue, Shooe-tye, Bracelet, Horne-Ring, to keepemy Pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first,as if my Trinkets had beene hallowed, and brought a be-nediction to the buyer: by which meanes, I saw whosePurse was best in Picture; and what I saw, to my goodvse, I remembred. My Clowne (who wants but some-thing to be a reasonable man) grew so in loue with theWenches Song, that hee would not stirre his Petty-toes,till he had both Tune and Words, which so drew the restof the Heard to me, that all their other Sences stucke inEares: you might haue pinch'd a Placket, it was sence-lesse; 'twas nothing to gueld a Cod-peece of a Purse: Iwould haue fill'd Keyes of that hung in Chaynes: nohearing, no feeling, but my Sirs Song, and admiring theNothing of it. So that in this time of Lethargie, I pickdand cut most of their Festiuall Purses: And had not theold-man come in with a Whoo-bub against his Daugh-ter, and the Kings Sonne, and scar'd my Chowghes fromthe Chaffe, I had not left a Purse aliue in the wholeArmy. Cam. Nay, but my Letters by this meanes being thereSo soone as you arriue, shall cleare that doubt. Flo. And those that you'le procure from King Leontes? Cam. Shall satisfie your Father. Perd. Happy be you:All that you speake, shewes faire. Cam. Who haue we here?Wee'le make an Instrument of this: omitNothing may giue vs aide. Aut. If they haue ouer-heard me now: why hanging. Cam. How now (good Fellow)Why shak'st thou so? Feare not (man)Here's no harme intended to thee. Aut. I am a poore Fellow, Sir. Cam. Why, be so still: here's no body will steale thatfrom thee: yet for the out-side of thy pouertie, we mustmake an exchange; therefore dis-case thee instantly (thoumust thinke there's a necessitie in't) and change Garmentswith this Gentleman: Though the penny-worth (on hisside) be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. Aut. I am a poore Fellow, Sir: (I know ye wellenough.) Cam. Nay prethee dispatch: the Gentleman is halfefled already. Aut. Are you in earnest, Sir? (I smell the trick on't.) Flo. Dispatch, I prethee. Aut. Indeed I haue had Earnest, but I cannot withconscience take it. Cam. Vnbuckle, vnbuckle.Fortunate Mistresse (let my prophecieCome home to ye:) you must retire your selfeInto some Couert; take your sweet-hearts HatAnd pluck it ore your Browes, muffle your face,Dis-mantle you, and (as you can) dislikenThe truth of your owne seeming, that you may(For I doe feare eyes ouer) to Ship-boordGet vndescry'd. Perd. I see the Play so lyes,That I must beare a part. Cam. No remedie:Haue you done there? Flo. Should I now meet my Father,He would not call me Sonne. Cam. Nay, you shall haue no Hat:Come Lady, come: Farewell (my friend.) Aut. Adieu, Sir. Flo. O Perdita: what haue we twaine forgot? 'Pray you a word. Cam. What I doe next, shall be to tell the KingOf this escape, and whither they are bound;Wherein, my hope is, I shall so preuaile,To force him after: in whose companyI shall re-view Sicilia; for whose sight,I haue a Womans Longing. Flo. Fortune speed vs:Thus we set on (Camillo) to th' Sea-side. Cam. The swifter speed, the better. Exit. Aut. I vnderstand the businesse, I heare it: to haue anopen eare, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary fora Cut-purse; a good Nose is requisite also, to smell outworke for th' other Sences. I see this is the time that thevniust man doth thriue. What an exchange had this been,without boot? What a boot is here, with this exchange?Sure the Gods doe this yeere conniue at vs, and we maydoe any thing extempore. The Prince himselfe is abouta peece of Iniquitie (stealing away from his Father, withhis Clog at his heeles:) if I thought it were a peece of ho-nestie to acquaint the King withall, I would not do't: Ihold it the more knauerie to conceale it; and therein amI constant to my Profession. Enter Clowne and Shepheard. Aside, aside, here is more matter for a hot braine: EueryLanes end, euery Shop, Church, Session, Hanging, yeeldsa carefull man worke. Clowne. See, see: what a man you are now? there is noother way, but to tell the King she's a Changeling, andnone of your flesh and blood. Shep. Nay, but heare me. Clow. Nay; but heare me. Shep. Goe too then. Clow. She being none of your flesh and blood, yourflesh and blood ha's not offended the King, and so yourflesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Shew thosethings you found about her (those secret things, all butwhat she ha's with her:) This being done, let the Law goewhistle: I warrant you. Shep. I will tell the King all, euery word, yea, and hisSonnes prancks too; who, I may say, is no honest man,neither to his Father, nor to me, to goe about to make methe Kings Brother in Law. Clow. Indeed Brother in Law was the farthest off youcould haue beene to him, and then your Blood had beenethe dearer, by I know how much an ounce. Aut. Very wisely (Puppies.) Shep. Well: let vs to the King: there is that in thisFarthell, will make him scratch his Beard. Aut. I know not what impediment this Complaintmay be to the flight of my Master. Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at' Pallace. Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so some-times by chance: Let me pocket vp my Pedlers excre-ment. How now (Rustiques) whither are you bound? Shep. To th' Pallace (and it like your Worship.) Aut. Your Affaires there? what? with whom? theCondition of that Farthell? the place of your dwelling?your names? your ages? of what hauing? breeding, andany thing that is fitting to be knowne, discouer? Clo. We are but plaine fellowes, Sir. Aut. A Lye; you are rough, and hayrie: Let me haueno lying; it becomes none but Trades-men, and they of-ten giue vs (Souldiers) the Lye, but wee pay them for itwith stamped Coyne, not stabbing Steele, therefore theydoe not giue vs the Lye. Clo. Your Worship had like to haue giuen vs one, ifyou had not taken your selfe with the manner. Shep. Are you a Courtier, and't like you Sir? Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a Courtier. Seestthou not the ayre of the Court, in these enfoldings? Hathnot my gate in it, the measure of the Court? Receiues notthy Nose Court-Odour from me? Reflect I not on thyBasenesse, Court-Contempt? Think'st thou, for that Iinsinuate, at toaze from thee thy Businesse, I am there-fore no Courtier? I am Courtier Cap-a-pe; and one thatwill eyther push-on, or pluck-back, thy Businesse there:whereupon I command thee to open thy Affaire. Shep. My Businesse, Sir, is to the King. Aut. What Aduocate ha'st thou to him? Shep. I know not (and't like you.) Clo. Aduocate's the Court-word for a Pheazant: sayyou haue none. Shep. None, Sir: I haue no Pheazant Cock, nor Hen. Aut. How blessed are we, that are not simple men?Yet Nature might haue made me as these are,Therefore I will not disdaine. Clo. This cannot be but a great Courtier. Shep. His Garments are rich, but he weares them nothandsomely. Clo. He seemes to be the more Noble, in being fanta-sticall: A great man, Ile warrant; I know by the pickingon's Teeth. Aut. The Farthell there? What's i'th' Farthell?Wherefore that Box? Shep. Sir, there lyes such Secrets in this Farthell andBox, which none must know but the King, and which heeshall know within this houre, if I may come to th' speechof him. Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Shep. Why Sir? Aut. The King is not at the Pallace, he is gone aboorda new Ship, to purge Melancholy, and ayre himselfe: forif thou bee'st capable of things serious, thou must knowthe King is full of griefe. Shep. So 'tis said (Sir:) about his Sonne, that shouldhaue marryed a Shepheards Daughter. Aut. If that Shepheard be not in hand-fast, let himflye; the Curses he shall haue, the Tortures he shall feele,will breake the back of Man, the heart of Monster. Clo. Thinke you so, Sir? Aut. Not hee alone shall suffer what Wit can makeheauie, and Vengeance bitter; but those that are Iermaineto him (though remou'd fiftie times) shall all come vnderthe Hang-man: which, though it be great pitty, yet it isnecessarie. An old Sheepe-whistling Rogue, a Ram-ten-der,to offer to haue his Daughter come into grace? Somesay hee shall be ston'd: but that death is too soft for him(say I:) Draw our Throne into a Sheep-Coat? all deathsare too few, the sharpest too easie. Clo. Ha's the old-man ere a Sonne Sir (doe you heare)and't like you, Sir? Aut. Hee ha's a Sonne: who shall be flayd aliue, then'noynted ouer with Honey, set on the head of a WaspesNest, then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead:then recouer'd againe with Aquavite, or some other hotInfusion: then, raw as he is (and in the hotest day Progno-stication proclaymes) shall he be set against a Brick-wall,(the Sunne looking with a South-ward eye vpon him;where hee is to behold him, with Flyes blown to death.)But what talke we of these Traitorly-Rascals, whose mi-series are to be smil'd at, their offences being so capitall? Tell me (for you seeme to be honest plaine men) what youhaue to the King: being something gently consider'd, Ilebring you where he is aboord, tender your persons to hispresence, whisper him in your behalfes; and if it be inman, besides the King, to effect your Suites, here is manshall doe it. Clow. He seemes to be of great authoritie: close withhim, giue him Gold; and though Authoritie be a stub-borne Beare, yet hee is oft led by the Nose with Gold:shew the in-side of your Purse to the out-side of hishand, and no more adoe. Remember ston'd, and flay'daliue. Shep. And't please you (Sir) to vndertake the Businessefor vs, here is that Gold I haue: Ile make it as muchmore, and leaue this young man in pawne, till I bring ityou. Aut. After I haue done what I promised? Shep. I Sir. Aut. Well, giue me the Moitie: Are you a partie inthis Businesse? Clow. In some sort, Sir: but though my case be a pit-tifull one, I hope I shall not be flayd out of it. Aut. Oh, that's the case of the Shepheards Sonne:hang him, hee'le be made an example. Clow. Comfort, good comfort: We must to the King,and shew our strange sights: he must know 'tis none ofyour Daughter, nor my Sister: wee are gone else. Sir, Iwill giue you as much as this old man do's, when the Bu-sinesse is performed, and remaine (as he sayes) your pawnetill it be brought you. Aut. I will trust you. Walke before toward the Sea-side, goe on the right hand, I will but looke vpon theHedge, and follow you. Clow. We are bless'd, in this man: as I may say, euenbless'd. Shep. Let's before, as he bids vs: he was prouided todoe vs good. Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune wouldnot suffer mee: shee drops Booties in my mouth. I amcourted now with a double occasion: (Gold, and a meansto doe the Prince my Master good; which, who knoweshow that may turne backe to my aduancement?) I willbring these two Moales, these blind-ones, aboord him: ifhe thinke it fit to shoare them againe, and that the Com-plaint they haue to the King, concernes him nothing, lethim call me Rogue, for being so farre officious, for I amproofe against that Title, and what shame else belongsto't: To him will I present them, there may be matter init. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter Leontes, Cleomines, Dion, Paulina, Seruants:Florizel, Perdita. Cleo. Sir, you haue done enough, and haue perform'dA Saint-like Sorrow: No fault could you make,Which you haue not redeem'd; indeed pay'd downeMore penitence, then done trespas: At the lastDoe, as the Heauens haue done; forget your euill,With them, forgiue your selfe. Leo. Whilest I rememberHer, and her Vertues, I cannot forgetMy blemishes in them, and so still thinke ofThe wrong I did my selfe: which was so much,That Heire-lesse it hath made my Kingdome, andDestroy'd the sweet'st Companion, that ere manBred his hopes out of, true. Paul. Too true (my Lord:)If one by one, you wedded all the World,Or from the All that are, tooke something good,To make a perfect Woman; she you kill'd,Would be vnparallell'd. Leo. I thinke so. Kill'd?She I kill'd? I did so: but thou strik'st meSorely, to say I did: it is as bitterVpon thy Tongue, as in my Thought. Now, good now,Say so but seldome. Cleo. Not at all, good Lady:You might haue spoken a thousand things, that wouldHaue done the time more benefit, and grac'dYour kindnesse better. Paul. You are one of thoseWould haue him wed againe. Dio. If you would not so,You pitty not the State, nor the RemembranceOf his most Soueraigne Name: Consider little,What Dangers, by his Highnesse faile of Issue,May drop vpon his Kingdome, and deuoureIncertaine lookers on. What were more holy,Then to reioyce the former Queene is well?What holyer, then for Royalties repayre,For present comfort, and for future good,To blesse the Bed of Maiestie againeWith a sweet Fellow to't? Paul. There is none worthy,(Respecting her that's gone:) besides the GodsWill haue fulfill'd their secret purposes:For ha's not the Diuine Apollo said?Is't not the tenor of his Oracle,That King Leontes shall not haue an Heire,Till his lost Child be found? Which, that it shall,Is all as monstrous to our humane reason,As my Antigonus to breake his Graue,And come againe to me: who, on my life,Did perish with the Infant. 'Tis your councell,My Lord should to the Heauens be contrary,Oppose against their wills. Care not for Issue,The Crowne will find an Heire. Great Alexander Left his to th' Worthiest: so his SuccessorWas like to be the best. Leo. Good Paulina, Who hast the memorie of Hermione I know in honor: O, that euer IHad squar'd me to thy councell: then, euen now,I might haue look'd vpon my Queenes full eyes,Haue taken Treasure from her Lippes. Paul. And left themMore rich, for what they yeelded. Leo. Thou speak'st truth:No more such Wiues, therefore no Wife: one worse,And better vs'd, would make her Sainted SpiritAgaine possesse her Corps, and on this Stage(Where we Offendors now appeare) Soule-vext,And begin, why to me? Paul. Had she such power,She had iust such cause. Leo. She had, and would incense meTo murther her I marryed. Paul. I should so:Were I the Ghost that walk'd, Il'd bid you markeHer eye, and tell me for what dull part in'tYou chose her: then Il'd shrieke, that euen your earesShould rift to heare me, and the words that follow'd,Should be, Remember mine. Leo. Starres, Starres,And all eyes else, dead coales: feare thou no Wife;Ile haue no Wife, Paulina. Paul. Will you sweareNeuer to marry, but by my free leaue? Leo. Neuer (Paulina) so be bless'd my Spirit. Paul. Then good my Lords, beare witnesse to his Oath. Cleo. You tempt him ouer-much. Paul. Vnlesse another,As like Hermione, as is her Picture,Affront his eye. Cleo. Good Madame, I haue done. Paul. Yet if my Lord will marry: if you will, Sir;No remedie but you will: Giue me the OfficeTo chuse you a Queene: she shall not be so youngAs was your former, but she shall be suchAs (walk'd your first Queenes Ghost) it should take ioyTo see her in your armes. Leo. My true Paulina, We shall not marry, till thou bidst vs. Paul. ThatShall be when your first Queene's againe in breath:Neuer till then. Enter a Seruant. Ser. One that giues out himselfe Prince Florizell, Sonne of Polixenes, with his Princesse (sheThe fairest I haue yet beheld) desires accesseTo your high presence. Leo. What with him? he comes notLike to his Fathers Greatnesse: his approach(So out of circumstance, and suddaine) tells vs,'Tis not a Visitation fram'd, but forc'dBy need, and accident. What Trayne? Ser. But few,And those but meane. Leo. His Princesse (say you) with him? Ser. I: the most peerelesse peece of Earth, I thinke,That ere the Sunne shone bright on. Paul. Oh Hermione, As euery present Time doth boast it selfeAboue a better, gone; so must thy GraueGiue way to what's seene now. Sir, you your selfeHaue said, and writ so; but your writing nowIs colder then that Theame: she had not beene,Nor was not to be equall'd, thus your VerseFlow'd with her Beautie once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,To say you haue seene a better. Ser. Pardon, Madame:The one, I haue almost forgot (your pardon:)The other, when she ha's obtayn'd your Eye,Will haue your Tongue too. This is a Creature,Would she begin a Sect, might quench the zealeOf all Professors else; make ProselytesOf who she but bid follow. Paul. How? not women? Ser. Women will loue her, that she is a WomanMore worth then any Man: Men, that she isThe rarest of all Women. Leo. Goe Cleomines, Your selfe (assisted with your honor'd Friends)Bring them to our embracement. Still 'tis strange,He thus should steale vpon vs. Exit. Paul. Had our Prince(Iewell of Children) seene this houre, he had payr'dWell with this Lord; there was not full a monethBetweene their births. Leo. 'Prethee no more; cease: thou know'stHe dyes to me againe, when talk'd-of: sureWhen I shall see this Gentleman, thy speechesWill bring me to consider that, which mayVnfurnish me of Reason. They are come. Enter Florizell, Perdita, Cleomines, and others. Your Mother was most true to Wedlock, Prince,For she did print your Royall Father off,Conceiuing you. Were I but twentie one,Your Fathers Image is so hit in you,(His very ayre) that I should call you Brother,As I did him, and speake of something wildlyBy vs perform'd before. Most dearely welcome,And your faire Princesse (Goddesse) oh: alas,I lost a couple, that 'twixt Heauen and EarthMight thus haue stood, begetting wonder, asYou (gracious Couple) doe: and then I lost(All mine owne Folly) the Societie,Amitie too of your braue Father, whom(Though bearing Miserie) I desire my lifeOnce more to looke on him. Flo. By his commandHaue I here touch'd Sicilia, and from himGiue you all greetings, that a King (at friend)Can send his Brother: and but Infirmitie(Which waits vpon worne times) hath something seiz'dHis wish'd Abilitie, he had himselfeThe Lands and Waters, 'twixt your Throne and his,Measur'd, to looke vpon you; whom he loues(He bad me say so) more then all the Scepters,And those that beare them, liuing. Leo. Oh my Brother,(Good Gentleman) the wrongs I haue done thee, stirreAfresh within me: and these thy offices(So rarely kind) are as InterpretersOf my behind-hand slacknesse. Welcome hither,As is the Spring to th' Earth. And hath he tooExpos'd this Paragon to th' fearefull vsage(At least vngentle) of the dreadfull Neptune, To greet a man, not worth her paines; much lesse,Th' aduenture of her person? Flo. Good my Lord,She came from Libia. Leo. Where the Warlike Smalus, That Noble honor'd Lord, is fear'd, and lou'd? Flo. Most Royall Sir,From thence: from him, whose DaughterHis Teares proclaym'd his parting with her: thence(A prosperous South-wind friendly) we haue cross'd,To execute the Charge my Father gaue me,For visiting your Highnesse: My best TraineI haue from your Sicilian Shores dismiss'd;Who for Bohemia bend, to signifieNot onely my successe in Libia (Sir)But my arriuall, and my Wifes, in safetieHere, where we are. Leo. The blessed GodsPurge all Infection from our Ayre, whilest youDoe Clymate here: you haue a holy Father,A graceful Gentleman, against whose person (So sacred as it is) I haue done sinne,For which, the Heauens (taking angry note)Haue left me Issue-lesse: and your Father's bless'd(As he from Heauen merits it) with you,Worthy his goodnesse. What might I haue been,Might I a Sonne and Daughter now haue look'd on,Such goodly things as you? Enter a Lord. Lord. Most Noble Sir,That which I shall report, will beare no credit,Were not the proofe so nigh. Please you (great Sir) Bohemia greets you from himselfe, by me:Desires you to attach his Sonne, who ha's(His Dignitie, and Dutie both cast off)Fled from his Father, from his Hopes, and withA Shepheards Daughter. Leo. Where's Bohemia? speake: Lord. Here, in your Citie: I now came from him.I speake amazedly, and it becomesMy meruaile, and my Message. To your CourtWhiles he was hastning (in the Chase, it seemes,Of this faire Couple) meetes he on the wayThe Father of this seeming Lady, andHer Brother, hauing both their Countrey quitted,With this young Prince. Flo. Camillo ha's betray'd me;Whose honor, and whose honestie till now,Endur'd all Weathers. Lord. Lay't so to his charge:He's with the King your Father. Leo. Who? Camillo? Lord. Camillo (Sir:) I spake with him: who nowHa's these poore men in question. Neuer saw IWretches so quake: they kneele, they kisse the Earth;Forsweare themselues as often as they speake: Bohemia stops his eares, and threatens themWith diuers deaths, in death. Perd. Oh my poore Father:The Heauen sets Spyes vpon vs, will not haueOur Contract celebrated. Leo. You are marryed? Flo. We are not (Sir) nor are we like to be:The Starres (I see) will kisse the Valleyes first:The oddes for high and low's alike. Leo. My Lord,Is this the Daughter of a King? Flo. She is,When once she is my Wife. Leo. That once (I see) by your good Fathers speed,Will come-on very slowly. I am sorry(Most sorry) you haue broken from his liking,Where you were ty'd in dutie: and as sorry,Your Choice is not so rich in Worth, as Beautie,That you might well enioy her. Flo. Deare, looke vp:Though Fortune, visible an Enemie,Should chase vs, with my Father; powre no iotHath she to change our Loues. Beseech you (Sir)Remember, since you ow'd no more to TimeThen I doe now: with thought of such Affections,Step forth mine Aduocate: at your request,My Father will graunt precious things, as Trifles. Leo. Would he doe so, I'ld beg your precious Mistris,Which he counts but a Trifle. Paul. Sir (my Liege)Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a moneth'Fore your Queene dy'd, she was more worth such gazes,Then what you looke on now. Leo. I thought of her,Euen in these Lookes I made. But your PetitionIs yet vn-answer'd: I will to your Father:Your Honor not o're-throwne by your desires,I am friend to them, and you: Vpon which ErrandI now goe toward him: therefore follow me,And marke what way I make: Come good my Lord. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Autolicus, and a Gentleman. Aut. Beseech you (Sir) were you present at this Re-lation? Gent.1. I was by at the opening of the Farthell, heardthe old Shepheard deliuer the manner how he found it:Whereupon (after a little amazednesse) we were all com-manded out of the Chamber: onely this (me thought) Iheard the Shepheard say, he found the Child. Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. Gent.1. I make a broken deliuerie of the Businesse;but the changes I perceiued in the King, and Camillo, werevery Notes of admiration: they seem'd almost, with sta-ring on one another, to teare the Cases of their Eyes.There was speech in their dumbnesse, Language in theirvery gesture: they look'd as they had heard of a Worldransom'd, or one destroyed: a notable passion of Won-der appeared in them: but the wisest beholder, that knewno more but seeing, could not say, if th' importance wereIoy, or Sorrow; but in the extremitie of the one, it mustneeds be. Enter another Gentleman. Here comes a Gentleman, that happily knowes more:The Newes, Rogero. Gent.2. Nothing but Bon-fires: the Oracle is fulfill'd:the Kings Daughter is found: such a deale of wonder isbroken out within this houre, that Ballad-makers cannotbe able to expresse it. Enter another Gentleman. Here comes the Lady Paulina's Steward, hee can deliueryou more. How goes it now (Sir.) This Newes (whichis call'd true) is so like an old Tale, that the veritie of it isin strong suspition: Ha's the King found his Heire? Gent.3. Most true, if euer Truth were pregnant byCircumstance: That which you heare, you'le sweareyou see, there is such vnitie in the proofes. The Mantleof Queene Hermiones: her Iewell about the Neck of it:the Letters of Antigonus found with it, which they knowto be his Character: the Maiestie of the Creature, in re-semblance of the Mother: the Affection of Noblenesse,which Nature shewes aboue her Breeding, and many o-ther Euidences, proclayme her, with all certaintie, to bethe Kings Daughter. Did you see the meeting of thetwo Kings? Gent.2. No. Gent.3. Then haue you lost a Sight which was to beeseene, cannot bee spoken of. There might you haue be-held one Ioy crowne another, so and in such manner, thatit seem'd Sorrow wept to take leaue of them: for theirIoy waded in teares. There was casting vp of Eyes, hol-ding vp of Hands, with Countenance of such distraction,that they were to be knowne by Garment, not by Fauor. Our King being ready to leape out of himselfe, for ioy ofhis found Daughter; as if that Ioy were now become aLosse, cryes, Oh, thy Mother, thy Mother: then askes Bohemia forgiuenesse, then embraces his Sonne-in-Law:then againe worryes he his Daughter, with clipping her.Now he thanks the old Shepheard (which stands by, likea Weather-bitten Conduit, of many Kings Reignes.) Ineuer heard of such another Encounter; which lames Re-port to follow it, and vndo's description to doe it. Gent.2. What, 'pray you, became of Antigonus, thatcarryed hence the Child? Gent.3. Like an old Tale still, which will haue matterto rehearse, though Credit be asleepe, and not an eare o-pen; he was torne to pieces with a Beare: This auouchesthe Shepheards Sonne; who ha's not onely his Innocence(which seemes much) to iustifie him, but a Hand-kerchiefand Rings of his, that Paulina knowes. Gent.1. What became of his Barke, and his Fol-lowers? Gent.3. Wrackt the same instant of their Mastersdeath, and in the view of the Shepheard: so that all theInstruments which ayded to expose the Child, were euenthen lost, when it was found. But oh the Noble Combat,that 'twixt Ioy and Sorrow was fought in Paulina. Sheehad one Eye declin'd for the losse of her Husband, ano-ther eleuated, that the Oracle was fulfill'd: Shee lifted thePrincesse from the Earth, and so locks her in embracing,as if shee would pin her to her heart, that shee might nomore be in danger of loosing. Gent.1. The Dignitie of this Act was worth the au-dience of Kings and Princes, for by such was it acted. Gent.3. One of the prettyest touches of all, and thatwhich angl'd for mine Eyes (caught the Water, thoughnot the Fish) was, when at the Relation of the Queenesdeath (with the manner how shee came to't, brauely con-fess'd,and lamented by the King) how attentiuenessewounded his Daughter, till (from one signe of dolour toanother) shee did (with an Alas) I would faine say, bleedTeares; for I am sure, my heart wept blood. Who wasmost Marble, there changed colour: some swownded, allsorrowed: if all the World could haue seen't, the Woehad beene vniuersall. Gent.1. Are they returned to the Court? Gent.3. No: The Princesse hearing of her MothersStatue (which is in the keeping of Paulina) a Peece manyyeeres in doing, and now newly perform'd, by that rareItalian Master, Iulio Romano, who (had he himselfe Eter-nitie, and could put Breath into his Worke) would be-guile Nature of her Custome, so perfectly he is her Ape:He so neere to Hermione, hath done Hermione, that theysay one would speake to her, and stand in hope of answer.Thither (with all greedinesse of affection) are they gone,and there they intend to Sup. Gent.2. I thought she had some great matter there inhand, for shee hath priuately, twice or thrice a day, euersince the death of Hermione, visited that remoued House.Shall wee thither, and with our companie peece the Re-ioycing? Gent.1. Who would be thence, that ha's the benefitof Accesse? euery winke of an Eye, some new Gracewill be borne: our Absence makes vs vnthriftie to ourKnowledge. Let's along. Exit. Aut. Now (had I not the dash of my former life inme) would Preferment drop on my head. I brought theold man and his Sonne aboord the Prince; told him, Iheard them talke of a Farthell, and I know not what: buthe at that time ouer-fond of the Shepheards Daughter (sohe then tooke her to be) who began to be much Sea-sick,and himselfe little better, extremitie of Weather conti-nuing, this Mysterie remained vndiscouer'd. But 'tis allone to me: for had I beene the finder-out of this Secret,it would not haue rellish'd among my other discredits. Enter Shepheard and Clowne. Here come those I haue done good to against my will,and alreadie appearing in the blossomes of their For-tune. Shep. Come Boy, I am past moe Children: but thySonnes and Daughters will be all Gentlemen borne. Clow. You are well met (Sir:) you deny'd to fightwith mee this other day, because I was no Gentlemanborne. See you these Clothes? say you see them not,and thinke me still no Gentleman borne: You were bestsay these Robes are not Gentlemen borne. Giue me theLye: doe: and try whether I am not now a Gentlemanborne. Aut. I know you are now (Sir) a Gentleman borne. Clow. I, and haue been so any time these foure houres. Shep. And so haue I, Boy. Clow. So you haue: but I was a Gentleman borne be-fore my Father: for the Kings Sonne tooke me by thehand, and call'd mee Brother: and then the two Kingscall'd my Father Brother: and then the Prince (my Bro-ther) and the Princesse (my Sister) call'd my Father, Father;and so wee wept: and there was the first Gentleman-liketeares that euer we shed. Shep. We may liue (Sonne) to shed many more. Clow. I: or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposte-rous estate as we are. Aut. I humbly beseech you (Sir) to pardon me all thefaults I haue committed to your Worship, and to giueme your good report to the Prince my Master. Shep. 'Prethee Sonne doe: for we must be gentle, nowwe are Gentlemen. Clow. Thou wilt amend thy life? Aut. I, and it like your good Worship. Clow. Giue me thy hand: I will sweare to the Prince,thou art as honest a true Fellow as any is in Bohemia. Shep. You may say it, but not sweare it. Clow. Not sweare it, now I am a Gentleman? LetBoores and Francklins say it, Ile sweare it. Shep. How if it be false (Sonne?) Clow. If it be ne're so false, a true Gentleman maysweare it, in the behalfe of his Friend: And Ile sweare tothe Prince, thou art a tall Fellow of thy hands, and thatthou wilt not be drunke: but I know thou art no tall Fel-low of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunke: but Ilesweare it, and I would thou would'st be a tall Fellow ofthy hands. Aut. I will proue so (Sir) to my power. Clow. I, by any meanes proue a tall Fellow: if I do notwonder, how thou dar'st venture to be drunke, not beinga tall Fellow, trust me not. Harke, the Kings and Prin-ces (our Kindred) are going to see the Queenes Picture.Come, follow vs: wee'le be thy good Masters. Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizell, Perdita, Camillo,Paulina: Hermione (like a Statue:) Lords, &c. Leo. O graue and good Paulina, the great comfortThat I haue had of thee? Paul. What (Soueraigne Sir)I did not well, I meant well: all my SeruicesYou haue pay'd home. But that you haue vouchsaf'd(With your Crown'd Brother, and these your contractedHeires of your Kingdomes) my poore House to visit;It is a surplus of your Grace, which neuerMy life may last to answere. Leo. O Paulina, We honor you with trouble: but we cameTo see the Statue of our Queene. Your GallerieHaue we pass'd through, not without much contentIn many singularities; but we saw notThat which my Daughter came to looke vpon,The Statue of her Mother. Paul. As she liu'd peerelesse,So her dead likenesse I doe well beleeueExcells what euer yet you look'd vpon,Or hand of Man hath done: therefore I keepe itLouely, apart. But here it is: prepareTo see the Life as liuely mock'd, as euerStill Sleepe mock'd Death: behold, and say 'tis well.I like your silence, it the more shewes-offYour wonder: but yet speake, first you (my Liege)Comes it not something neere? Leo. Her naturall Posture.Chide me (deare Stone) that I may say indeedThou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she,In thy not chiding: for she was as tenderAs Infancie, and Grace. But yet (Paulina) Hermione was not so much wrinckled, nothingSo aged as this seemes. Pol. Oh, not by much. Paul. So much the more our Caruers excellence,Which lets goe-by some sixteene yeeres, and makes herAs she liu'd now. Leo. As now she might haue done,So much to my good comfort, as it isNow piercing to my Soule. Oh, thus she stood,Euen with such Life of Maiestie (warme Life,As now it coldly stands) when first I woo'd her.I am asham'd: Do's not the Stone rebuke me,For being more Stone then it? Oh Royall Peece:There's Magick in thy Maiestie, which ha'sMy Euils coniur'd to remembrance; andFrom thy admiring Daughter tooke the Spirits,Standing like Stone with thee. Perd. And giue me leaue,And doe not say 'tis Superstition, thatI kneele, and then implore her Blessing. Lady,Deere Queene, that ended when I but began,Giue me that hand of yours, to kisse. Paul. O, patience:The Statue is but newly fix'd; the Colour'sNot dry. Cam. My Lord, your Sorrow was too sore lay'd-on,Which sixteene Winters cannot blow away,So many Summers dry: scarce any IoyDid euer so long liue; no Sorrow,But kill'd it selfe much sooner. Pol. Deere my Brother,Let him, that was the cause of this, haue powreTo take-off so much griefe from you, as heWill peece vp in himselfe. Paul. Indeed my Lord,If I had thought the sight of my poore ImageWould thus haue wrought you (for the Stone is mine)Il'd not haue shew'd it. Leo. Doe not draw the Curtaine. Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, least your FancieMay thinke anon, it moues. Leo. Let be, let be:Would I were dead, but that me thinkes alreadie.(What was he that did make it?) See (my Lord)Would you not deeme it breath'd? and that those veinesDid verily beare blood? Pol. 'Masterly done:The very Life seemes warme vpon her Lippe. Leo. The fixure of her Eye ha's motion in't,As we are mock'd with Art. Paul. Ile draw the Curtaine:My Lord's almost so farre transported, thatHee'le thinke anon it liues. Leo. Oh sweet Paulina, Make me to thinke so twentie yeeres together:No setled Sences of the World can matchThe pleasure of that madnesse. Let't alone. Paul. I am sorry (Sir) I haue thus farre stir'd you: butI could afflict you farther. Leo. Doe Paulina: For this Affliction ha's a taste as sweetAs any Cordiall comfort. Still me thinkesThere is an ayre comes from her. What fine ChizzellCould euer yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,For I will kisse her. Paul. Good my Lord, forbeare:The ruddinesse vpon her Lippe, is wet:You'le marre it, if you kisse it; stayne your owneWith Oyly Painting: shall I draw the Curtaine. Leo. No: not these twentie yeeres. Perd. So long could IStand-by, a looker-on. Paul. Either forbeare,Quit presently the Chappell, or resolue youFor more amazement: if you can behold it,Ile make the Statue moue indeed; descend,And take you by the hand: but then you'le thinke(Which I protest against) I am assistedBy wicked Powers. Leo. What you can make her doe,I am content to looke on: what to speake,I am content to heare: for 'tis as easieTo make her speake, as moue. Paul. It is requir'dYou doe awake your Faith: then, all stand still:On: those that thinke it is vnlawfull BusinesseI am about, let them depart. Leo. Proceed:No foot shall stirre. Paul. Musick; awake her: Strike:'Tis time: descend: be Stone no more: approach:Strike all that looke vpon with meruaile: Come:Ile fill your Graue vp: stirre: nay, come away:Bequeath to Death your numnesse: (for from him,Deare Life redeemes you) you perceiue she stirres:Start not: her Actions shall be holy, asYou heare my Spell is lawfull: doe not shun her,Vntill you see her dye againe; for thenYou kill her double: Nay, present your Hand:When she was young, you woo'd her: now, in age,Is she become the Suitor? Leo. Oh, she's warme:If this be Magick, let it be an Art Lawfull as Eating. Pol. She embraces him. Cam. She hangs about his necke,If she pertaine to life, let her speake too. Pol. I, and make it manifest where she ha's liu'd,Or how stolne from the dead? Paul. That she is liuing,Were it but told you, should be hooted atLike an old Tale: but it appeares she liues,Though yet she speake not. Marke a little while:Please you to interpose (faire Madam) kneele,And pray your Mothers blessing: turne good Lady,Our Perdita is found. Her. You Gods looke downe,And from your sacred Viols poure your gracesVpon my daughters head: Tell me (mine owne)Where hast thou bin preseru'd? Where liu'd? How foundThy Fathers Court? For thou shalt heare that IKnowing by Paulina, that the OracleGaue hope thou wast in being, haue preseru'dMy selfe, to see the yssue. Paul. There's time enough for that,Least they desire (vpon this push) to troubleYour ioyes, with like Relation. Go togetherYou precious winners all: your exultationPartake to euery one: I (an old Turtle)Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and thereMy Mate (that's neuer to be found againe)Lament, till I am lost. Leo. O peace Paulina: Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,As I by thine a Wife. This is a Match,And made betweene's by Vowes. Thou hast found mine,But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her(As I thought) dead: and haue (in vaine) said manyA prayer vpon her graue. Ile not seeke farre(For him, I partly know his minde) to finde theeAn honourable husband. Come Camillo, And take her by the hand: whose worth, and honestyIs richly noted: and heere iustifiedBy Vs, a paire of Kings. Let's from this place.What? looke vpon my Brother: both your pardons,That ere I put betweene your holy lookesMy ill suspition: This your Son-in-law,And Sonne vnto the King, whom heauens directingIs troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Leade vs from hence, where we may leysurelyEach one demand, and answere to his partPerform'd in this wide gap of Time, since firstWe were disseuer'd: Hastily lead away. Exeunt.
The Names of the Actors. Leontes, King of Sicillia.Mamillus, yong Prince of Sicillia.Camillo.Antigonus.Cleomines.Dion.FoureLords of Sicillia.Hermione, Queene to Leontes.Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione.Paulina, wife to Antigonus.Emilia, a Lady.Polixenes, King of Bohemia.Florizell, Prince of Bohemia.Old Shepheard, reputed Father of Perdita. Clowne, his Sonne.Autolicus, a Rogue.Archidamus, a Lord of Bohemia.Other Lords, and Gentlemen, and Seruants.Shepheards, and Shephearddesses.
FINIS. The life and death of King Iohn.
Actus Primus, Scaena Prima. Enter King Iohn, Queene Elinor, Pembroke, Essex, and Sa-lisbury, with the Chattylion of France. King Iohn. Now say Chatillion, what would France with vs? Chat. Thus (after greeting) speakes the Kingof France,In my behauiour to the Maiesty,The borrowed Maiesty of England heere. Elea. A strange beginning: borrowed Maiesty? K.Iohn. Silence (good mother) heare the Embassie. Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalfeOf thy deceased brother, Geffreyes sonne, Arthur Plantaginet, laies most lawfull claimeTo this faire Iland, and the Territories:To Ireland, Poyctiers, Aniowe, Torayne, Maine, Desiring thee to lay aside the swordWhich swaies vsurpingly these seuerall titles,And put the same into yong Arthurs hand,Thy Nephew, and right royall Soueraigne. K.Iohn. What followes if we disallow of this? Chat. The proud controle of fierce and bloudy warre,To inforce these rights, so forcibly with-held, K.Io. Heere haue we war for war, & bloud for bloud,Controlement for controlement: so answer France. Chat. Then take my Kings defiance from my mouth,The farthest limit of my Embassie. K.Iohn. Beare mine to him, and so depart in peace,Be thou as lightning in the eies 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 owne decay:An honourable conduct let him haue, Pembroke looke too't: farewell Chattillion. Exit Chat. and Pem. Ele. What now my sonne, haue I not euer saidHow that ambitious Constance would not ceaseTill she had kindled France and all the world,Vpon the right and party of her sonne.This might haue beene preuented, and made wholeWith very easie arguments of loue,Which now the mannage of two kingdomes mustWith fearefull bloudy issue arbitrate. K.Iohn. Our strong possession, and our right for vs. Eli. Your strong possessio[n] much more then your right,Or else it must go wrong with you and me,So much my conscience whispers in your eare,Which none but heauen, and you, and I, shall heare. Enter a Sheriffe. Essex. My Liege, here is the strangest controuersieCome from the Country to be iudg'd by youThat ere I heard: shall I produce the men? K.Iohn. Let them approach:Our Abbies and our Priories shall payThis expeditions charge: what men are you? Enter Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip. Philip. Your faithfull subiect, I a gentleman,Borne in Northamptonshire, and eldest sonneAs I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge, A Souldier by the Honor-giuing-handOf Cordelion, Knighted in the field. K.Iohn. What art thou? Robert. The son and heire to that same Faulconbridge. K.Iohn. Is that the elder, and art thou the heyre?You came not of one mother then it seemes. Philip. Most certain of one mother, mighty King,That is well knowne, and as I thinke one father:But for the certaine knowledge of that truth,I put you o're to heauen, and to my mother;Of that I doubt, as all mens children may. Eli. Out on thee rude man, thou dost shame thy mother,And wound her honor with this diffidence. Phil. I Madame? No, I haue no reason for it,That is my brothers plea, and none of mine,The which if he can proue, a pops me out,At least from faire fiue hundred pound a yeere:Heauen guard my mothers honor, and my Land. K.Iohn. A good blunt fellow: why being yonger bornDoth he lay claime to thine inheritance? Phil. I know not why, except to get the land:But once he slanderd me with bastardy:But where I be as true begot or no,That still I lay vpon my mothers head,But that I am as well begot my Liege(Faire fall the bones that tooke the paines for me)Compare our faces, and be Iudge your selfeIf old Sir Robert did beget vs both,And were our father, and this sonne like him:O old sir Robert Father, on my kneeI giue heauen thankes I was not like to thee. K.Iohn. Why what a mad-cap hath heauen lent vs here? Elen. He hath a tricke of Cordelions face,The accent of his tongue affecteth him:Doe you not read some tokens of my sonneIn the large composition of this man? K.Iohn. Mine eye hath well examined his parts,And findes them perfect Richard: sirra speake,What doth moue you to claime your brothers land. Philip. Because he hath a half-face like my father?With halfe that face would he haue all my land,A halfe-fac'd groat, fiue hundred pound a yeere? Rob. My gracious Liege, when that my father liu'd,Your brother did imploy my father much. Phil. Well sir, by this you cannot get my land,Your tale must be how he employ'd my mother. Rob. And once dispatch'd him in an EmbassieTo Germany, there with the EmperorTo treat of high affaires touching that time:Th' aduantage of his absence tooke the King,And in the meane time soiourn'd at my fathers;Where how he did preuaile, I shame to speake:But truth is truth, large lengths of seas and shoresBetweene my father, and my mother lay,As I haue heard my father speake himselfeWhen this same lusty gentleman was got:Vpon his death-bed he by will bequeath'dHis lands to me, and tooke it on his deathThat this my mothers sonne was none of his;And if he were, he came into the worldFull fourteene weekes before the course of time:Then good my Liedge let me haue what is mine,My fathers land, as was my fathers will. K.Iohn. Sirra, your brother is Legittimate,Your fathers wife did after wedlocke beare him:And if she did play false, the fault was hers,Which fault lyes on the hazards of all husbandsThat marry wiues: tell me, how if my brotherWho as you say, tooke paines to get this sonne,Had of your father claim'd this sonne for his,Insooth, good friend, your father might haue keptThis Calfe, bred from his Cow from all the world:Insooth he might: then if he were my brothers,My brother might not claime him, nor your fatherBeing none of his, refuse him: this concludes,My mothers sonne did get your fathers heyre,Your fathers heyre must haue your fathers land. Rob. Shal then my fathers Will be of no force,To dispossesse that childe which is not his. Phil. Of no more force to dispossesse me sir,Then was his will to get me, as I think. Eli. Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge, And like thy brother to enioy thy land:Or the reputed sonne of Cordelion, Lord of thy presence, and no land beside. Bast. Madam, and if my brother had my shapeAnd I had his, sir Roberts his like him,And if my legs were two such riding rods,My armes, such eele skins stuft, my face so thin,That in mine eare I durst not sticke a rose,Lest men should say, looke where three farthings goes,And to his shape were heyre to all this land,Would I might neuer stirre from off this place,I would giue it euery foot to haue this face:It would not be sir nobbe in any case. Elinor. I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?I am a Souldier, and now bound to France. Bast. Brother, take you my land, Ile take my chance;Your face hath got fiue hundred pound a yeere,Yet sell your face for fiue pence and 'tis deere:Madam, Ile follow you vnto the death. Elinor. Nay, I would haue you go before me thither. Bast. Our Country manners giue our betters way. K.Iohn. What is thy name? Bast. Philip my Liege, so is my name begun, Philip, good old Sir Roberts wiues eldest sonne. K.Iohn. From henceforth beare his nameWhose forme thou bearest:Kneele thou downe Philip, but rise more great,Arise Sir Richard, and Plantagenet. Bast. Brother by th' mothers side, giue me your hand,My father gaue me honor, yours gaue land:Now blessed be the houre by night or dayWhen I was got, Sir Robert was away. Ele. The very spirit of Plantaginet: I am thy grandame Richard, call me so. Bast. Madam by chance, but not by truth, what tho;Something about a little from the right,In at the window, or else ore the hatch:Who dares not stirre by day, must walke by night,And haue is haue, how euer men doe catch:Neere or farre off, well wonne is still well shot,And I am I, how ere I was begot. K.Iohn. Goe, Faulconbridge, now hast thou thy desire,A landlesse Knight, makes thee a landed Squire:Come Madam, and come Richard, we must speedFor France, for France, for it is more then need. Bast. Brother adieu, good fortune come to thee,For thou wast got i'th way of honesty. Exeunt all but bastard. Bast. A foot of Honor better then I was,But many a many foot of Land the worse.Well, now can I make any Ioane a Lady,Good den Sir Richard, Godamercy fellow,And if his name be George, Ile call him Peter; For new made honor doth forget mens names:'Tis two respectiue, and too sociableFor your conuersion, now your traueller,Hee and his tooth-picke at my worships messe,And when my knightly stomacke is suffis'd,Why then I sucke my teeth, and catechizeMy picked man of Countries: my deare sir,Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin,I shall beseech you; that is question now,And then comes answer like an Absey booke:O sir, sayes answer, at your best command,At your employment, at your seruice sir:No sir, saies question, I sweet sir at yours,And so ere answer knowes what question would,Sauing in Dialogue of Complement,And talking of the Alpes and Appenines,The Perennean and the riuer Poe, It drawes toward supper in conclusion so.But this is worshipfull society,And fits the mounting spirit like my selfe;For he is but a bastard to the timeThat doth not smoake of obseruation,And so am I whether I smacke or no:And not alone in habit and deuice,Exterior forme, outward accoutrement;But from the inward motion to deliuerSweet, sweet, sweet poyson for the ages tooth,Which though I will not practice to deceiue,Yet to auoid deceit I meane to learne;For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising:But who comes in such haste in riding robes? What woman post is this? hath she no husbandThat will take paines to blow a horne before her?O me, 'tis my mother: how now good Lady,What brings you heere to Court so hastily? Enter Lady Faulconbridge and Iames Gurney. Lady. Where is that slaue thy brother? where is he?That holds in chase mine honour vp and downe. Bast. My brother Robert, old Sir Roberts sonne: Colbrand the Gyant, that same mighty man,Is it Sir Roberts sonne that you seeke so? Lady. Sir Roberts sonne, I thou vnreuerend boy,Sir Roberts sonne? why scorn'st thou at sir Robert?He is Sir Roberts sonne, and so art thou. Bast. Iames Gournie, wilt thou giue vs leaue a while? Gour. Good leaue good Philip. Bast. Philip, sparrow, Iames, There's toyes abroad, anon Ile tell thee more. Exit Iames. Madam, I was not old Sir Roberts sonne,Sir Robert might haue eat his part in meVpon good Friday, and nere broke his fast:Sir Robert could doe well, marrie to confesseCould get me sir Robert could not doe it;We know his handy-worke, therefore good motherTo whom am I beholding for these limmes?Sir Robert neuer holpe to make this legge. Lady. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,That for thine owne gaine shouldst defend mine honor?What meanes this scorne, thou most vntoward knaue? Bast. Knight, knight good mother, Basilisco-like:What, I am dub'd, I haue it on my shoulder:But mother, I am not Sir Roberts sonne,I haue disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land,Legitimation, name, and all is gone;Then good my mother, let me know my father,Some proper man I hope, who was it mother? Lady. Hast thou denied thy selfe a Faulconbridge? Bast. As faithfully as I denie the deuill. Lady. King Richard Cordelion was thy father,By long and vehement suit I was seduc'dTo make roome for him in my husbands bed:Heauen lay not my transgression to my charge,That art the issue of my deere offenceWhich was so strongly vrg'd past my defence. Bast. Now by this light were I to get againe,Madam I would not wish a better father:Some sinnes doe beare their priuiledge on earth,And so doth yours: your fault, was not your follie,Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,Subiected tribute to commanding loue,Against whose furie and vnmatched force,The awlesse Lion could not wage the fight,Nor keepe his Princely heart from Richards hand:He that perforce robs Lions of their hearts,May easily winne a womans: aye my mother,With all my heart I thanke thee for my father:Who liues and dares but say, thou didst not wellWhen I was got, Ile send his soule to hell.Come Lady I will shew thee to my kinne,And they shall say, when Richard me begot,If thou hadst sayd him nay, it had beene sinne;Who sayes it was, he lyes, I say twas not. Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter before Angiers, Philip King of France, Lewis, Daul-phin, Austria, Constance, Arthur. Lewis. Before Angiers well met braue Austria, Arthur that great fore-runner of thy bloud, Richard that rob'd the Lion of his heart,And fought the holy Warres in Palestine, By this braue Duke came early to his graue:And for amends to his posteritie,At our importance hether is he come,To spread his colours boy, in thy behalfe,And to rebuke the vsurpationOf thy vnnaturall Vncle, English Iohn, Embrace him, loue him, giue him welcome hether. Arth. God shall forgiue you Cordelions deathThe rather, that you giue his off-spring life,Shadowing their right vnder your wings of warre:I giue you welcome with a powerlesse hand,But with a heart full of vnstained loue,Welcome before the gates Angiers Duke. Lewis. A noble boy, who would not doe thee right? Aust. Vpon thy cheeke lay I this zelous kisse,As seale to this indenture of my loue:That to my home I will no more returneTill Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,Whose foot spurnes backe the Oceans roaring tides,And coopes from other lands her Ilanders,Euen till that England hedg'd in with the maine,That Water-walled Bulwarke, still secureAnd confident from forreine purposes,Euen till that vtmost corner of the WestSalute thee for her King, till then faire boyWill I not thinke of home, but follow Armes. Const. O take his mothers thanks, a widdows thanks,Till your strong hand shall helpe to giue him strength,To make a more requitall to your loue. Aust. The peace of heauen is theirs that lift their swordsIn such a iust and charitable warre. King. Well, then to worke our Cannon shall be bentAgainst the browes of this resisting towne,Call for our cheefest men of discipline,To cull the plots of best aduantages:Wee'll lay before this towne our Royal bones,Wade to the market-place in French-mens bloud,But we will make it subiect to this boy. Con. Stay for an answer to your Embassie,Lest vnaduis'd you staine your swords with bloud,My Lord Chattilion may from England bringThat right in peace which heere we vrge in warre,And then we shall repent each drop of bloud,That hot rash haste so indirectly shedde. Enter Chattilion. King. A wonder Lady: lo vpon thy wishOur Messenger Chattilion is arriu'd,What England saies, say breefely gentle Lord,We coldly pause for thee, Chatilion speake, Chat. Then turne your forces from this paltry siege,And stirre them vp against a mightier taske: England impatient of your iust demands,Hath put himselfe in Armes, the aduerse windes Whose leisure I haue staid, haue giuen him timeTo land his Legions all as soone as I:His marches are expedient to this towne,His forces strong, his Souldiers confident:With him along is come the Mother Queene,An Ace stirring him to bloud and strife,With her her Neece, the Lady Blanch of Spaine, With them a Bastard of the Kings deceast,And all th' vnsetled humors of the Land,Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries,With Ladies faces, and fierce Dragons spleenes,Haue sold their fortunes at their natiue homes,Bearing their birth-rights proudly on their backs,To make a hazard of new fortunes heere:In briefe, a brauer choyse of dauntlesse spiritsThen now the English bottomes haue waft o're,Did neuer flote vpon the swelling tide,To doe offence and scathe in Christendome:The interruption of their churlish drumsCuts off more circumstance, they are at hand, Drum beats. To parlie or to fight, therefore prepare. Kin. How much vnlook'd for, is this expedition. Aust. By how much vnexpected, by so muchWe must awake indeuor for defence,For courage mounteth with occasion,Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. Enter K[ing]. of England, Bastard, Queene, Blanch, Pembroke,and others. K.Iohn. Peace be to France: If France in peace permitOur iust and lineall entrance to our owne;If not, bleede France, and peace ascend to heauen.Whiles we Gods wrathfull agent doe correctTheir proud contempt that beats his peace to heauen. Fran. Peace be to England, if that warre returneFrom France to England, there to liue in peace: England we loue, and for that Englands sake,With burden of our armor heere we sweat:This toyle of ours should be a worke of thine;But thou from louing England art so farre,That thou hast vnder-wrought his lawfull King,Cut off the sequence of posterity,Out-faced Infant State, and done a rapeVpon the maiden vertue of the Crowne:Looke heere vpon thy brother Geffreyes face,These eyes, these browes, were moulded out of his;This little abstract doth containe that large,Which died in Geffrey: and the hand of time,Shall draw this breefe into as huge a volume:That Geffrey was thy elder brother borne,And this his sonne, England was Geffreys right,And this is Geffreyes in the name of God:How comes it then that thou art call'd a King,When liuing blood doth in these temples beatWhich owe the crowne, that thou ore-masterest? K.Iohn. From whom hast thou this great commission France, To draw my answer from thy Articles? Fra. Fro[m] that supernal Iudge that stirs good thoughtsIn any breast of strong authoritie,To looke into the blots and staines of right,That Iudge hath made me guardian to this boy,Vnder whose warrant I impeach thy wrong,And by whose helpe I meane to chastise it. K.Iohn. Alack thou dost vsurpe authoritie. Fran. Excuse it is to beat vsurping downe. Queen. Who is it thou dost call vsurper France? Const. Let me make answer: thy vsurping sonne. Queen. Out insolent, thy bastard shall be King,That thou maist be a Queen, and checke the world. Con. My bed was euer to thy sonne as trueAs thine was to thy husband, and this boyLiker in feature to his father Geffrey Then thou and Iohn, in manners being as like,As raine to water, or deuill to his damme;My boy a bastard? by my soule I thinkeHis father neuer was so true begot,It cannot be, and if thou wert his mother. Queen. Theres a good mother boy, that blots thy father Const. There's a good grandame boyThat would blot thee. Aust. Peace. Bast. Heare the Cryer. Aust. What the deuill art thou? Bast. One that wil play the deuill sir with you, And a may catch your hide and you alone:You are the Hare of whom the Prouerb goesWhose valour plucks dead Lyons by the beard;Ile smoake your skin-coat and I catch you right,Sirra looke too't, yfaith I will, yfaith. Blan. O well did he become that Lyons robe,That did disrobe the Lion of that robe. Bast. It lies as sightly on the backe of himAs great Alcides shooes vpon an Asse:But Asse, Ile take that burthen from your backe,Or lay on that shall make your shoulders cracke. Aust. What cracker is this same that deafes our earesWith this abundance of superfluous breath?King Lewis, determine what we shall doe strait. Lew. Women & fooles, breake off your conference.King Iohn, this is the very summe of all: England and Ireland, Angiers, Toraine, Maine, In right of Arthur doe I claime of thee:Wilt thou resigne them, and lay downe thy Armes? Iohn. My life as soone: I doe defie thee France, Arthur of Britaine, yeeld thee to my hand,And out of my deere loue Ile giue thee more,Then ere the coward hand of France can win;Submit thee boy. Queen. Come to thy grandame child. Cons. Doe childe, goe to yt grandame childe,Giue grandame kingdome, and it grandame willGiue yt a plum, a cherry, and a figge,There's a good grandame. Arthur. Good my mother peace,I would that I were low laid in my graue,I am not worth this coyle that's made for me. Qu.Mo. His mother shames him so, poore boy hee weepes. Con. Now shame vpon you where she does or no,His grandames wrongs, and not his mothers shamesDrawes those heauen-mouing pearles fro[m] his poor eies,Which heauen shall take in nature of a fee: I, with these Christall beads heauen shall be brib'dTo doe him Iustice, and reuenge on you. Qu. Thou monstrous slanderer of heauen and earth. Con. Thou monstrous Iniurer of heauen and earth,Call not me slanderer, thou and thine vsurpeThe Dominations, Royalties, and rightsOf this oppressed boy; this is thy eldest sonnes sonne,Infortunate in nothing but in thee: Thy sinnes are visited in this poore childe,The Canon of the Law is laide on him,Being but the second generationRemoued from thy sinne-conceiuing wombe. Iohn. Bedlam haue done. Con. I haue but this to say,That he is not onely plagued for her sin,But God hath made her sinne and her, the plagueOn this remoued issue, plagued for her,And with her plague her sinne: his iniuryHer iniurie the Beadle to her sinne,All punish'd in the person of this childe,And all for her, a plague vpon her. Que. Thou vnaduised scold, I can produceA Will, that barres the title of thy sonne. Con. I who doubts that, a Will: a wicked will,A womans will, a cankred Grandams will. Fra. Peace Lady, pause, or be more temperate,It ill beseemes this presence to cry aymeTo these ill-tuned repetitions:Some Trumpet summon hither to the wallesThese men of Angiers, let vs heare them speake,Whose title they admit, Arthurs or Iohns. Trumpet sounds.Enter a Citizen vpon the walles. Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd vs to the walles? Fra. 'Tis France, for England. Iohn. England for it selfe:You men of Angiers, and my louing subiects. Fra. You louing men of Angiers, Arthurs subiects,Our Trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. Iohn. For our aduantage, therefore heare vs first:These flagges of France that are aduanced heereBefore the eye and prospect of your Towne,Haue hither march'd to your endamagement.The Canons haue their bowels full of wrath,And ready mounted are they to spit forthTheir Iron indignation 'gainst your walles:All preparation for a bloody siedgeAnd merciles proceeding, by these French.Comfort your Citties eies, your winking gates:And but for our approch, those sleeping stones,That as a waste doth girdle you aboutBy the compulsion of their Ordinance,By this time from their fixed beds of limeHad bin dishabited, and wide hauocke madeFor bloody power to rush vppon your peace.But on the sight of vs your lawfull King,Who painefully with much expedient marchHaue brought a counter-checke before your gates,To saue vnscratch'd your Citties threatned cheekes:Behold the French amaz'd vouchsafe a parle,And now insteed of bulletts wrapt in fireTo make a shaking feuer in your walles,They shoote but calme words, folded vp in smoake,To make a faithlesse errour in your eares,Which trust accordingly kinde Cittizens,And let vs in. Your King, whose labour'd spiritsFore-wearied in this action of swift speede,Craues harbourage within your Citie walles. France. When I haue saide, make answer to vs both.Loe in this right hand, whose protectionIs most diuinely vow'd vpon the rightOf him it holds, stands yong Plantagenet, Sonne to the elder brother of this man,And King ore him, and all that he enioyes:For this downe-troden equity, we treadIn warlike march, these greenes before your Towne,Being no further enemy to youThen the constraint of hospitable zeale,In the releefe of this oppressed childe,Religiously prouokes. Be pleased thenTo pay that dutie which you truly owe,To him that owes it, namely, this yong Prince,And then our Armes, like to a muzled Beare,Saue in aspect, hath all offence seal'd vp:Our Cannons malice vainly shall be spentAgainst th' involnerable clouds of heauen,And with a blessed and vn-vext retyre,With vnhack'd swords, and Helmets all vnbruis'd,We will beare home that lustie blood againe,Which heere we came to spout against your Towne,And leaue your children, wiues, and you in peace.But if you fondly passe our proffer'd offer,'Tis not the rounder of your old-fac'd walles,Can hide you from our messengers of Warre,Though all these English, and their disciplineWere harbour'd in their rude circumference:Then tell vs, Shall your Citie call vs Lord,In that behalfe which we haue challeng'd it?Or shall we giue the signall to our rage,And stalke in blood to our possession? Cit. In breefe, we are the King of Englands subiectsFor him, and in his right, we hold this Towne. Iohn. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in. Cit. That can we not: but he that proues the KingTo him will we proue loyall, till that timeHaue we ramm'd vp our gates against the world. Iohn. Doth not the Crowne of England, prooue theKing?And if not that, I bring you WitnessesTwice fifteene thousand hearts of Englands breed. Bast. Bastards and else. Iohn. To verifie our title with their liues. Fran. As many and as well-borne bloods as those. Bast. Some Bastards too. Fran. Stand in his face to contradict his claime. Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,We for the worthiest hold the right from both. Iohn. Then God forgiue the sinne of all those soules,That to their euerlasting residence,Before the dew of euening fall, shall fleeteIn dreadfull triall of our kingdomes King. Fran. Amen, Amen, mount Cheualiers to Armes. Bast. Saint George that swindg'd the Dragon,And ere since sit's on's horsebacke at mine Hostesse doreTeach vs some sence. Sirrah, were I at homeAt your den sirrah, with your Lionnesse,I would set an Oxe-head to your Lyons hide:And make a monster of you. Aust. Peace, no more. Bast. O tremble: for you heare the Lyon rore. Iohn. Vp higher to the plaine, where we'l set forthIn best appointment all our Regiments. Bast. Speed then to take aduantage of the field. Fra. It shall be so, and at the other hillCommand the rest to stand, God and our right. Exeunt Heere after excursions, Enter the Herald of France with Trumpets to the gates. F.Her. You men of Angiers open wide your gates,And let yong Arthur Duke of Britaine in, Who by the hand of France, this day hath madeMuch worke for teares in many an English mother,Whose sonnes lye scattered on the bleeding ground:Many a widdowes husband groueling lies,Coldly embracing the discoloured earth,And victorie with little losse doth playVpon the dancing banners of the French,Who are at hand triumphantly displayedTo enter Conquerors, and to proclaime Arthur of Britaine, Englands King, and yours. Enter English Herald with Trumpet. E.Har. Reioyce you men of Angiers, ring your bels,King Iohn, your king and Englands, doth approach,Commander of this hot malicious day,Their Armours that march'd hence so siluer bright,Hither returne all gilt with Frenchmens blood:There stucke no plume in any English Crest,That is remoued by a staffe of France.Our colours do returne in those same handsThat did display them when we first marcht forth:And like a iolly troope of Huntsmen comeOur lustie English, all with purpled hands,Dide in the dying slaughter of their foes,Open your gates, and giue the Victors way. Hubert. Heralds, from off our towres we might beholdFrom first to last, the on-set and retyre:Of both your Armies, whose equalityBy our best eyes cannot be censured:Blood hath bought blood, and blowes haue answerd blowes:Strength matcht with strength, and power confrontedpower,Both are alike, and both alike we like:One must proue greatest. While they weigh so euen,We hold our Towne for neither: yet for both. Enter the two Kings with their powers,at seuerall doores. Iohn. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away?Say, shall the currant of our right rome on,Whose passage vext with thy impediment,Shall leaue his natiue channell, and ore-swellWith course disturb'd euen thy confining shores,Vnlesse thou let his siluer Water, keepeA peacefull progresse to the Ocean. Fra. England thou hast not sau'd one drop of bloodIn this hot triall more then we of France,Rather lost more. And by this hand I sweareThat swayes the earth this Climate ouer-lookes,Before we will lay downe our iust-borne Armes,Wee'l put thee downe, 'gainst whom these Armes wee beare,Or adde a royall number to the dead:Gracing the scroule that tels of this warres losse,With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. Bast. Ha Maiesty: how high thy glory towres,When the rich blood of kings is set on fire:Oh now doth death line his dead chaps with steele,The swords of souldiers are his teeth, his phangs,And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of menIn vndetermin'd differences of kings.Why stand these royall fronts amazed thus:Cry hauocke kings, backe to the stained fieldYou equall Potents, fierie kindled spirits,Then let confusion of one part confirmThe others peace: till then, blowes, blood, and death. Iohn. Whose party do the Townesmen yet admit? Fra. Speake Citizens for England, whose your king. Hub. The king of England, when we know the king. Fra. Know him in vs, that heere hold vp his right. Iohn. In Vs, that are our owne great Deputie,And beare possession of our Person heere,Lord of our presence Angiers, and of you. Fra. A greater powre then We denies all this,And till it be vndoubted, we do lockeOur former scruple in our strong barr'd gates:Kings of our feare, vntill our feares resolu'dBe by some certaine king, purg'd and depos'd. Bast. By heauen, these scroyles of Angiers flout you kings,And stand securely on their battelments,As in a Theater, whence they gape and pointAt your industrious Scenes and acts of death.Your Royall presences be rul'd by mee,Do like the Mutines of Ierusalem,Be friends a-while, and both conioyntly bendYour sharpest Deeds of malice on this Towne.By East and West let France and England mount.Their battering Canon charged to the mouthes,Till their soule-fearing clamours haue braul'd downeThe flintie ribbes of this contemptuous Citie,I'de play incessantly vpon these Iades,Euen till vnfenced desolationLeaue them as naked as the vulgar ayre:That done, disseuer your vnited strengths,And part your mingled colours once againe,Turne face to face, and bloody point to point:Then in a moment Fortune shall cull forthOut of one side her happy Minion,To whom in fauour she shall giue the day,And kisse him with a glorious victory:How like you this wilde counsell mighty States,Smackes it not something of the policie. Iohn. Now by the sky that hangs aboue our heads,I like it well. France, shall we knit our powres,And lay this Angiers euen with the ground,Then after fight who shall be king of it? Bast. And if thou hast the mettle of a king,Being wrong'd as we are by this peeuish Towne:Turne thou the mouth of thy Artillerie,As we will ours, against these sawcie walles,And when that we haue dash'd them to the ground,Why then defie each other, and pell-mell,Make worke vpon our selues, for heauen or hell. Fra. Let it be so: say, where will you assault? Iohn. We from the West will send destructionInto this Cities bosome. Aust. I from the North. Fran. Our Thunder from the South,Shall raine their drift of bullets on this Towne. Bast. O prudent discipline! From North to South:Austria and France shoot in each others mouth.Ile stirre them to it: Come, away, away. Hub. Heare vs great kings, vouchsafe awhile to stayAnd I shall shew you peace, and faire-fac'd league:Win you this Citie without stroke, or wound,Rescue those breathing liues to dye in beds,That heere come sacrifices for the field.Perseuer not, but heare me mighty kings. Iohn. Speake on with fauour, we are bent to heare. Hub. That daughter there of Spaine, the Lady Blanch Is neere to England, looke vpon the yeeresOf Lewes the Dolphin, and that louely maid.If lustie loue should go in quest of beautie, Where should he finde it fairer, then in Blanch: If zealous loue should go in search of vertue,Where should he finde it purer then in Blanch?If loue ambitious, sought a match of birth,Whose veines bound richer blood then Lady Blanch?Such as she is, in beautie, vertue, birth,Is the yong Dolphin euery way compleat,If not compleat of, say he is not shee,And she againe wants nothing, to name want,If want it be not, that she is not hee.He is the halfe part of a blessed man,Left to be finished by such as shee,And she a faire diuided excellence,Whose fulnesse of perfection lyes in him.O two such siluer currents when they ioyneDo glorifie the bankes that bound them in:And two such shores, to two such streames made one,Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings,To these two Princes, if you marrie them:This Vnion shall do more then batterie canTo our fast closed gates: for at this match,With swifter spleene then powder can enforceThe mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope,And giue you entrance: but without this match,The sea enraged is not halfe so deafe,Lyons more confident, Mountaines and rockesMore free from motion, no not death himselfeIn mortall furie halfe so peremptorie,As we to keepe this Citie. Bast. Heeres a stay,That shakes the rotten carkasse of old deathOut of his ragges. Here's a large mouth indeede,That spits forth death, and mountaines, rockes, and seas,Talkes as familiarly of roaring Lyons,As maids of thirteene do of puppi-dogges.What Cannoneere begot this lustie blood,He speakes plaine Cannon fire, and smoake, and bounce,He giues the bastinado with his tongue:Our eares are cudgel'd, not a word of hisBut buffets better then a fist of France:Zounds, I was neuer so bethumpt with words,Since I first cal'd my brothers father Dad. Old Qu. Son, list to this coniunction, make this matchGiue with our Neece a dowrie large enough,For by this knot, thou shalt so surely tyeThy now vnsur'd assurance to the Crowne,That yon greene boy shall haue no Sunne to ripeThe bloome that promiseth a mightie fruite.I see a yeelding in the lookes of France:Marke how they whisper, vrge them while their soulesAre capeable of this ambition,Least zeale now melted by the windie breathOf soft petitions, pittie and remorse,Coole and congeale againe to what it was. Hub. Why answer not the double Maiesties,This friendly treatie of our threatned Towne. Fra. Speake England first, that hath bin forward firstTo speake vnto this Cittie: what say you? Iohn. If that the Dolphin there thy Princely sonne,Can in this booke of beautie read, I loue:Her Dowrie shall weigh equall with a Queene:For Angiers, and faire Toraine Maine, Poyctiers, And all that we vpon this side the Sea,(Except this Cittie now by vs besiedg'd)Finde liable to our Crowne and Dignitie,Shall gild her bridall bed and make her richIn titles, honors, and promotions,As she in beautie, education, blood,Holdes hand with any Princesse of the world. Fra. What sai'st thou boy? looke in the Ladies face. Dol. I do my Lord, and in her eie I findA wonder, or a wondrous miracle,The shadow of my selfe form'd in her eye,Which being but the shadow of your sonne,Becomes a sonne and makes your sonne a shadow:I do protest I neuer lou'd my selfeTill now, infixed I beheld my selfe,Drawne in the flattering table of her eie. Whispers with Blanch. Bast. Drawne in the flattering table of her eie,Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow,And quarter'd in her heart, hee doth espieHimselfe loues traytor, this is pittie now;That hang'd, and drawne, and quarter'd there should beIn such a loue, so vile a Lout as he. Blan. My vnckles will in this respect is mine,If he see ought in you that makes him like,That any thing he see's which moues his liking,I can with ease translate it to my will:Or if you will, to speake more properly,I will enforce it easlie to my loue.Further I will not flatter you, my Lord,That all I see in you is worthie loue,Then this, that nothing do I see in you,Though churlish thoughts themselues should bee yourIudge,That I can finde, should merit any hate. Iohn. What saie these yong-ones? What say you myNeece? Blan. That she is bound in honor still to doWhat you in wisedome still vouchsafe to say. Iohn. Speake then Prince Dolphin, can you loue thisLadie? Dol. Nay aske me if I can refraine from loue,For I doe loue her most vnfainedly. Iohn. Then I doe giue Volquessen, Toraine, Maine,Poyctiers and Aniow, these fiue ProuincesWith her to thee, and this addition more,Full thirty thousand Markes of English coyne: Phillip of France, if thou be pleas'd withall,Command thy sonne and daughter to ioyne hands. Fra. It likes vs well young Princes: close your hands Aust. And your lippes too, for I am well assur'd,That I did so when I was first assur'd. Fra. Now Cittizens of Angires ope your gates,Let in that amitie which you haue made,For at Saint Maries Chappell presently,The rights of marriage shallbe solemniz'd.Is not the Ladie Constance in this troope?I know she is not for this match made vp,Her presence would haue interrupted much.Where is she and her sonne, tell me, who knowes? Dol. She is sad and passionate at your highnes Tent. Fra. And by my faith, this league that we haue madeWill giue her sadnesse very little cure:Brother of England, how may we contentThis widdow Lady? In her right we came,Which we God knowes, haue turn'd another way,To our owne vantage. Iohn. We will heale vp all,For wee'l create yong Arthur Duke of BritaineAnd Earle of Richmond, and this rich faire Towne We make him Lord of. Call the Lady Constance, Some speedy Messenger bid her repaireTo our solemnity: I trust we shall,(If not fill vp the measure of her will)Yet in some measure satisfie her so,That we shall stop her exclamation,Go we as well as hast will suffer vs,To this vnlook'd for vnprepared pompe. Exeunt. Bast. Mad world, mad kings, mad composition: Iohn to stop Arthurs Title in the whole,Hath willingly departed with a part,And France, whose armour Conscience buckled on,Whom zeale and charitie brought to the field,As Gods owne souldier, rounded in the eare,With that same purpose-changer, that slye diuel,That Broker, that still breakes the pate of faith,That dayly breake-vow, he that winnes of all,Of kings, of beggers, old men, yong men, maids,Who hauing no externall thing to loose,But the word Maid, cheats the poore Maide of that.That smooth-fac'd Gentleman, tickling commoditie,Commoditie, the byas of the world,The world, who of it selfe is peysed well,Made to run euen, vpon euen ground;Till this aduantage, this vile drawing byas,This sway of motion, this commoditie,Makes it take head from all indifferency,From all direction, purpose, course, intent.And this same byas, this Commoditie,This Bawd, this Broker, this all-changing-word,Clap'd on the outward eye of fickle France,Hath drawne him from his owne determin'd ayd,From a resolu'd and honourable warre,To a most base and vile-concluded peace.And why rayle I on this Commoditie?But for because he hath not wooed me yet:Not that I haue the power to clutch my hand,When his faire Angels would salute my palme,But for my hand, as vnattempted yet,Like a poore begger, raileth on the rich.Well, whiles I am a begger, I will raile,And say there is no sin but to be rich:And being rich, my vertue then shall be,To say there is no vice, but beggerie:Since Kings breake faith vpon commoditie,Gaine be my Lord, for I will worship thee. Exit.
Actus Secundus Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. Con. Gone to be married? Gone to sweare a peace?False blood to false blood ioyn'd. Gone to be freinds?Shall Lewis haue Blaunch, and Blaunch those Prouinces?It is not so, thou hast mispoke, misheard,Be well aduis'd, tell ore thy tale againe.It cannot be, thou do'st but say 'tis so.I trust I may not trust thee, for thy wordIs but the vaine breath of a common man:Beleeue me, I doe not beleeue thee man,I haue a Kings oath to the contrarie.Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,For I am sicke, and capeable of feares,Opprest with wrongs, and therefore full of feares,A widdow, husbandles, subiect to feares,A woman naturally borne to feares;And though thou now confesse thou didst but iestWith my vext spirits, I cannot take a Truce,But they will quake and tremble all this day.What dost thou meane by shaking of thy head?Why dost thou looke so sadly on my sonne?What meanes that hand vpon that breast of thine?Why holdes thine eie that lamentable rhewme,Like a proud riuer peering ore his bounds?Be these sad signes confirmers of thy words?Then speake againe, not all thy former tale,But this one word, whether thy tale be true. Sal. As true as I beleeue you thinke them false,That giue you cause to proue my saying true. Con. Oh if thou teach me to beleeue this sorrow,Teach thou this sorrow, how to make me dye,And let beleefe, and life encounter so,As doth the furie of two desperate men,Which in the very meeting fall, and dye. Lewes marry Blaunch? O boy, then where art thou? France friend with England, what becomes of me?Fellow be gone: I cannot brooke thy sight,This newes hath made thee a most vgly man. Sal. What other harme haue I good Lady done,But spoke the harme, that is by others done? Con. Which harme within it selfe so heynous is,As it makes harmefull all that speake of it. Ar. I do beseech you Madam be content. Con. If thou that bidst me be content, wert grimVgly, and slandrous to thy Mothers wombe,Full of vnpleasing blots, and sightlesse staines,Lame, foolish, crooked, swart, prodigious,Patch'd with foule Moles, and eye-offending markes,I would not care, I then would be content,For then I should not loue thee: no, nor thouBecome thy great birth, nor deserue a Crowne.But thou art faire, and at thy birth (deere boy)Nature and Fortune ioyn'd to make thee great.Of Natures guifts, thou mayst with Lillies boast,And with the halfe-blowne Rose. But Fortune, oh,She is corrupted, chang'd, and wonne from thee,Sh' adulterates hourely with thine Vnckle Iohn, And with her golden hand hath pluckt on FranceTo tread downe faire respect of Soueraigntie,And made his Maiestie the bawd to theirs.France is a Bawd to Fortune, and king Iohn, That strumpet Fortune, that vsurping Iohn: Tell me thou fellow, is not France forsworne?Envenom him with words, or get thee gone,And leaue those woes alone, which I aloneAm bound to vnder-beare. Sal. Pardon me Madam,I may not goe without you to the kings. Con. Thou maist, thou shalt, I will not go with thee,I will instruct my sorrowes to bee proud,For greefe is proud, and makes his owner stoope,To me and to the state of my great greefe,Lets kings assemble: for my greefe's so great,That no supporter but the huge firme earthCan hold it vp: here I and sorrowes sit,Heere is my Throne bid kings come bow to it.
Actus Tertius, Scaena prima. Enter King Iohn, France, Dolphin, Blanch, Elianor, Philip,Austria, Constance. Fran. 'Tis true (faire daughter) and this blessed day,Euer in France shall be kept festiuall:To solemnize this day the glorious sunneStayes in his course, and playes the Alchymist,Turning with splendor of his precious eyeThe meager cloddy earth to glittering gold:The yearely course that brings this day about,Shall neuer see it, but a holy day. Const. A wicked day, and not a holy day.What hath this day deseru'd? what hath it done,That it in golden letters should be setAmong the high tides in the Kalender?Nay, rather turne this day out of the weeke,This day of shame, oppression, periury.Or if it must stand still, let wiues with childePray that their burthens may not fall this day,Lest that their hopes prodigiously be crost:But (on this day) let Sea-men feare no wracke,No bargaines breake that are not this day made;This day all things begun, come to ill end,Yea, faith it selfe to hollow falshood change. Fra. By heauen Lady, you shall haue no causeTo curse the faire proceedings of this day:Haue I not pawn'd to you my Maiesty? Const. You haue beguil'd me with a counterfeitResembling Maiesty, which being touch'd and tride,Proues valuelesse: you are forsworne, forsworne,You came in Armes to spill mine enemies bloud,But now in Armes, you strengthen it with yours.The grapling vigor, and rough frowne of WarreIs cold in amitie, and painted peace,And our oppression hath made vp this league:Arme, arme, you heauens, against these periur'd Kings,A widdow cries, be husband to me (heauens)Let not the howres of this vngodly dayWeare out the daies in Peace; but ere Sun-set,Set armed discord 'twixt these periur'd Kings,Heare me, Oh, heare me. Aust. Lady Constance, peace. Const. War, war, no peace, peace is to me a warre:O Lymoges, O Austria, thou dost shameThat bloudy spoyle: thou slaue, thou wretch, thou coward,Thou little valiant, great in villanie,Thou euer strong vpon the stronger side;Thou Fortunes Champion, that do'st neuer fightBut when her humourous Ladiship is byTo teach thee safety: thou art periur'd too,And sooth'st vp greatnesse. What a foole art thou,A ramping foole, to brag, and stamp, and sweare,Vpon my partie: thou cold blooded slaue,Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side?Beene sworne my Souldier, bidding me dependVpon thy starres, thy fortune, and thy strength,And dost thou now fall ouer to my foes?Thou weare a Lyons hide, doff it for shame,And hang a Calues skin on those recreant limbes. Aus. O that a man should speake those words to me. Phil. And hang a Calues-skin on those recreant limbs Aus. Thou dar'st not say so villaine for thy life. Phil. And hang a Calues-skin on those recreant limbs. Iohn. We like not this, thou dost forget thy selfe. Enter Pandulph. Fra. Heere comes the holy Legat of the Pope. Pan. Haile you annointed deputies of heauen;To thee King Iohn my holy errand is:I Pandulph, of faire Millane Cardinall,And from Pope Innocent the Legate heere,Doe in his name religiously demandWhy thou against the Church, our holy Mother,So wilfully dost spurne; and force perforceKeepe Stephen Langton chosen ArchbishopOf Canterbury from that holy Sea:This in our foresaid holy Fathers namePope Innocent, I doe demand of thee. Iohn. What earthie name to InterrogatoriesCan tast the free breath of a sacred King?Thou canst not (Cardinall) deuise a nameSo slight, vnworthy, and ridiculousTo charge me to an answere, as the Pope:Tell him this tale, and from the mouth of England, Adde thus much more, that no Italian PriestShall tythe or toll in our dominions:But as we, vnder heauen, are supreame head,So vnder him that great supremacyWhere we doe reigne, we will alone vpholdWithout th' assistance of a mortall hand:So tell the Pope, all reuerence set apartTo him and his vsurp'd authoritie. Fra. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. Iohn. Though you, and all the Kings of ChristendomAre led so grossely by this medling Priest,Dreading the curse that money may buy out,And by the merit of vilde gold, drosse, dust,Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,Who in that sale sels pardon from himselfe:Though you, and al the rest so grossely led,This iugling witchcraft with reuennue cherish,Yet I alone, alone doe me opposeAgainst the Pope, and count his friends my foes. Pand. Then by the lawfull power that I haue,Thou shalt stand curst, and excommunicate,And blessed shall he be that doth reuoltFrom his Allegeance to an heretique,And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,Canonized and worship'd as a Saint,That takes away by any secret courseThy hatefull life. Con. O lawfull let it beThat I haue roome with Rome to curse a while,Good Father Cardinall, cry thou AmenTo my keene curses; for without my wrongThere is no tongue hath power to curse him right. Pan. There's Law and Warrant (Lady) for my curse. Cons. And for mine too, when Law can do no right.Let it be lawfull, that Law barre no wrong:Law cannot giue my childe his kingdome heere;For he that holds his Kingdome, holds the Law:Therefore since Law it selfe is perfect wrong,How can the Law forbid my tongue to curse? Pand. Philip of France, on perill of a curse,Let goe the hand of that Arch-heretique,And raise the power of France vpon his head,Vnlesse he doe submit himselfe to Rome. Elea. Look'st thou pale France? do not let go thy hand. Con. Looke to that Deuill, lest that France repent, And by disioyning hands hell lose a soule. Aust. King Philip, listen to the Cardinall. Bast. And hang a Calues-skin on his recreant limbs. Aust. Well ruffian, I must pocket vp these wrongs,Because, Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. Iohn. Philip, what saist thou to the Cardinall? Con. What should he say, but as the Cardinall? Dolph. Bethinke you father, for the differenceIs purchase of a heauy curse from Rome, Or the light losse of England, for a friend:Forgoe the easier. Bla. That's the curse of Rome. Con. O Lewis, stand fast, the deuill tempts thee heereIn likenesse of a new vntrimmed Bride. Bla. The Lady Constance speakes not from her faith,But from her need. Con. Oh, if thou grant my need,Which onely liues but by the death of faith,That need, must needs inferre this principle,That faith would liue againe by death of need:O then tread downe my need, and faith mounts vp,Keepe my need vp, and faith is trodden downe. Iohn. The king is moud, and answers not to this. Con. O be remou'd from him, and answere well. Aust. Doe so king Philip, hang no more in doubt. Bast. Hang nothing but a Calues skin most sweet lout. Fra. I am perplext, and know not what to say. Pan. What canst thou say, but wil perplex thee more?If thou stand excommunicate, and curst? Fra. Good reuerend father, make my person yours,And tell me how you would bestow your selfe?This royall hand and mine are newly knit,And the coniunction of our inward soulesMarried in league, coupled, and link'd togetherWith all religous strength of sacred vowes,The latest breath that gaue the sound of wordsWas deepe-sworne faith, peace, amity, true loueBetweene our kingdomes and our royall selues,And euen before this truce, but new before,No longer then we well could wash our hands,To clap this royall bargaine vp of peace,Heauen knowes they were besmear'd and ouer-staindWith slaughters pencill; where reuenge did paintThe fearefull difference of incensed kings:And shall these hands so lately purg'd of bloud?So newly ioyn'd in loue? so strong in both,Vnyoke this seysure, and this kinde regreete?Play fast and loose with faith? so iest with heauen,Make such vnconstant children of our seluesAs now againe to snatch our palme from palme:Vn-sweare faith sworne, and on the marriage bedOf smiling peace to march a bloody hoast,And make a ryot on the gentle browOf true sincerity? O holy SirMy reuerend father, let it not be so;Out of your grace, deuise, ordaine, imposeSome gentle order, and then we shall be blestTo doe your pleasure, and continue friends. Pand. All forme is formelesse, Order orderlesse,Saue what is opposite to Englands loue.Therefore to Armes, be Champion of our Church,Or let the Church our mother breathe her curse,A mothers curse, on her reuolting sonne: France, thou maist hold a serpent by the tongue,A cased Lion by the mortall paw,A fasting Tyger safer by the tooth,Then keepe in peace that hand which thou dost hold. Fra. I may dis-ioyne my hand, but not my faith. Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith,And like a ciuill warre setst oath to oath,Thy tongue against thy tongue. O let thy vowFirst made to heauen, first be to heauen perform'd,That is, to be the Champion of our Church,What since thou sworst, is sworne against thy selfe,And may not be performed by thy selfe,For that which thou hast sworne to doe amisse,Is not amisse when it is truely done:And being not done, where doing tends to ill,The truth is then most done not doing it:The better Act of purposes mistooke,Is to mistake again, though indirect,Yet indirection thereby growes direct,And falshood, falshood cures, as fire cooles fireWithin the scorched veines of one new burn'd:It is religion that doth make vowes kept,But thou hast sworne against religion:By what thou swear'st against the thing thou swear'st,And mak'st an oath the suretie for thy truth,Against an oath the truth, thou art vnsureTo sweare, sweares onely not to be forsworne,Else what a mockerie should it be to sweare?But thou dost sweare, onely to be forsworne,And most forsworne, to keepe what thou dost sweare,Therefore thy later vowes, against thy first,Is in thy selfe rebellion to thy selfe:And better conquest neuer canst thou make,Then arme thy constant and thy nobler partsAgainst these giddy loose suggestions:Vpon which better part, our prayrs come in,If thou vouchsafe them. But if not, then knowThe perill of our curses light on theeSo heauy, as thou shalt not shake them offBut in despaire, dye vnder their blacke weight. Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion. Bast. Wil't not be?Will not a Calues-skin stop that mouth of thine? Daul. Father, to Armes. Blanch. Vpon thy wedding day?Against the blood that thou hast married?What, shall our feast be kept with slaughtered men?Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drumsClamors of hell, be measures to our pomp?O husband heare me: aye, alacke, how newIs husband in my mouth? euen for that nameWhich till this time my tongue did nere pronounce;Vpon my knee I beg, goe not to ArmesAgainst mine Vncle. Const. O, vpon my knee made hard with kneeling,I doe pray to thee, thou vertuous Daulphin, Alter not the doome fore-thought by heauen. Blan. Now shall I see thy loue, what motiue mayBe stronger with thee, then the name of wife? Con. That which vpholdeth him, that thee vpholds,His Honor, Oh thine Honor, Lewis thine Honor. Dolph. I muse your Maiesty doth seeme so cold,When such profound respects doe pull you on? Pand. I will denounce a curse vpon his head. Fra. Thou shalt not need. England, I will fall fro[m] thee. Const. O faire returne of banish'd Maiestie. Elea. O foule reuolt of French inconstancy. Eng. France, thou shalt rue this houre within this houre. Bast. Old Time the clocke setter, thou bald sexton Time:Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. Bla. The Sun's orecast with bloud: faire day adieu,Which is the side that I must goe withall?I am with both, each Army hath a hand,And in their rage, I hauing hold of both,They whurle a-sunder, and dismember mee.Husband, I cannot pray that thou maist winne:Vncle, I needs must pray that thou maist lose:Father, I may not wish the fortune thine:Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thriue:Who-euer wins, on that side shall I lose:Assured losse, before the match be plaid. Dolph. Lady, with me, with me thy fortune lies. Bla. There where my fortune liues, there my life dies. Iohn. Cosen, goe draw our puisance together, France, I am burn'd vp with inflaming wrath,A rage, whose heat hath this condition;That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,The blood and deerest valued bloud of France. Fra. Thy rage shall burne thee vp, & thou shalt turneTo ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire:Looke to thy selfe, thou art in ieopardie. Iohn. No more then he that threats. To Arms let's hie. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Allarums, Excursions: Enter Bastard with Austria'shead. Bast. Now by my life, this day grows wondrous hot,Some ayery Deuill houers in the skie,And pour's downe mischiefe. Austrias head lye there, Enter Iohn, Arthur, Hubert. While Philip breathes. Iohn. Hubert, keepe this boy: Philip make vp,My Mother is assayled in our Tent,And tane I feare. Bast. My Lord I rescued her,Her Highnesse is in safety, feare you not:But on my Liege, for very little painesWill bring this labor to an happy end. Exit. Alarums, excursions, Retreat. Enter Iohn, Eleanor, ArthurBastard, Hubert, Lords. Iohn. So shall it be: your Grace shall stay behindeSo strongly guarded: Cosen, looke not sad,Thy Grandame loues thee, and thy Vnkle willAs deere be to thee, as thy father was. Arth. O this will make my mother die with griefe. Iohn. Cosen away for England, haste before,And ere our comming see thou shake the bagsOf hoording Abbots, imprisoned angellsSet at libertie: the fat ribs of peaceMust by the hungry now be fed vpon:Vse our Commission in his vtmost force. Bast. Bell, Booke, & Candle, shall not driue me back,When gold and siluer becks me to come on.I leaue your highnesse: Grandame, I will pray(If euer I remember to be holy)For your faire safety: so I kisse your hand. Ele. Farewell gentle Cosen. Iohn. Coz, farewell. Ele. Come hether little kinsman, harke, a worde. Iohn. Come hether Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much: within this wall of fleshThere is a soule counts thee her Creditor,And with aduantage meanes to pay thy loue:And my good friend, thy voluntary oathLiues in this bosome, deerely cherished.Giue me thy hand, I had a thing to say,But I will fit it with some better tune.By heauen Hubert, I am almost asham'dTo say what good respect I haue of thee. Hub. I am much bounden to your Maiesty. Iohn. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet,But thou shalt haue: and creepe time nere so slow,Yet it shall come, for me to doe thee good.I had a thing to say, but let it goe:The Sunne is in the heauen, and the proud day,Attended with the pleasures of the world,Is all too wanton, and too full of gawdesTo giue me audience: If the mid-night bellDid with his yron tongue, and brazen mouthSound on into the drowzie race of night:If this same were a Church-yard where we stand,And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs:Or if that surly spirit melancholyHad bak'd thy bloud, and made it heauy, thicke,Which else runnes tickling vp and downe the veines,Making that idiot laughter keepe mens eyes,And straine their cheekes to idle merriment,A passion hatefull to my purposes:Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,Heare me without thine eares, and make replyWithout a tongue, vsing conceit alone,Without eyes, eares, and harmefull sound of words:Then, in despight of brooded watchfull day,I would into thy bosome poure my thoughts:But (ah) I will not, yet I loue thee well,And by my troth I thinke thou lou'st me well. Hub. So well, that what you bid me vndertake,Though that my death were adiunct to my Act,By heauen I would doe it. Iohn. Doe not I know thou wouldst?Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert throw thine eyeOn yon young boy: Ile tell thee what my friend,He is a very serpent in my way,And wheresoere this foot of mine doth tread,He lies before me: dost thou vnderstand me?Thou art his keeper. Hub. And Ile keepe him so,That he shall not offend your Maiesty. Iohn. Death. Hub. My Lord. Iohn. A Graue. Hub. He shall not liue. Iohn. Enough.I could be merry now, Hubert, I loue thee.Well, Ile not say what I intend for thee:Remember: Madam, Fare you well,Ile send those powers o're to your Maiesty. Ele. My blessing goe with thee. Iohn. For England Cosen, goe. Hubert shall be your man, attend on youWith al true duetie: On toward Callice, hoa. Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter France, Dolphin, Pandulpho, Attendants. Fra. So by a roaring Tempest on the flood,A whole Armado of conuicted saileIs scattered and dis-ioyn'd from fellowship. Pand. Courage and comfort, all shall yet goe well. Fra. What can goe well, when we haue runne so ill?Are we not beaten? Is not Angiers lost? Arthur tane prisoner? diuers deere friends slaine?And bloudy England into England gone,Ore-bearing interruption spight of France? Dol. What he hath won, that hath he fortified:So hot a speed, with such aduice dispos'd,Such temperate order in so fierce a cause,Doth want example: who hath read, or heardOf any kindred-action like to this? Fra. Well could I beare that England had this praise,So we could finde some patterne of our shame: Enter Constance. Looke who comes heere? a graue vnto a soule,Holding th' eternall spirit against her will,In the vilde prison of afflicted breath:I prethee Lady goe away with me. Con. Lo; now: now see the issue of your peace. Fra. Patience good Lady, comfort gentle Constance. Con. No, I defie all Counsell, all redresse,But that which ends all counsell, true Redresse:Death, death, O amiable, louely death,Thou odoriferous stench: sound rottennesse,Arise forth from the couch of lasting night,Thou hate and terror to prosperitie,And I will kisse thy detestable bones,And put my eye-balls in thy vaultie browes,And ring these fingers with thy houshold wormes,And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,And be a Carrion Monster like thy selfe;Come, grin on me, and I will thinke thou smil'st,And busse thee as thy wife: Miseries Loue,O come to me. Fra. O faire affliction, peace. Con. No, no, I will not, hauing breath to cry:O that my tongue were in the thunders mouth,Then with a passion would I shake the world,And rowze from sleepe that fell AnatomyWhich cannot heare a Ladies feeble voyce,Which scornes a moderne Inuocation. Pand. Lady, you vtter madnesse, and not sorrow. Con. Thou art holy to belye me so,I am not mad: this haire I teare is mine,My name is Constance, I was Geffreyes wife,Yong Arthur is my sonne, and he is lost:I am not mad, I would to heauen I were,For then 'tis like I should forget my selfe:O, if I could, what griefe should I forget?Preach some Philosophy to make me mad,And thou shalt be Canoniz'd (Cardinall.)For, being not mad, but sensible of greefe,My reasonable part produces reasonHow I may be deliuer'd of these woes.And teaches mee to kill or hang my selfe:If I were mad, I should forget my sonne,Or madly thinke a babe of clowts were he;I am not mad: too well, too well I feeleThe different plague of each calamitie. Fra. Binde vp those tresses: O what loue I noteIn the faire multitude of those her haires;Where but by chance a siluer drop hath falne,Euen to that drop ten thousand wiery fiendsDoe glew themselues in sociable griefe,Like true, inseparable, faithfull loues,Sticking together in calamitie. Con. To England, if you will. Fra. Binde vp your haires. Con. Yes that I will: and wherefore will I do it?I tore them from their bonds, and cride aloud,O, that these hands could so redeeme my sonne,As they haue giuen these hayres their libertie:But now I enuie at their libertie,And will againe commit them to their bonds,Because my poore childe is a prisoner.And Father Cardinall, I haue heard you sayThat we shall see and know our friends in heauen:If that be true, I shall see my boy againe;For since the birth of Caine, the first male-childeTo him that did but yesterday suspire,There was not such a gracious creature borne:But now will Canker-sorrow eat my bud,And chase the natiue beauty from his cheeke,And he will looke as hollow as a Ghost,As dim and meager as an Agues fitte,And so hee'll dye: and rising so againe,When I shall meet him in the Court of heauenI shall not know him: therefore neuer, neuerMust I behold my pretty Arthur more. Pand. You hold too heynous a respect of greefe. Const. He talkes to me, that neuer had a sonne. Fra. You are as fond of greefe, as of your childe. Con. Greefe fils the roome vp of my absent childe:Lies in his bed, walkes vp and downe with me,Puts on his pretty lookes, repeats his words,Remembers me of all his gracious parts,Stuffes out his vacant garments with his forme;Then, haue I reason to be fond of griefe?Fareyouwell: had you such a losse as I,I could giue better comfort then you doe.I will not keepe this forme vpon my head,When there is such disorder in my witte:O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my faire sonne,My life, my ioy, my food, my all the world:My widow-comfort, and my sorrowes cure. Exit. Fra. I feare some out-rage, and Ile follow her. Exit. Dol. There's nothing in this world can make me ioy,Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,Vexing the dull eare of a drowsie man;And bitter shame hath spoyl'd the sweet words taste,That it yeelds nought but shame and bitternesse. Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease,Euen in the instant of repaire and health,The fit is strongest: Euils that take leaueOn their departure, most of all shew euill:What haue you lost by losing of this day? Dol. All daies of glory, ioy, and happinesse. Pan. If you had won it, certainely you had.No, no: when Fortune meanes to men most good,Shee lookes vpon them with a threatning eye:'Tis strange to thinke how much King Iohn hath lostIn this which he accounts so clearely wonne: Are not you grieu'd that Arthur is his prisoner? Dol. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. Pan. Your minde is all as youthfull as your blood.Now heare me speake with a propheticke spirit:For euen the breath of what I meane to speake,Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rubOut of the path which shall directly leadThy foote to Englands Throne. And therefore marke: Iohn hath seiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be,That whiles warme life playes in that infants veines,The mis-plac'd- Iohn should entertaine an houre,One minute, nay one quiet breath of rest.A Scepter snatch'd with an vnruly hand,Must be as boysterously maintain'd as gain'd.And he that stands vpon a slipp'ry place,Makes nice of no vilde hold to stay him vp:That Iohn may stand, then Arthur needs must fall,So be it, for it cannot be but so. Dol. But what shall I gaine by yong Arthurs fall? Pan. You, in the right of Lady Blanch your wife,May then make all the claime that Arthur did. Dol. And loose it, life and all, as Arthur did. Pan. How green you are, and fresh in this old world? Iohn layes you plots: the times conspire with you,For he that steepes his safetie in true blood,Shall finde but bloodie safety, and vntrue.This Act so euilly borne shall coole the heartsOf all his people, and freeze vp their zeale,That none so small aduantage shall step forthTo checke his reigne, but they will cherish it.No naturall exhalation in the skie,No scope of Nature, no distemper'd day,No common winde, no customed euent,But they will plucke away his naturall cause,And call them Meteors, prodigies, and signes,Abbortiues, presages, and tongues of heauen,Plainly denouncing vengeance vpon Iohn. Dol. May be he will not touch yong Arthurs life,But hold himselfe safe in his prisonment. Pan. O Sir, when he shall heare of your approach,If that yong Arthur be not gone alreadie,Euen at that newes he dies: and then the heartsOf all his people shall reuolt from him,And kisse the lippes of vnacquainted change,And picke strong matter of reuolt, and wrathOut of the bloody fingers ends of Iohn. Me thinkes I see this hurley all on foot;And O, what better matter breeds for you,Then I haue nam'd. The Bastard Falconbridge Is now in England ransacking the Church,Offending Charity: If but a dozen FrenchWere there in Armes, they would be as a CallTo traine ten thousand English to their side;Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,Anon becomes a Mountaine. O noble Dolphine,Go with me to the King, 'tis wonderfull,What may be wrought out of their discontent,Now that their soules are topfull of offence,For England go; I will whet on the King. Dol. Strong reasons makes strange actions: let vs go,If you say I, the King will not say no. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus, Scaena prima. Enter Hubert and Executioners. Hub. Heate me these Irons hot, and looke thou standWithin the Arras: when I strike my footVpon the bosome of the ground, rush forthAnd binde the boy, which you shall finde with meFast to the chaire: be heedfull: hence, and watch. Exec. I hope your warrant will beare out the deed. Hub. Vncleanly scruples feare not you: looke too't.Yong Lad come forth; I haue to say with you. Enter Arthur. Ar. Good morrow Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little Prince. Ar. As little Prince, hauing so great a TitleTo be more Prince, as may be: you are sad. Hub. Indeed I haue beene merrier. Art. 'Mercie on me:Me thinkes no body should be sad but I:Yet I remember, when I was in France,Yong Gentlemen would be as sad as nightOnely for wantonnesse: by my Christendome,So I were out of prison, and kept SheepeI should be as merry as the day is long:And so I would be heere, but that I doubtMy Vnckle practises more harme to me:He is affraid of me, and I of him:Is it my fault, that I was Geffreyes sonne?No in deede is't not: and I would to heauenI were your sonne, so you would loue me, Hubert: Hub. If I talke to him, with his innocent prateHe will awake my mercie, which lies dead:Therefore I will be sodaine, and dispatch. Ar. Are you sicke Hubert? you looke pale to day,Insooth I would you were a little sicke,That I might sit all night, and watch with you.I warrant I loue you more then you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosome.Reade heere yong Arthur. How now foolish rheume?Turning dispitious torture out of doore?I must be breefe, least resolution dropOut at mine eyes, in tender womanish teares.Can you not reade it? Is it not faire writ? Ar. Too fairely Hubert, for so foule effect,Must you with hot Irons, burne out both mine eyes? Hub. Yong Boy, I must. Art. And will you? Hub. And I will. Art. Haue you the heart? When your head did butake,I knit my hand-kercher about your browes(The best I had, a Princesse wrought it me)And I did neuer aske it you againe:And with my hand, at midnight held your head;And like the watchfull minutes, to the houre,Still and anon cheer'd vp the heauy time;Saying, what lacke you? and where lies your greefe?Or what good loue may I performe for you?Many a poore mans sonne would haue lyen still,And nere haue spoke a louing word to you:But you, at your sicke seruice had a Prince:Nay, you may thinke my loue was craftie loue,And call it cunning. Do, and if you will, If heauen be pleas'd that you must vse me ill,Why then you must. Will you put out mine eyes?These eyes, that neuer did, nor neuer shallSo much as frowne on you. Hub. I haue sworne to do it:And with hot Irons must I burne them out. Ar. Ah, none but in this Iron Age, would do it:The Iron of it selfe, though heate red hot,Approaching neere these eyes, would drinke my teares,And quench this fierie indignation,Euen in the matter of mine innocence:Nay, after that, consume away in rust,But for containing fire to harme mine eye:Are you more stubborne hard, then hammer'd Iron?And if an Angell should haue come to me,And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,I would not haue beleeu'd him: no tongue but Huberts. Hub. Come forth: Do as I bid you do. Art. O saue me Hubert, saue me: my eyes are outEuen with the fierce lookes of these bloody men. Hub. Giue me the Iron I say, and binde him heere. Art. Alas, what neede you be so boistrous rough?I will not struggle, I will stand stone still:For heauen sake Hubert let me not be bound:Nay heare me Hubert, driue these men away,And I will sit as quiet as a Lambe.I will not stirre, nor winch, nor speake a word,Nor looke vpon the Iron angerly:Thrust but these men away, and Ile forgiue you,What euer torment you do put me too. Hub. Go stand within: let me alone with him. Exec. I am best pleas'd to be from such a deede. Art. Alas, I then haue chid away my friend,He hath a sterne looke, but a gentle heart:Let him come backe, that his compassion mayGiue life to yours. Hub. Come (Boy) prepare your selfe. Art. Is there no remedie? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Art. O heauen: that there were but a moth in yours,A graine, a dust, a gnat, a wandering haire,Any annoyance in that precious sense:Then feeling what small things are boysterous there,Your vilde intent must needs seeme horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? Go too, hold your toong. Art. Hubert, the vtterance of a brace of tongues,Must needes want pleading for a paire of eyes:Let me not hold my tongue: let me not Hubert, Or Hubert, if you will cut out my tongue,So I may keepe mine eyes. O spare mine eyes,Though to no vse, but still to looke on you.Loe, by my troth, the Instrument is cold,And would not harme me. Hub. I can heate it, Boy. Art. No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with griefe,Being create for comfort, to be vs'dIn vndeserued extreames: See else your selfe,There is no malice in this burning cole,The breath of heauen, hath blowne his spirit out,And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can reuiue it Boy. Art. And if you do, you will but make it blush,And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes:And, like a dogge that is compell'd to fight,Snatch at his Master that doth tarre him on.All things that you should vse to do me wrongDeny their office: onely you do lackeThat mercie, which fierce fire, and Iron extends,Creatures of note for mercy, lacking vses. Hub. Well, see to liue: I will not touch thine eye,For all the Treasure that thine Vnckle owes,Yet am I sworne, and I did purpose, Boy,With this same very Iron, to burne them out. Art. O now you looke like Hubert. All this whileYou were disguis'd. Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu,Your Vnckle must not know but you are dead.Ile fill these dogged Spies with false reports:And, pretty childe, sleepe doubtlesse, and secure,That Hubert for the wealth of all the world,Will not offend thee. Art. O heauen! I thanke you Hubert. Hub. Silence, no more; go closely in with mee,Much danger do I vndergo for thee. Exeunt
Scena Secunda. Enter Iohn, Pembroke, Salisbury, and other Lordes. Iohn. Heere once againe we sit: once against crown'dAnd look'd vpon, I hope, with chearefull eyes. Pem. This once again (but that your Highnes pleas'd)Was once superfluous: you were Crown'd before,And that high Royalty was nere pluck'd off:The faiths of men, nere stained with reuolt:Fresh expectation troubled not the LandWith any long'd-for-change, or better State. Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pompe,To guard a Title, that was rich before;To gilde refined Gold, to paint the Lilly;To throw a perfume on the Violet,To smooth the yce, or adde another hewVnto the Raine-bow; or with Taper-lightTo seeke the beauteous eye of heauen to garnish,Is wastefull, and ridiculous excesse. Pem. But that your Royall pleasure must be done,This acte, is as an ancient tale new told,And, in the last repeating, troublesome,Being vrged at a time vnseasonable. Sal. In this the Anticke, and well noted faceOf plaine old forme, is much disfigured,And like a shifted winde vnto a saile,It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about,Startles, and frights consideration:Makes sound opinion sicke, and truth suspected,For putting on so new a fashion'd robe. Pem. When Workemen striue to do better then wel,They do confound their skill in couetousnesse,And oftentimes excusing of a fault,Doth make the fault the worse by th' excuse:As patches set vpon a little breach,Discredite more in hiding of the fault,Then did the fault before it was so patch'd. Sal. To this effect, before you were new crown'dWe breath'd our Councell: but it pleas'd your HighnesTo ouer-beare it, and we are all well pleas'd,Since all, and euery part of what we wouldDoth make a stand, at what your Highnesse will. Ioh. Some reasons of this double CorronationI haue possest you with, and thinke them strong.And more, more strong, then lesser is my feareI shall indue you with: Meane time, but askeWhat you would haue reform'd, that is not well,And well shall you perceiue, how willinglyI will both heare, and grant you your requests. Pem. Then I, as one that am the tongue of theseTo sound the purposes of all their hearts,Both for my selfe, and them: but chiefe of allYour safety: for the which, my selfe and themBend their best studies, heartily requestTh' infranchisement of Arthur, whose restraintDoth moue the murmuring lips of discontentTo breake into this dangerous argument.If what in rest you haue, in right you hold,Why then your feares, which (as they say) attendThe steppes of wrong, should moue you to mew vpYour tender kinsman, and to choake his dayesWith barbarous ignorance, and deny his youthThe rich aduantage of good exercise,That the times enemies may not haue thisTo grace occasions: let it be our suite,That you haue bid vs aske his libertie,Which for our goods, we do no further aske,Then, whereupon our weale on you depending,Counts it your weale: he haue his liberty. Enter Hubert. Iohn. Let it be so: I do commit his youthTo your direction: Hubert, what newes with you? Pem. This is the man should do the bloody deed:He shew'd his warrant to a friend of mine,The image of a wicked heynous faultLiues in his eye: that close aspect of his,Do shew the mood of a much troubled brest,And I do fearefully beleeue 'tis done,What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. Sal. The colour of the King doth come, and goBetweene his purpose and his conscience,Like Heralds 'twixt two dreadfull battailes set:His passion is so ripe, it needs must breake. Pem. And when it breakes, I feare will issue thenceThe foule corruption of a sweet childes death. Iohn. We cannot hold mortalities strong hand.Good Lords, although my will to giue, is liuing,The suite which you demand is gone, and dead.He tels vs Arthur is deceas'd to night. Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sicknesse was past cure. Pem. Indeed we heard how neere his death he was,Before the childe himselfe felt he was sicke:This must be answer'd either heere, or hence. Ioh. Why do you bend such solemne browes on me?Thinke you I beare the Sheeres of destiny?Haue I commandement on the pulse of life? Sal. It is apparant foule-play, and 'tis shameThat Greatnesse should so grossely offer it;So thriue it in your game, and so farewell. Pem. Stay yet (Lord Salisbury) Ile go with thee,And finde th' inheritance of this poore childe,His little kingdome of a forced graue.That blood which ow'd the bredth of all this Ile,Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while:This must not be thus borne, this will breake outTo all our sorrowes, and ere long I doubt. Exeunt Io. They burn in indignation: I repent: Enter Mes. There is no sure foundation set on blood:No certaine life atchieu'd by others death:A fearefull eye thou hast. Where is that blood,That I haue seene inhabite in those cheekes?So foule a skie, cleeres not without a storme,Poure downe thy weather: how goes all in France? Mes. From France to England, neuer such a powreFor any forraigne preparation,Was leuied in the body of a land.The Copie of your speede is learn'd by them:For when you should be told they do prepare,The tydings comes, that they are all arriu'd. Ioh. Oh where hath our Intelligence bin drunke?Where hath it slept? Where is my Mothers care?That such an Army could be drawne in France,And she not heare of it? Mes. My Liege, her eareIs stopt with dust: the first of Aprill di'deYour noble mother; and as I heare, my Lord,The Lady Constance in a frenzie di'deThree dayes before: but this from Rumors tongueI idely heard: if true, or false I know not. Iohn. With-hold thy speed, dreadfull Occasion:O make a league with me, 'till I haue pleas'dMy discontented Peeres. What? Mother dead?How wildely then walkes my Estate in France?Vnder whose conduct came those powres of France,That thou for truth giu'st out are landed heere? Mes. Vnder the Dolphin. Enter Bastard and Peter of Pomfret. Ioh. Thou hast made me giddyWith these ill tydings: Now? What sayes the worldTo your proceedings? Do not seeke to stuffeMy head with more ill newes: for it is full. Bast. But if you be a-feard to heare the worst,Then let the worst vn-heard, fall on your head. Iohn. Beare with me Cosen, for I was amaz'dVnder the tide; but now I breath againeAloft the flood, and can giue audienceTo any tongue, speake it of what it will. Bast. How I haue sped among the Clergy men,The summes I haue collected shall expresse:But as I trauail'd hither through the land,I finde the people strangely fantasied,Possest with rumors, full of idle dreames,Not knowing what they feare, but full of feare.And here's a Prophet that I brought with meFrom forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I foundWith many hundreds treading on his heeles:To whom he sung in rude harsh sounding rimes,That ere the next Ascension day at noone,Your Highnes should deliuer vp your Crowne. Iohn. Thou idle Dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? Pet. Fore-knowing that the truth will fall out so. Iohn. Hubert, away with him: imprison him,And on that day at noone, whereon he sayesI shall yeeld vp my Crowne, let him be hang'dDeliuer him to safety, and returne,For I must vse thee. O my gentle Cosen,Hear'st thou the newes abroad, who are arriu'd? Bast. The French (my Lord) mens mouths are ful of it:Besides I met Lord Bigot, and Lord Salisburie With eyes as red as new enkindled fire,And others more, going to seeke the graueOf Arthur, whom they say is kill'd to night, on your suggestion. Iohn. Gentle kinsman, goAnd thrust thy selfe into their Companies, I haue a way to winne their loues againe:Bring them before me. Bast. I will seeke them out. Iohn. Nay, but make haste: the better foote before.O, let me haue no subiect enemies,When aduerse Forreyners affright my TownesWith dreadfull pompe of stout inuasion.Be Mercurie, set feathers to thy heeles,And flye (like thought) from them, to me againe. Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. Exit Iohn. Spoke like a sprightfull Noble Gentleman.Go after him: for he perhaps shall needeSome Messenger betwixt me, and the Peeres,And be thou hee. Mes. With all my heart, my Liege. Iohn. My mother dead? Enter Hubert. Hub. My Lord, they say fiue Moones were seene to night:Foure fixed, and the fift did whirle aboutThe other foure, in wondrous motion. Ioh. Fiue Moones? Hub. Old men, and Beldames, in the streetsDo prophesie vpon it dangerously:Yong Arthurs death is common in their mouths,And when they talke of him, they shake their heads,And whisper one another in the eare.And he that speakes, doth gripe the hearers wrist,Whilst he that heares, makes fearefull actionWith wrinkled browes, with nods, with rolling eyes.I saw a Smith stand with his hammer (thus)The whilst his Iron did on the Anuile coole,With open mouth swallowing a Taylors newes,Who with his Sheeres, and Measure in his hand,Standing on slippers, which his nimble hasteHad falsely thrust vpon contrary feete,Told of a many thousand warlike French,That were embattailed, and rank'd in Kent.Another leane, vnwash'd Artificer,Cuts off his tale, and talkes of Arthurs death. Io. Why seek'st thou to possesse me with these feares?Why vrgest thou so oft yong Arthurs death?Thy hand hath murdred him: I had a mighty causeTo wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. H. No had (my Lord?) why, did you not prouoke me? Iohn. It is the curse of Kings, to be attendedBy slaues, that take their humors for a warrant,To breake within the bloody house of life,And on the winking of AuthoritieTo vnderstand a Law; to know the meaningOf dangerous Maiesty, when perchance it frownesMore vpon humor, then aduis'd respect. Hub. Heere is your hand and Seale for what I did. Ioh. Oh, when the last accompt twixt heauen & earthIs to be made, then shall this hand and SealeWitnesse against vs to damnation.How oft the sight of meanes to do ill deeds,Make deeds ill done? Had'st not thou beene by,A fellow by the hand of Nature mark'd,Quoted, and sign'd to do a deede of shame,This murther had not come into my minde.But taking note of thy abhorr'd Aspect,Finding thee fit for bloody villanie:Apt, liable to be employ'd in danger,I faintly broke with thee of Arthurs death:And thou, to be endeered to a King,Made it no conscience to destroy a Prince. Hub. My Lord. Ioh. Had'st thou but shooke thy head, or made a pauseWhen I spake darkely, what I purposed:Or turn'd an eye of doubt vpon my face;As bid me tell my tale in expresse words:Deepe shame had struck me dumbe, made me break off,And those thy feares, might haue wrought feares in me.But, thou didst vnderstand me by my signes,And didst in signes againe parley with sinne,Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent,And consequently, thy rude hand to acteThe deed, which both our tongues held vilde to name.Out of my sight, and neuer see me more:My Nobles leaue me, and my State is braued,Euen at my gates, with rankes of forraigne powres;Nay, in the body of this fleshly Land,This kingdome, this Confine of blood, and breatheHostilitie, and ciuill tumult reignesBetweene my conscience, and my Cosins death. Hub. Arme you against your other enemies:Ile make a peace betweene your soule, and you.Yong Arthur is aliue: This hand of mineIs yet a maiden, and an innocent hand.Not painted with the Crimson spots of blood,Within this bosome, neuer entred yetThe dreadfull motion of a murderous thought,And you haue slander'd Nature in my forme,Which howsoeuer rude exteriorly,Is yet the couer of a fayrer minde,Then to be butcher of an innocent childe. Iohn. Doth Arthur liue? O hast thee to the Peeres,Throw this report on their incensed rage,And make them tame to their obedience.Forgiue the Comment that my passion madeVpon thy feature, for my rage was blinde,And foule immaginarie eyes of bloodPresented thee more hideous then thou art.Oh, answer not; but to my Closset bringThe angry Lords, with all expedient hast,I coniure thee but slowly: run more fast. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Arthur on the walles. Ar. The Wall is high, and yet will I leape downe.Good ground be pittifull, and hurt me not:There's few or none do know me, if they did,This Ship-boyes semblance hath disguis'd me quite.I am afraide, and yet Ile venture it.If I get downe, and do not breake my limbes,Ile finde a thousand shifts to get away;As good to dye, and go; as dye, and stay.Oh me, my Vnckles spirit is in these stones,Heauen take my soule, and England keep my bones. Dies Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, & Bigot. Sal. Lords, I will meet him at S[aint]. Edmondsbury, It is our safetie, and we must embraceThis gentle offer of the perillous time. Pem. Who brought that Letter from the Cardinall? Sal. The Count Meloone, a Noble Lord of France,Whose priuate with me of the Dolphines loue,Is much more generall, then these lines import. Big. To morrow morning let vs meete him then. Sal. Or rather then set forward, for 'twill beTwo long dayes iourney (Lords) or ere we meete. Enter Bastard. Bast. Once more to day well met, distemper'd Lords,The King by me requests your presence straight. Sal. The king hath dispossest himselfe of vs,We will not lyne his thin-bestained cloakeWith our pure Honors: nor attend the footeThat leaues the print of blood where ere it walkes.Returne, and tell him so: we know the worst. Bast. What ere you thinke, good words I thinkewere best. Sal. Our greefes, and not our manners reason now. Bast. But there is little reason in your greefe.Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his priuiledge. Bast. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no mans else. Sal. This is the prison: What is he lyes heere? P. Oh death, made proud with pure & princely beuty,The earth had not a hole to hide this deede. Sal. Murther, as hating what himselfe hath done,Doth lay it open to vrge on reuenge. Big. Or when he doom'd this Beautie to a graue,Found it too precious Princely, for a graue. Sal. Sir Richard, what thinke you? you haue beheld,Or haue you read, or heard, or could you thinke?Or do you almost thinke, although you see,That you do see? Could thought, without this obiectForme such another? This is the very top,The heighth, the Crest: or Crest vnto the CrestOf murthers Armes: This is the bloodiest shame,The wildest Sauagery, the vildest strokeThat euer wall-ey'd wrath, or staring ragePresented to the teares of soft remorse. Pem. All murthers past, do stand excus'd in this:And this so sole, and so vnmatcheable,Shall giue a holinesse, a puritie,To the yet vnbegotten sinne of times;And proue a deadly blood-shed, but a iest,Exampled by this heynous spectacle. Bast. It is a damned, and a bloody worke,The gracelesse action of a heauy hand,If that it be the worke of any hand. Sal. If that it be the worke of any hand?We had a kinde of light, what would ensue:It is the shamefull worke of Huberts hand,The practice, and the purpose of the king:From whose obedience I forbid my soule,Kneeling before this ruine of sweete life,And breathing to his breathlesse ExcellenceThe Incense of a Vow, a holy Vow:Neuer to taste the pleasures of the world,Neuer to be infected with delight,Nor conuersant with Ease, and Idlenesse,Till I haue set a glory to this hand,By giuing it the worship of Reuenge. Pem. Big. Our soules religiously confirme thy words. Enter Hubert. Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste, in seeking you, Arthur doth liue, the king hath sent for you. Sal. Oh he is bold, and blushes not at death,Auant thou hatefull villain, get thee gone. Hu. I am no villaine. Sal. Must I rob the Law? Bast. Your sword is bright sir, put it vp againe. Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murtherers skin. Hub. Stand backe Lord Salsbury, stand backe I sayBy heauen, I thinke my sword's as sharpe as yours.I would not haue you (Lord) forget your selfe,Nor tempt the danger of my true defence;Least I, by marking of your rage, forgetYour Worth, your Greatnesse, and Nobility. Big. Out dunghill: dar'st thou braue a Nobleman? Hub. Not for my life: But yet I dare defendMy innocent life against an Emperor. Sal. Thou art a Murtherer. Hub. Do not proue me so:Yet I am none. Whose tongue so ere speakes false,Not truely speakes: who speakes not truly, Lies. Pem. Cut him to peeces. Bast. Keepe the peace, I say. Sal. Stand by, or I shall gaul you Faulconbridge. Bast. Thou wer't better gaul the diuell Salsbury.If thou but frowne on me, or stirre thy foote,Or teach thy hastie spleene to do me shame,Ile strike thee dead. Put vp thy sword betime,Or Ile so maule you, and your tosting-Iron,That you shall thinke the diuell is come from hell. Big. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?Second a Villaine, and a Murtherer? Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. Big. Who kill'd this Prince? Hub. 'Tis not an houre since I left him well:I honour'd him, I lou'd him, and will weepeMy date of life out, for his sweete liues losse. Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,For villanie is not without such rheume,And he, long traded in it, makes it seemeLike Riuers of remorse and innocencie.Away with me, all you whose soules abhorreTh' vncleanly sauours of a Slaughter-house,For I am stifled with this smell of sinne. Big. Away, toward Burie, to the Dolphin there. P. There tel the king, he may inquire vs out. Ex. Lords. Ba. Here's a good world: knew you of this faire work?Beyond the infinite and boundlesse reach of mercie,(If thou didst this deed of death) art thou damn'd Hubert. Hub. Do but heare me sir. Bast. Ha? Ile tell thee what.Thou'rt damn'd as blacke, nay nothing is so blacke,Thou art more deepe damn'd then Prince Lucifer:There is not yet so vgly a fiend of hell As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this childe. Hub. Vpon my soule. Bast. If thou didst but consentTo this most cruell Act: do but dispaire,And if thou want'st a Cord, the smallest thredThat euer Spider twisted from her wombeWill serue to strangle thee: A rush will be a beameTo hang thee on. Or wouldst thou drowne thy selfe,Put but a little water in a spoone,And it shall be as all the Ocean,Enough to stifle such a villaine vp.I do suspect thee very greeuously. Hub. If I in act, consent, or sinne of thought,Be guiltie of the stealing that sweete breathWhich was embounded in this beauteous clay,Let hell want paines enough to torture me:I left him well. Bast. Go, beare him in thine armes:I am amaz'd me thinkes, and loose my wayAmong the thornes, and dangers of this world. How easie dost thou take all England vp,From forth this morcell of dead Royaltie?The life, the right, and truth of all this RealmeIs fled to heauen: and England now is leftTo tug and scamble, and to part by th' teethThe vn-owed interest of proud swelling State:Now for the bare-pickt bone of Maiesty,Doth dogged warre bristle his angry crest,And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace:Now Powers from home, and discontents at homeMeet in one line: and vast confusion waitesAs doth a Rauen on a sicke-falne beast,The iminent decay of wrested pompe.Now happy he, whose cloake and center canHold out this tempest. Beare away that childe,And follow me with speed: Ile to the King:A thousand businesses are briefe in hand,And heauen it selfe doth frowne vpon the Land. Exit.
Actus Quartus, Scaena prima. Enter King Iohn and Pandolph, attendants. K.Iohn. Thus haue I yeelded vp into your handThe Circle of my glory. Pan. Take againeFrom this my hand, as holding of the PopeYour Soueraigne greatnesse and authoritie. Iohn. Now keep your holy word, go meet the French, And from his holinesse vse all your powerTo stop their marches 'fore we are enflam'd:Our discontented Counties doe reuolt:Our people quarrell with obedience,Swearing Allegiance, and the loue of souleTo stranger-bloud, to forren Royalty;This inundation of mistempred humor,Rests by you onely to be qualified.Then pause not: for the present time's so sicke,That present medcine must be ministred,Or ouerthrow incureable ensues. Pand. It was my breath that blew this Tempest vp,Vpon your stubborne vsage of the Pope:But since you are a gentle conuertite,My tongue shall hush againe this storme of warre,And make faire weather in your blustring land:On this Ascention day, remember well,Vpon your oath of seruice to the Pope,Goe I to make the French lay downe their Armes. Exit. Iohn. Is this Ascension day? did not the ProphetSay, that before Ascension day at noone,My Crowne I should giue off? euen so I haue:I did suppose it should be on constraint,But (heau'n be thank'd) it is but voluntary. Enter Bastard. Bast. All Kent hath yeelded: nothing there holds outBut Douer Castle: London hath receiu'dLike a kinde Host, the Dolphin and his powers.Your Nobles will not heare you, but are goneTo offer seruice to your enemy:And wilde amazement hurries vp and downeThe little number of your doubtfull friends. Iohn. Would not my Lords returne to me againeAfter they heard yong Arthur was aliue? Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the streets,An empty Casket, where the Iewell of lifeBy some damn'd hand was rob'd, and tane away. Iohn. That villaine Hubert told me he did liue. Bast. So on my soule he did, for ought he knew:But wherefore doe you droope? why looke you sad?Be great in act, as you haue beene in thought:Let not the world see feare and sad distrustGouerne the motion of a kinglye eye:Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire,Threaten the threatner, and out-face the browOf bragging horror: So shall inferior eyesThat borrow their behauiours from the great,Grow great by your example, and put onThe dauntlesse spirit of resolution.Away, and glister like the god of warreWhen he intendeth to become the field:Shew boldnesse and aspiring confidence:What, shall they seeke the Lion in his denne,And fright him there? and make him tremble there?Oh let it not be said: forrage, and runneTo meet displeasure farther from the dores,And grapple with him ere he come so nye. Iohn. The Legat of the Pope hath beene with mee,And I haue made a happy peace with him,And he hath promis'd to dismisse the PowersLed by the Dolphin. Bast. Oh inglorious league:Shall we vpon the footing of our land,Send fayre-play-orders, and make comprimise,Insinuation, parley, and base truceTo Armes Inuasiue? Shall a beardlesse boy,A cockred-silken wanton braue our fields,And flesh his spirit in a warre-like soyle,Mocking the ayre with colours idlely spred,And finde no checke? Let vs my Liege to Armes:Perchance the Cardinall cannot make your peace;Or if he doe, let it at least be saidThey saw we had a purpose of defence. Iohn. Haue thou the ordering of this present time. Bast. Away then with good courage: yet I knowOur Partie may well meet a prowder foe. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter (in Armes) Dolphin, Salisbury, Meloone, Pem-broke, Bigot, Souldiers. Dol. My Lord Melloone, let this be coppied out,And keepe it safe for our remembrance:Returne the president to these Lords againe,That hauing our faire order written downe,Both they and we, perusing ore these notesMay know wherefore we tooke the Sacrament,And keepe our faithes firme and inuiolable. Sal. Vpon our sides it neuer shall be broken.And Noble Dolphin, albeit we sweareA voluntary zeale, and an vn-urg'd FaithTo your proceedings: yet beleeue me Prince,I am not glad that such a sore of TimeShould seeke a plaster by contemn'd reuolt,And heale the inueterate Canker of one wound, By making many: Oh it grieues my soule,That I must draw this mettle from my sideTo be a widdow-maker: oh, and thereWhere honourable rescue, and defenceCries out vpon the name of Salisbury. But such is the infection of the time,That for the health and Physicke of our right,We cannot deale but with the very handOf sterne Iniustice, and confused wrong:And is't not pitty, (oh my grieued friends)That we, the sonnes and children of this Isle,Was borne to see so sad an houre as this,Wherein we step after a stranger, marchVpon her gentle bosom, and fill vpHer Enemies rankes? I must withdraw, and weepeVpon the spot of this inforced cause,To grace the Gentry of a Land remote,And follow vnacquainted colours heere:What heere? O Nation that thou couldst remoue,That Neptunes Armes who clippeth thee about,Would beare thee from the knowledge of thy selfe,And cripple thee vnto a Pagan shore,Where these two Christian Armies might combineThe bloud of malice, in a vaine of league,And not to spend it so vn-neighbourly. Dolph. A noble temper dost thou shew in this,And great affections wrastling in thy bosomeDoth make an earth-quake of Nobility:Oh, what a noble combat hast foughtBetween compulsion, and a braue respect:Let me wipe off this honourable dewe,That siluerly doth progresse on thy cheekes:My heart hath melted at a Ladies teares,Being an ordinary Inundation:But this effusion of such manly drops,This showre, blowne vp by tempest of the soule,Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'dThen had I seene the vaultie top of heauenFigur'd quite ore with burning Meteors.Lift vp thy brow (renowned Salisburie)And with a great heart heaue away this storme:Commend these waters to those baby-eyesThat neuer saw the giant-world enrag'd,Nor met with Fortune, other then at feasts,Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossipping:Come, come; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deepeInto the purse of rich prosperityAs Lewis himselfe: so (Nobles) shall you all,That knit your sinewes to the strength of mine. Enter Pandulpho. And euen there, methinkes an Angell spake,Looke where the holy Legate comes apace,To giue vs warrant from the hand of heauen,And on our actions set the name of rightWith holy breath. Pand. Haile noble Prince of France: The next is this: King Iohn hath reconcil'dHimselfe to Rome, his spirit is come in,That so stood out against the holy Church,The great Metropolis and Sea of Rome:Therefore thy threatning Colours now winde vp,And tame the sauage spirit of wilde warre,That like a Lion fostered vp at hand,It may lie gently at the foot of peace,And be no further harmefull then in shewe. Dol. Your Grace shall pardon me, I will not backe:I am too high-borne to be proportiedTo be a secondary at controll,Or vsefull seruing-man, and InstrumentTo any Soueraigne State throughout the world.Your breath first kindled the dead coale of warres,Betweene this chastiz'd kingdome and my selfe,And brought in matter that should feed this fire;And now 'tis farre too huge to be blowne outWith that same weake winde, which enkindled it:You taught me how to know the face of right,Acquainted me with interest to this Land,Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart,And come ye now to tell me Iohn hath madeHis peace with Rome? what is that peace to me?I (by the honour of my marriage bed)After yong Arthur, claime this Land for mine,And now it is halfe conquer'd, must I backe,Because that Iohn hath made his peace with Rome?Am I Romes slaue? What penny hath Rome borne?What men prouided? What munition sentTo vnder-prop this Action? Is't not IThat vnder-goe this charge? Who else but I,And such as to my claime are liable,Sweat in this businesse, and maintaine this warre?Haue I not heard these Islanders shout out Viue le Roy, as I haue bank'd their Townes?Haue I not heere the best Cards for the gameTo winne this easie match, plaid for a Crowne?And shall I now giue ore the yeelded Set?No, no, on my soule it neuer shall be said. Pand. You looke but on the out-side of this worke. Dol. Out-side or in-side, I will not returneTill my attempt so much be glorified,As to my ample hope was promised,Before I drew this gallant head of warre,And cull'd these fiery spirits from the worldTo out-looke Conquest, and to winne renowneEuen in the iawes of danger, and of death:What lusty Trumpet thus doth summon vs? Enter Bastard. Bast. According to the faire-play of the world,Let me haue audience: I am sent to speake:My holy Lord of Millane, from the KingI come to learne how you haue dealt for him:And, as you answer, I doe know the scopeAnd warrant limited vnto my tongue. Pand. The Dolphin is too wilfull oppositeAnd will not temporize with my intreaties:He flatly saies, hee'll not lay downe his Armes. Bast. By all the bloud that euer fury breath'd,The youth saies well. Now heare our English King,For thus his Royaltie doth speake in me:He is prepar'd, and reason to he should,This apish and vnmannerly approach,This harness'd Maske, and vnaduised Reuell,This vn-heard sawcinesse and boyish Troopes,The King doth smile at, and is well prepar'dTo whip this dwarfish warre, this Pigmy ArmesFrom out the circle of his Territories.That hand which had the strength, euen at your dore,To cudgell you, and make you take the hatch,To diue like Buckets in concealed Welles,To crowch in litter of your stable plankes,To lye like pawnes, lock'd vp in chests and truncks,To hug with swine, to seeke sweet safety outIn vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake, Euen at the crying of your Nations crow,Thinking this voyce an armed Englishman.Shall that victorious hand be feebled heere,That in your Chambers gaue you chasticement?No: know the gallant Monarch is in Armes,And like an Eagle, o're his ayerie towres,To sowsse annoyance that comes neere his Nest;And you degenerate, you ingrate Reuolts,You bloudy Nero's, ripping vp the wombeOf your deere Mother-England: blush for shame:For your owne Ladies, and pale-visag'd Maides,Like Amazons, come tripping after drummes:Their thimbles into armed Gantlets change,Their Needl's to Lances, and their gentle heartsTo fierce and bloody inclination. Dol. There end thy braue, and turn thy face in peace,We grant thou canst out-scold vs: Far thee well,We hold our time too precious to be spentwith such a brabler. Pan. Giue me leaue to speake. Bast. No, I will speake. Dol. We will attend to neyther:Strike vp the drummes, and let the tongue of warrePleade for our interest, and our being heere. Bast. Indeede your drums being beaten, wil cry out;And so shall you, being beaten: Do but startAn eccho with the clamor of thy drumme,And euen at hand, a drumme is readie brac'd,That shall reuerberate all, as lowd as thine.Sound but another, and another shall(As lowd as thine) rattle the Welkins eare,And mocke the deepe mouth'd Thunder: for at hand(Not trusting to this halting Legate heere,Whom he hath vs'd rather for sport, then neede)Is warlike Iohn: and in his fore-head sitsA bare-rib'd death, whose office is this dayTo feast vpon whole thousands of the French. Dol. Strike vp our drummes, to finde this danger out. Bast. And thou shalt finde it (Dolphin) do not doubt Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Alarums. Enter Iohn and Hubert. Iohn. How goes the day with vs? oh tell me Hubert. Hub. Badly I feare; how fares your Maiesty? Iohn. This Feauer that hath troubled me so long,Lyes heauie on me: oh, my heart is sicke. Enter a Messenger. Mes. My Lord: your valiant kinsman Falconbridge, Desires your Maiestie to leaue the field,And send him word by me, which way you go. Iohn. Tell him toward Swinsted, to the Abbey there. Mes. Be of good comfort: for the great supplyThat was expected by the Dolphin heere,Are wrack'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands.This newes was brought to Richard but euen now,The French fight coldly, and retyre themselues. Iohn. Aye me, this tyrant Feauer burnes mee vp,And will not let me welcome this good newes.Set on toward Swinsted: to my Litter straight,Weaknesse possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, and Bigot. Sal. I did not thinke the King so stor'd with friends. Pem. Vp once againe: put spirit in the French,If they miscarry: we miscarry too. Sal. That misbegotten diuell Falconbridge, In spight of spight, alone vpholds the day. Pem. They say King Iohn sore sick, hath left the field. Enter Meloon wounded. Mel. Lead me to the Reuolts of England heere. Sal. When we were happie, we had other names. Pem. It is the Count Meloone. Sal. Wounded to death. Mel. Fly Noble English, you are bought and sold,Vnthred the rude eye of Rebellion,And welcome home againe discarded faith,Seeke out King Iohn, and fall before his feete:For if the French be Lords of this loud day,He meanes to recompence the paines you take,By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworne,And I with him, and many moe with mee,Vpon the Altar at S[aint]. Edmondsbury, Euen on that Altar, where we swore to youDeere Amity, and euerlasting loue. Sal. May this be possible? May this be true? Mel. Haue I not hideous death within my view,Retaining but a quantity of life,Which bleeds away, euen as a forme of waxeResolueth from his figure 'gainst the fire?What in the world should make me now deceiue,Since I must loose the vse of all deceite?Why should I then be false, since it is trueThat I must dye heere, and liue hence, by Truth?I say againe, if Lewis do win the day,He is forsworne, if ere those eyes of yoursBehold another day breake in the East:But euen this night, whose blacke contagious breathAlready smoakes about the burning CrestOf the old, feeble, and day-wearied Sunne,Euen this ill night, your breathing shall expire,Paying the fine of rated Treachery,Euen with a treacherous fine of all your liues:If Lewis, by your assistance win the day.Commend me to one Hubert, with your King;The loue of him, and this respect besides(For that my Grandsire was an Englishman)Awakes my Conscience to confesse all this.In lieu whereof, I pray you beare me henceFrom forth the noise and rumour of the Field;Where I may thinke the remnant of my thoughtsIn peace: and part this bodie and my souleWith contemplation, and deuout desires. Sal. We do beleeue thee, and beshrew my soule,But I do loue the fauour, and the formeOf this most faire occasion, by the whichWe will vntread the steps of damned flight,And like a bated and retired Flood,Leauing our ranknesse and irregular course,Stoope lowe within those bounds we haue ore-look'd,And calmely run on in obedienceEuen to our Ocean, to our great King Iohn. My arme shall giue thee helpe to beare thee hence, For I do see the cruell pangs of deathRight in thine eye. Away, my friends, new flight,And happie newnesse, that intends old right. Exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Dolphin, and his Traine. Dol. The Sun of heauen (me thought) was loth to set;But staid, and made the Westerne Welkin blush,When English measure backward their owne groundIn faint Retire: Oh brauely came we off,When with a volley of our needlesse shot,After such bloody toile, we bid good night,And woon'd our tott'ring colours clearly vp,Last in the field, and almost Lords of it. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Where is my Prince, the Dolphin? Dol. Heere: what newes? Mes. The Count Meloone is slaine: The English LordsBy his perswasion, are againe falne off,And your supply, which you haue wish'd so long,Are cast away, and sunke on Goodwin sands. Dol. Ah fowle, shrew'd newes. Beshrew thy very hart:I did not thinke to be so sad to nightAs this hath made me. Who was he that saidKing Iohn did flie an houre or two beforeThe stumbling night did part our wearie powres? Mes. Who euer spoke it, it is true my Lord. Dol. Well: keepe good quarter, & good care to night,The day shall not be vp so soone as I,To try the faire aduenture of to morrow. Exeunt
Scena Sexta. Enter Bastard and Hubert, seuerally. Hub. Whose there? Speake hoa, speake quickely, orI shoote. Bast. A Friend. What art thou? Hub. Of the part of England. Bast. Whether doest thou go? Hub. What's that to thee?Why may not I demand of thine affaires,As well as thou of mine? Bast. Hubert, I thinke. Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought:I will vpon all hazards well beleeueThou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well:Who art thou? Bast. Who thou wilt: and if thou pleaseThou maist be-friend me so much, as to thinkeI come one way of the Plantagenets. Hub. Vnkinde remembrance: thou, & endles night,Haue done me shame: Braue Soldier, pardon me,That any accent breaking from thy tongue,Should scape the true acquaintance of mine eare. Bast. Come, come: sans complement, What newesabroad? Hub. Why heere walke I in the black brow of nightTo finde you out. Bast. Breefe then: and what's the newes? Hub. O my sweet sir, newes fitting to the night,Blacke, fearefull, comfortlesse, and horrible. Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill newes,I am no woman, Ile not swound at it. Hub. The King I feare is poyson'd by a Monke,I left him almost speechlesse, and broke outTo acquaint you with this euill, that you mightThe better arme you to the sodaine time,Then if you had at leisure knowne of this. Bast. How did he take it? Who did taste to him? Hub. A Monke I tell you, a resolued villaineWhose Bowels sodainly burst out: The KingYet speakes, and peraduenture may recouer. Bast. Who didst thou leaue to tend his Maiesty? Hub. Why know you not? The Lords are all comebacke,And brought Prince Henry in their companie,At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,And they are all about his Maiestie. Bast. With-hold thine indignation, mighty heauen,And tempt vs not to beare aboue our power.Ile tell thee Hubert, halfe my power this nightPassing these Flats, are taken by the Tide,These Lincolne-Washes haue deuoured them,My selfe, well mounted, hardly haue escap'd.Away before: Conduct me to the king,I doubt he will be dead, or ere I come. Exeunt
Scena Septima. Enter Prince Henry, Salisburie, and Bigot. Hen. It is too late, the life of all his bloodIs touch'd, corruptibly: and his pure braine(Which some suppose the soules fraile dwelling house)Doth by the idle Comments that it makes,Fore-tell the ending of mortality. Enter Pembroke. Pem. His Highnesse yet doth speak, & holds beleefe,That being brought into the open ayre,It would allay the burning qualitieOf that fell poison which assayleth him. Hen. Let him be brought into the Orchard heere:Doth he still rage? Pem. He is more patientThen when you left him; euen now he sung. Hen. Oh vanity of sicknesse: fierce extreamesIn their continuance, will not feele themselues.Death hauing praide vpon the outward partsLeaues them inuisible, and his seige is nowAgainst the winde, the which he prickes and woundsWith many legions of strange fantasies,Which in their throng, and presse to that last hold,Counfound themselues. 'Tis strange that death shold sing:I am the Symet to this pale faint Swan,Who chaunts a dolefull hymne to his owne death,And from the organ-pipe of frailety singsHis soule and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort (Prince) for you are borneTo set a forme vpon that indigestWhich he hath left so shapelesse, and so rude. Iohn brought in. Iohn. I marrie, now my soule hath elbow roome, It would not out at windowes, nor at doores,There is so hot a summer in my bosome,That all my bowels crumble vp to dust:I am a scribled forme drawne with a penVpon a Parchment, and against this fireDo I shrinke vp. Hen. How fares your Maiesty? Ioh. Poyson'd, ill fare: dead, forsooke, cast off,And none of you will bid the winter comeTo thrust his ycie fingers in my maw;Nor let my kingdomes Riuers take their courseThrough my burn'd bosome: nor intreat the NorthTo make his bleake windes kisse my parched lips,And comfort me with cold. I do not aske you much,I begge cold comfort: and you are so straightAnd so ingratefull, you deny me that. Hen. Oh that there were some vertue in my teares,That might releeue you. Iohn. The salt in them is hot.Within me is a hell, and there the poysonIs, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize,On vnrepreeuable condemned blood. Enter Bastard. Bast. Oh, I am scalded with my violent motionAnd spleene of speede, to see your Maiesty. Iohn. Oh Cozen, thou art come to set mine eye:The tackle of my heart, is crack'd and burnt,And all the shrowds wherewith my life should saile,Are turned to one thred, one little haire:My heart hath one poore string to stay it by,Which holds but till thy newes be vttered,And then all this thou seest, is but a clod,And module of confounded royalty. Bast. The Dolphin is preparing hither-ward,Where heauen he knowes how we shall answer him.For in a night the best part of my powre,As I vpon aduantage did remoue,Were in the Washes all vnwarily,Deuoured by the vnexpected flood. Sal. You breath these dead newes in as dead an eareMy Liege, my Lord: but now a King, now thus. Hen. Euen so must I run on, and euen so stop.What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,When this was now a King, and now is clay? Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behinde,To do the office for thee, of reuenge,And then my soule shall waite on thee to heauen,As it on earth hath bene thy seruant still.Now, now you Starres, that moue in your right spheres,Where be your powres? Shew now your mended faiths,And instantly returne with me againe.To push destruction, and perpetuall shameOut of the weake doore of our fainting Land:Straight let vs seeke, or straight we shall be sought,The Dolphine rages at our verie heeles. Sal. It seemes you know not then so much as we,The Cardinall Pandulph is within at rest,Who halfe an houre since came from the Dolphin,And brings from him such offers of our peace,As we with honor and respect may take,With purpose presently to leaue this warre. Bast. He will the rather do it, when he seesOur selues well sinew'd to our defence. Sal. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already,For many carriages hee hath dispatch'dTo the sea side, and put his cause and quarrellTo the disposing of the Cardinall,With whom your selfe, my selfe, and other Lords,If you thinke meete, this afternoone will poastTo consummate this businesse happily. Bast. Let it be so, and you my noble Prince,With other Princes that may best be spar'd,Shall waite vpon your Fathers Funerall. Hen. At Worster must his bodie be interr'd,For so he will'd it. Bast. Thither shall it then,And happily may your sweet selfe put onThe lineall state, and glorie of the Land,To whom with all submission on my knee,I do bequeath my faithfull seruicesAnd true subiection euerlastingly. Sal. And the like tender of our loue wee makeTo rest without a spot for euermore. Hen. I haue a kinde soule, that would giue thankes,And knowes not how to do it, but with teares. Bast. Oh let vs pay the time: but needfull woe,Since it hath beene before hand with our greefes.This England neuer did, nor neuer shallLye at the proud foote of a Conqueror,But when it first did helpe to wound it selfe.Now, these her Princes are come home againe,Come the three corners of the world in Armes,And we shall shocke them: Naught shall make vs rue,If England to it selfe, do rest but true. Exeunt.
The life and death of King Richard the Second.
Actus Primus, Scaena Prima. Enter King Richard, Iohn of Gaunt, with other Noblesand Attendants. King Richard. Old Iohn of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster,Hast thou according to thy oath and bandBrought hither Henry Herford thy bold son:Heere to make good that boistrous late appeale,Which then our leysure would not let vs heare,Against the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I haue my Liege. King. Tell me moreouer, hast thou sounded him,If he appeale the Duke on ancient malice,Or worthily as a good subiect shouldOn some knowne ground of treacherie in him. Gaunt. As neere as I could sift him on that argument,On some apparant danger seene in him,Aym'd at your Highnesse, no inueterate malice. Kin. Then call them to our presence face to face,And frowning brow to brow, our selues will heareTh' accuser, and the accused, freely speake;High stomack'd are they both, and full of ire,In rage, deafe as the sea; hastie as fire. Enter Bullingbrooke and Mowbray. Bul. Many yeares of happy dayes befallMy gracious Soueraigne, my most louing Liege. Mow. Each day still better others happinesse,Vntill the heauens enuying earths good hap,Adde an immortall title to your Crowne. King. We thanke you both, yet one but flatters vs,As well appeareth by the cause you come,Namely, to appeale each other of high treason.Coosin of Hereford, what dost thou obiectAgainst the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray? Bul. First, heauen be the record to my speech,In the deuotion of a subiects loue,Tendering the precious safetie of my Prince,And free from other misbegotten hate,Come I appealant to this Princely presence.Now Thomas Mowbray do I turne to thee,And marke my greeting well: for what I speake,My body shall make good vpon this earth,Or my diuine soule answer it in heauen.Thou art a Traitor, and a Miscreant;Too good to be so, and too bad to liue,Since the more faire and christall is the skie,The vglier seeme the cloudes that in it flye:Once more, the more to aggrauate the note,With a foule Traitors name stuffe I thy throte,And wish (so please my Soueraigne) ere I moue,What my tong speaks, my right drawn sword may proue Mow. Let not my cold words heere accuse my zeale:'Tis not the triall of a Womans warre,The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,Can arbitrate this cause betwixt vs twaine:The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,As to be husht, and nought at all to say.First the faire reuerence of your Highnesse curbes mee,From giuing reines and spurres to my free speech,Which else would post, vntill it had return'dThese tearmes of treason, doubly downe his throat.Setting aside his high bloods royalty,And let him be no Kinsman to my Liege,I do defie him, and I spit at him,Call him a slanderous Coward, and a Villaine:Which to maintaine, I would allow him oddes,And meete him, were I tide to runne afoote,Euen to the frozen ridges of the Alpes,Or any other ground inhabitable,Where euer Englishman durst set his foote.Meane time, let this defend my loyaltie,By all my hopes most falsely doth he lie. Bul. Pale trembling Coward, there I throw my gage,Disclaiming heere the kindred of a King,And lay aside my high bloods Royalty,Which feare, not reuerence makes thee to except.If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,As to take vp mine Honors pawne, then stoope.By that, and all the rites of Knight-hood else,Will I make good against thee arme to arme,What I haue spoken, or thou canst deuise. Mow. I take it vp, and by that sword I sweare,Which gently laid my Knight-hood on my shoulder,Ile answer thee in any faire degree,Or Chiualrous designe of knightly triall:And when I mount, aliue may I not light,If I be Traitor, or vniustly fight. King. What doth our Cosin lay to Mowbraies charge?It must be great that can inherite vs,So much as of a thought of ill in him. Bul. Looke what I said, my life shall proue it true,That Mowbray hath receiu'd eight thousand Nobles, In name of lendings for your Highnesse Soldiers,The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,Like a false Traitor, and iniurious Villaine.Besides I say, and will in battaile proue,Or heere, or elsewhere to the furthest VergeThat euer was suruey'd by English eye,That all the Treasons for these eighteene yeeresComplotted, and contriued in this Land,Fetch'd from false Mowbray their first head and spring.Further I say, and further will maintaineVpon his bad life, to make all this good.That he did plot the Duke of Glousters death,Suggest his soone beleeuing aduersaries,And consequently, like a Traitor Coward,Sluc'd out his innocent soule through streames of blood:Which blood, like sacrificing Abels cries,(Euen from the toonglesse cauernes of the earth)To me for iustice, and rough chasticement:And by the glorious worth of my discent,This arme shall do it, or this life be spent. King. How high a pitch his resolution soares: Thomas of Norfolke, what sayest thou to this? Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face,And bid his eares a little while be deafe,Till I haue told this slander of his blood,How God, and good men, hate so foule a lyar. King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares,Were he my brother, nay our kingdomes heyre,As he is but my fathers brothers sonne;Now by my Scepters awe, I make a vow,Such neighbour-neerenesse to our sacred blood,Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partializeThe vn-stooping firmenesse of my vpright soule.He is our subiect (Mowbray) so art thou,Free speech, and fearelesse, I to thee allow. Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart,Through the false passage of thy throat; thou lyest:Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice,Disburst I to his Highnesse souldiers;The other part reseru'd I by consent,For that my Soueraigne Liege was in my debt,Vpon remainder of a deere Accompt,Since last I went to France to fetch his Queene:Now swallow downe that Lye. For Glousters death,I slew him not; but (to mine owne disgrace)Neglected my sworne duty in that case:For you my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable Father to my foe,Once I did lay an ambush for your life,A trespasse that doth vex my greeued soule:But ere I last receiu'd the Sacrament,I did confesse it, and exactly begg'dYour Graces pardon, and I hope I had it.This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd,It issues from the rancour of a Villaine,A recreant, and most degenerate Traitor,Which in my selfe I boldly will defend,And interchangeably hurle downe my gageVpon this ouer-weening Traitors foote,To proue my selfe a loyall Gentleman,Euen in the best blood chamber'd in his bosome.In hast whereof, most heartily I prayYour Highnesse to assigne our Triall day. King. Wrath-kindled Gentlemen be rul'd by me:Let's purge this choller without letting blood:This we prescribe, though no Physition,Deepe malice makes too deepe incision.Forget, forgiue, conclude, and be agreed,Our Doctors say, This is no time to bleed.Good Vnckle, let this end where it begun,Wee'l calme the Duke of Norfolke; you, your son. Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become my age,Throw downe (my sonne) the Duke of Norfolkes gage. King. And Norfolke, throw downe his. Gaunt. When Harrie when? Obedience bids,Obedience bids I should not bid agen. King. Norfolke, throw downe, we bidde; there isno boote. Mow. My selfe I throw (dread Soueraigne) at thy foot.My life thou shalt command, but not my shame,The one my dutie owes, but my faire nameDespight of death, that liues vpon my graueTo darke dishonours vse, thou shalt not haue.I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffel'd heere,Pierc'd to the soule with slanders venom'd speare:The which no balme can cure, but his heart bloodWhich breath'd this poyson. King. Rage must be withstood:Giue me his gage: Lyons make Leopards tame. Mo. Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame,And I resigne my gage. My deere, deere Lord,The purest treasure mortall times affordIs spotlesse reputation: that away,Men are but gilded loame, or painted clay.A Iewell in a ten times barr'd vp Chest,Is a bold spirit, in a loyall brest.Mine Honor is my life; both grow in one:Take Honor from me, and my life is done.Then (deere my Liege) mine Honor let me trie,In that I liue; and for that will I die. King. Coosin, throw downe your gage,Do you begin. Bul. Oh heauen defend my soule from such foule sin.Shall I seeme Crest-falne in my fathers sight,Or with pale beggar-feare impeach my hightBefore this out-dar'd dastard? Ere my toong,Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong;Or sound so base a parle: my teeth shall teareThe slauish motiue of recanting feare,And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,Where shame doth harbour, euen in Mowbrayes face. Exit Gaunt. King. We were not borne to sue, but to command,Which since we cannot do to make you friends,Be readie, (as your liues shall answer it)At Couentree, vpon S[aint]. Lamberts day:There shall your swords and Lances arbitrateThe swelling difference of your setled hate:Since we cannot attone you, you shall seeIustice designe the Victors Chiualrie.Lord Marshall, command our Officers at Armes,Be readie to direct these home Alarmes. Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Gaunt, and Dutchesse of Gloucester. Gaunt. Alas, the part I had in Glousters blood,Doth more solicite me then your exclaimes,To stirre against the Butchers of his life. But since correction lyeth in those handsWhich made the fault that we cannot correct,Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen,Who when they see the houres ripe on earth,Will raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads. Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire? Edwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)Were as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,Or seuen faire branches springing from one roote:Some of those seuen are dride by natures course,Some of those branches by the destinies cut:But Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,One Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,One flourishing branch of his most Royall rooteIs crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;Is hackt downe, and his summer leafes all vadedBy Enuies hand, and Murders bloody Axe.Ah Gaunt! His blood was thine, that bed, that wombe,That mettle, that selfe-mould that fashion'd thee,Made him a man: and though thou liu'st, and breath'st,Yet art thou slaine in him: thou dost consentIn some large measure to thy Fathers death,In that thou seest thy wretched brother dye,Who was the modell of thy Fathers life.Call it not patience (Gaunt) it is dispaire,In suffring thus thy brother to be slaughter'd,Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life,Teaching sterne murther how to butcher thee:That which in meane men we intitle patienceIs pale cold cowardice in noble brests:What shall I say, to safegard thine owne life,The best way is to venge my Glousters death. Gaunt. Heauens is the quarrell: for heauens substituteHis Deputy annointed in his sight,Hath caus'd his death, the which if wrongfullyLet heauen reuenge: for I may neuer liftAn angry arme against his Minister. Dut. Where then (alas may I) complaint my selfe? Gau. To heauen, the widdowes Champion to defence Dut. Why then I will: farewell old Gaunt. Thou go'st to Couentrie, there to beholdOur Cosine Herford, and fell Mowbray fight:O sit my husbands wrongs on Herfords speare,That it may enter butcher Mowbrayes brest:Or if misfortune misse the first carreere,Be Mowbrayes sinnes so heauy in his bosome,That they may breake his foaming Coursers backe,And throw the Rider headlong in the Lists,A Caytiffe recreant to my Cosine Herford:Farewell old Gaunt, thy sometimes brothers wifeWith her companion Greefe, must end her life. Gau. Sister farewell: I must to Couentree,As much good stay with thee, as go with mee. Dut. Yet one word more: Greefe boundeth where it falls,Not with the emptie hollownes, but weight:I take my leaue, before I haue begun,For sorrow ends not, when it seemeth done.Commend me to my brother Edmund Yorke. Loe, this is all: nay, yet depart not so,Though this be all, do not so quickly go,I shall remember more. Bid him, Oh, what?With all good speed at Plashie visit mee.Alacke, and what shall good old Yorke there seeBut empty lodgings, and vnfurnish'd walles,Vn-peopel'd Offices, vntroden stones?And what heare there for welcome, but my grones?Therefore commend me, let him not come there,To seeke out sorrow, that dwels euery where:Desolate, desolate will I hence, and dye,The last leaue of thee, takes my weeping eye. Exeunt
Scena Tertia. Enter Marshall, and Aumerle. Mar. My L[ord]. Aumerle, is Harry Herford arm'd. Aum. Yea, at all points, and longs to enter in. Mar. The Duke of Norfolke, sprightfully and bold,Stayes but the summons of the Appealants Trumpet. Au. Why then the Champions, are prepar'd, and stayFor nothing but his Maiesties approach. Flourish. Enter King, Gaunt, Bushy, Bagot, Greene, &others: Then Mowbray in Ar-mor, and Harrold. Rich. Marshall, demand of yonder ChampionThe cause of his arriuall heere in Armes,Aske him his name, and orderly proceedTo sweare him in the iustice of his cause. Mar. In Gods name, and the Kings say who thou art,And why thou com'st thus knightly clad in Armes?Against what man thou com'st, and what's thy quarrell,Speake truly on thy knighthood, and thine oath,As so defend thee heauen, and thy valour. Mow. My name is Tho[mas]. Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk,Who hither comes engaged by my oath(Which heauen defend a knight should violate)Both to defend my loyalty and truth,To God, my King, and his succeeding issue,Against the Duke of Herford, that appeales me:And by the grace of God, and this mine arme,To proue him (in defending of my selfe)A Traitor to my God, my King, and me,And as I truly fight, defend me heauen. Tucket. Enter Hereford, and Harold. Rich. Marshall: Aske yonder Knight in Armes,Both who he is, and why he commeth hither,Thus placed in habiliments of warre:And formerly according to our LawDepose him in the iustice of his cause. Mar. What is thy name? and wherfore comst thou hitherBefore King Richard in his Royall Lists?Against whom com'st thou? and what's thy quarrell?Speake like a true Knight, so defend thee heauen. Bul. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie,Am I: who ready heere do stand in Armes,To proue by heauens grace, and my bodies valour,In Lists, on Thomas Mowbray Duke of Norfolke,That he's a Traitor foule, and dangerous,To God of heauen, King Richard, and to me,And as I truly fight, defend me heauen. Mar. On paine of death, no person be so bold,Or daring hardie as to touch the Listes,Except the Marshall, and such OfficersAppointed to direct these faire designes. Bul. Lord Marshall, let me kisse my Soueraigns hand,And bow my knee before his Maiestie:For Mowbray and my selfe are like two men,That vow a long and weary pilgrimage, Then let vs take a ceremonious leaueAnd louing farwell of our seuerall friends. Mar. The Appealant in all duty greets your Highnes,And craues to kisse your hand, and take his leaue. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our armes.Cosin of Herford, as thy cause is iust,So be thy fortune in this Royall fight:Farewell, my blood, which if to day thou shead,Lament we may, but not reuenge thee dead. Bull. Oh let no noble eye prophane a teareFor me, if I be gor'd with Mowbrayes speare:As confident, as is the Falcons flightAgainst a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.My louing Lord, I take my leaue of you,Of you (my Noble Cosin) Lord Aumerle; Not sicke, although I haue to do with death,But lustie, yong, and cheerely drawing breath.Loe, as at English Feasts, so I regreeteThe daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.Oh thou the earthy author of my blood,Whose youthfull spirit in me regenerate,Doth with a two-fold rigor lift mee vpTo reach at victory aboue my head,Adde proofe vnto mine Armour with thy prayres,And with thy blessings steele my Lances point,That it may enter Mowbrayes waxen Coate,And furnish new the name of Iohn a Gaunt, Euen in the lusty hauiour of his sonne. Gaunt. Heauen in thy good cause make thee prosp'rousBe swift like lightning in the execution,And let thy blowes doubly redoubled,Fall like amazing thunder on the CaskeOf thy amaz'd pernicious enemy.Rouze vp thy youthfull blood, be valiant, and liue. Bul. Mine innocence, and S[aint]. George to thriue. Mow. How euer heauen or fortune cast my lot,There liues, or dies, true to Kings Richards Throne,A loyall, iust, and vpright Gentleman:Neuer did Captiue with a freer heart,Cast off his chaines of bondage, and embraceHis golden vncontroul'd enfranchisement,More then my dancing soule doth celebrateThis Feast of Battell, with mine Aduersarie.Most mighty Liege, and my companion Peeres,Take from my mouth, the wish of happy yeares,As gentle, and as iocond, as to iest,Go I to fight: Truth, hath a quiet brest. Rich. Farewell, my Lord, securely I espyVertue with Valour, couched in thine eye:Order the triall Marshall, and begin. Mar. Harrie of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby, Receiue thy Launce, and heauen defend thy right. Bul. Strong as a towre in hope, I cry Amen. Mar. Go beare this Lance to Thomas D[uke]. of Norfolke. 1.Har. Harry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derbie, Stands heere for God, his Soueraigne, and himselfe,On paine to be found false, and recreant,To proue the Duke of Norfolke, Thomas Mowbray, A Traitor to his God, his King, and him,And dares him to set forwards to the fight. 2.Har. Here standeth Tho[mas]: Mowbray Duke of NorfolkOn paine to be found false and recreant,Both to defend himselfe, and to approue Henry of Herford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his Soueraigne, and to him disloyall:Couragiously, and with a free desireAttending but the signall to begin. A charge sounded Mar. Sound Trumpets, and set forward Combatants:Stay, the King hath throwne his Warder downe. Rich. Let them lay by their Helmets & their Speares,And both returne backe to their Chaires againe:Withdraw with vs, and let the Trumpets sound,While we returne these Dukes what we decree. A long Flourish. Draw neere and listWhat with our Councell we haue done.For that our kingdomes earth should not be soyldWith that deere blood which it hath fostered,And for our eyes do hate the dire aspectOf ciuill wounds plowgh'd vp with neighbors swords,Which so rouz'd vp with boystrous vntun'd drummes,With harsh resounding Trumpets dreadfull bray,And grating shocke of wrathfull yron Armes,Might from our quiet Confines fright faire peace,And make vs wade euen in our kindreds blood:Therefore, we banish you our Territories.You Cosin Herford, vpon paine of death,Till twice fiue Summers haue enrich'd our fields,Shall not regreet our faire dominions,But treade the stranger pathes of banishment. Bul. Your will be done: This must my comfort be,That Sun that warmes you heere, shall shine on me:And those his golden beames to you heere lent,Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. Rich. Norfolke: for thee remaines a heauier dombe,Which I with some vnwillingnesse pronounce,The slye slow houres shall not determinateThe datelesse limit of thy deere exile:The hopelesse word, of Neuer to returne,Breath I against thee, vpon paine of life. Mow. A heauy sentence, my most Soueraigne Liege,And all vnlook'd for from your Highnesse mouth:A deerer merit, not so deepe a maime,As to be cast forth in the common ayreHaue I deserued at your Highnesse hands.The Language I haue learn'd these forty yeares(My natiue English) now I must forgo,And now my tongues vse is to me no more,Then an vnstringed Vyall, or a Harpe,Or like a cunning Instrument cas'd vp,Or being open, put into his handsThat knowes no touch to tune the harmony.Within my mouth you haue engaol'd my tongue,Doubly percullist with my teeth and lippes,And dull, vnfeeling, barren ignorance,Is made my Gaoler to attend on me:I am too old to fawne vpon a Nurse,Too farre in yeeres to be a pupill now:What is thy sentence then, but speechlesse death,Which robs my tongue from breathing natiue breath? Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate,After our sentence, plaining comes too late. Mow. Then thus I turne me from my countries lightTo dwell in solemne shades of endlesse night. Ric. Returne againe, and take an oath with thee,Lay on our Royall sword, your banisht hands;Sweare by the duty that you owe to heauen(Our part therein we banish with your selues)To keepe the Oath that we administer:You neuer shall (so helpe you Truth, and Heauen)Embrace each others loue in banishment,Nor euer looke vpon each others face, Nor euer write, regreete, or reconcileThis lowring tempest of your home-bred hate,Nor euer by aduised purpose meete,To plot, contriue, or complot any ill,'Gainst Vs, our State, our Subiects, or our Land. Bull. I sweare. Mow. And I, to keepe all this. Bul. Norfolke, so fare, as to mine enemie,By this time (had the King permitted vs)One of our soules had wandred in the ayre,Banish'd this fraile sepulchre of our flesh,As now our flesh is banish'd from this Land.Confesse thy Treasons, ere thou flye this Realme,Since thou hast farre to go, beare not alongThe clogging burthen of a guilty soule. Mow. No Bullingbroke: If euer I were Traitor,My name be blotted from the booke of Life,And I from heauen banish'd, as from hence:But what thou art, heauen, thou, and I do know,And all too soone (I feare) the King shall rue.Farewell (my Liege) now no way can I stray,Saue backe to England, all the worlds my way. Exit. Rich. Vncle, euen in the glasses of thine eyesI see thy greeued heart: thy sad aspect,Hath from the number of his banish'd yearesPluck'd foure away: Six frozen Winters spent,Returne with welcome home, from banishment. Bul. How long a time lyes in one little word:Foure lagging Winters, and foure wanton springsEnd in a word, such is the breath of Kings. Gaunt. I thanke my Liege, that in regard of meHe shortens foure yeares of my sonnes exile:But little vantage shall I reape thereby.For ere the sixe yeares that he hath to spendCan change their Moones, and bring their times about,My oyle-dride Lampe, and time-bewasted lightShall be extinct with age, and endlesse night:My inch of Taper, will be burnt, and done,And blindfold death, not let me see my sonne. Rich. Why Vncle, thou hast many yeeres to liue. Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canst giue;Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow,And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow:Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age,But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:Thy word is currant with him, for my death,But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath. Ric. Thy sonne is banish'd vpon good aduice,Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gaue,Why at our Iustice seem'st thou then to lowre? Gau. Things sweet to tast, proue in digestion sowre:You vrg'd me as a Iudge, but I had ratherYou would haue bid me argue like a Father.Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,I was too strict to make mine owne away:But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tong,Against my will, to do my selfe this wrong. Rich. Cosine farewell: and Vncle bid him so:Six yeares we banish him, and he shall go. Exit. Flourish. Au. Cosine farewell: what presence must not knowFrom where you do remaine, let paper show. Mar. My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will rideAs farre as land will let me, by your side. Gaunt. Oh to what purpose dost thou hord thy words,That thou returnst no greeting to thy friends? Bull. I haue too few to take my leaue of you,When the tongues office should be prodigall,To breath th' abundant dolour of the heart. Gau. Thy greefe is but thy absence for a time. Bull. Ioy absent, greefe is present for that time. Gau. What is sixe Winters, they are quickely gone? Bul. To men in ioy, but greefe makes one houre ten. Gau. Call it a trauell that thou tak'st for pleasure. Bul. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so,Which findes it an inforced Pilgrimage. Gau. The sullen passage of thy weary steppesEsteeme a soyle, wherein thou art to setThe precious Iewell of thy home returne. Bul. Oh who can hold a fire in his handBy thinking on the frostie Caucasus?Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,By bare imagination of a Feast?Or Wallow naked in December snowBy thinking on fantasticke summers heate?Oh no, the apprehension of the goodGiues but the greater feeling to the worse:Fell sorrowes tooth, doth euer ranckle moreThen when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. Gau. Come, come (my son) Ile bring thee on thy wayHad I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay. Bul. Then Englands ground farewell: sweet soil adieu,My Mother, and my Nurse, which beares me yet:Where ere I wander, boast of this I can,Though banish'd, yet a true-borne Englishman.
Scoena Quarta. Enter King, Aumerle, Greene, and Bagot. Rich. We did obserue. Cosine Aumerle, How far brought you high Herford on his way? Aum. I brought high Herford (if you call him so)But to the next high way, and there I left him. Rich. And say, what store of parting tears were shed? Aum. Faith none for me: except the Northeast windWhich then grew bitterly against our face,Awak'd the sleepie rhewme, and so by chanceDid grace our hollow parting with a teare. Rich. What said our Cosin when you parted with him? Au. Farewell: and for my hart disdained that my tongueShould so prophane the word, that taught me craftTo counterfeit oppression of such greefe,That word seem'd buried in my sorrowes graue.Marry, would the word Farwell, haue lengthen'd houres,And added yeeres to his short banishment,He should haue had a volume of Farwels,But since it would not, he had none of me. Rich. He is our Cosin (Cosin) but 'tis doubt,When time shall call him home from banishment,Whether our kinsman come to see his friends,Our selfe, and Bushy: heere Bagot and Greene Obseru'd his Courtship to the common people:How he did seeme to diue into their hearts,With humble, and familiar courtesie,What reuerence he did throw away on slaues;Wooing poore Craftes-men, with the craft of soules,And patient vnder-bearing of his Fortune,As 'twere to banish their affects with him.Off goes his bonnet to an Oyster-wench, A brace of Dray-men bid God speed him well,And had the tribute of his supple knee,With thankes my Countrimen, my louing friends,As were our England in reuersion his,And he our subiects next degree in hope. Gr. Well, he is gone, & with him go these thoughts:Now for the Rebels, which stand out in Ireland,Expedient manage must be made my LiegeEre further leysure, yeeld them further meanesFor their aduantage, and your Highnesse losse. Ric. We will our selfe in person to this warre,And for our Coffers, with too great a Court,And liberall Largesse, are growne somewhat light,We are inforc'd to farme our royall Realme,The Reuennew whereof shall furnish vsFor our affayres in hand: if that come shortOur Substitutes at home shall haue Blanke-charters:Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich,They shall subscribe them for large summes of Gold,And send them after to supply our wants:For we will make for Ireland presently. Enter Bushy. Bushy, what newes? Bu. Old Iohn of Gaunt is verie sicke my Lord,Sodainly taken, and hath sent post hasteTo entreat your Maiesty to visit him. Ric. Where lyes he? Bu. At Ely house. Ric. Now put it (heauen) in his Physitians minde,To helpe him to his graue immediately:The lining of his coffers shall make CoatesTo decke our souldiers for these Irish warres.Come Gentlemen, let's all go visit him:Pray heauen we may make hast, and come too late. Exit.
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Gaunt, sicke with Yorke. Gau. Will the King come, that I may breath my lastIn wholsome counsell to his vnstaid youth? Yor. Vex not your selfe, nor striue not with your breth,For all in vaine comes counsell to his eare. Gau. Oh but (they say) the tongues of dying menInforce attention like deepe harmony;Where words are scarse, they are seldome spent in vaine,For they breath truth, that breath their words in paine.He that no more must say, is listen'd more,Then they whom youth and ease haue taught to glose,More are mens ends markt, then their liues before,The setting Sun, and Musicke in the closeAs the last taste of sweetes, is sweetest last,Writ in remembrance, more then things long past;Though Richard my liues counsell would not heare,My deaths sad tale, may yet vndeafe his eare. Yor. No, it is stopt with other flatt'ring soundsAs praises of his state: then there are foundLasciuious Meeters, to whose venom soundThe open eare of youth doth alwayes listen.Report of fashions in proud Italy,Whose manners still our tardie apish NationLimpes after in base imitation.Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,So it be new, there's no respect how vile,That is not quickly buz'd into his eares?That all too late comes counsell to be heard,Where will doth mutiny with wits regard:Direct not him, whose way himselfe will choose,Tis breath thou lackst, and that breath wilt thou loose. Gaunt. Me thinkes I am a Prophet new inspir'd,And thus expiring, do foretell of him,His rash fierce blaze of Ryot cannot last,For violent fires soone burne out themselues,Small showres last long, but sodaine stormes are short,He tyres betimes, that spurs too fast betimes;With eager feeding, food doth choake the feeder:Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,Consuming meanes soone preyes vpon it selfe.This royall Throne of Kings, this sceptred Isle,This earth of Maiesty, this seate of Mars,This other Eden, demy paradise,This Fortresse built by Nature for her selfe,Against infection, and the hand of warre:This happy breed of men, this little world,This precious stone, set in the siluer sea,Which serues it in the office of a wall,Or as a Moate defensiue to a house,Against the enuy of lesse happier Lands,This blessed plot, this earth, this Realme, this England,This Nurse, this teeming wombe of Royall Kings,Fear'd by their breed, and famous for their birth,Renowned for their deeds, as farre from home,For Christian seruice, and true Chiualrie,As is the sepulcher in stubborne Iury Of the Worlds ransome, blessed Maries Sonne.This Land of such deere soules, this deere-deere Land,Deere for her reputation through the world,Is now Leas'd out (I dye pronouncing it)Like to a Tenement or pelting Farme.England bound in with the triumphant sea,Whose rocky shore beates backe the enuious siedgeOf watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,With Inky blottes, and rotten Parchment bonds.That England, that was wont to conquer others,Hath made a shamefull conquest of it selfe.Ah! would the scandall vanish with my life,How happy then were my ensuing death? Enter King, Queene, Aumerle, Bushy, Greene,Bagot, Ros, and Willoughby. Yor. The King is come, deale mildly with his youth,For young hot Colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. Qu. How fares our noble Vncle Lancaster? Ri. What comfort man? How ist with aged Gaunt? Ga. Oh how that name befits my composition:Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old:Within me greefe hath kept a tedious fast,And who abstaynes from meate, that is not gaunt?For sleeping England long time haue I watcht,Watching breeds leannesse, leannesse is all gaunt.The pleasure that some Fathers feede vpon,Is my strict fast, I meane my Childrens lookes,And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt:Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue,Whose hollow wombe inherits naught but bones. Ric. Can sicke men play so nicely with their names? Gau. No, misery makes sport to mocke it selfe:Since thou dost seeke to kill my name in mee, I mocke my name (great King) to flatter thee. Ric. Should dying men flatter those that liue? Gau. No, no, men liuing flatter those that dye. Rich. Thou now a dying, sayst thou flatter'st me. Gau. Oh no, thou dyest, though I the sicker be. Rich. I am in health, I breath, I see thee ill. Gau. Now he that made me, knowes I see thee ill: Ill in my selfe to see, and in thee, seeing ill,Thy death-bed is no lesser then the Land,Wherein thou lyest in reputation sicke,And thou too care-lesse patient as thou art,Commit'st thy 'anointed body to the cureOf those Physitians, that first wounded thee.A thousand flatterers sit within thy Crowne,Whose compasse is no bigger then thy head,And yet incaged in so small a Verge,The waste is no whit lesser then thy Land:Oh had thy Grandsire with a Prophets eye,Seene how his sonnes sonne, should destroy his sonnes,From forth thy reach he would haue laid thy shame,Deposing thee before thou wert possest,Which art possest now to depose thy selfe.Why (Cosine) were thou Regent of the world,It were a shame to let his Land by lease:But for thy world enioying but this Land,Is it not more then shame, to shame it so?Landlord of England art thou, and not King:Thy state of Law, is bondslaue to the law,And—— Rich. And thou, a lunaticke leane-witted foole,Presuming on an Agues priuiledge,Dar'st with thy frozen admonitionMake pale our cheeke, chasing the Royall bloodWith fury, from his natiue residence?Now by my Seates right Royall Maiestie,Wer't thou not Brother to great Edwards sonne,This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head,Should run thy head from thy vnreuerent shoulders. Gau. Oh spare me not, my brothers Edwards sonne,For that I was his Father Edwards sonne:That blood already (like the Pellican)Thou hast tapt out, and drunkenly carows'd.My brother Gloucester, plaine well meaning soule(Whom faire befall in heauen 'mongst happy soules)May be a president, and witnesse good,That thou respect'st not spilling Edwards blood:Ioyne with the present sicknesse that I haue,And thy vnkindnesse be like crooked age,To crop at once a too-long wither'd flowre.Liue in thy shame, but dye not shame with thee,These words heereafter, thy tormentors bee.Conuey me to my bed, then to my graue,Loue they to liue, that loue and honor haue. Exit Rich. And let them dye, that age and sullens haue,For both hast thou, and both become the graue. Yor. I do beseech your Maiestie impute his wordsTo wayward sicklinesse, and age in him:He loues you on my life, and holds you deereAs Harry Duke of Herford, were he heere. Rich. Right, you say true: as Herfords loue, so his;As theirs, so mine: and all be as it is. Enter Northumberland. Nor. My Liege, olde Gaunt commends him to yourMaiestie. Rich. What sayes he? Nor. Nay nothing, all is said:His tongue is now a stringlesse instrument,Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. Yor. Be Yorke the next, that must be bankrupt so,Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo. Rich. The ripest fruit first fals, and so doth he,His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be:So much for that. Now for our Irish warres,We must supplant those rough rug-headed Kernes,Which liue like venom, where no venom elseBut onely they, haue priuiledge to liue.And for these great affayres do aske some chargeTowards our assistance, we do seize to vsThe plate, coine, reuennewes, and moueables,Whereof our Vncle Gaunt did stand possest. Yor. How long shall I be patient? Oh how longShall tender dutie make me suffer wrong?Not Glousters death, nor Herfords banishment,Nor Gauntes rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs,Nor the preuention of poore Bullingbrooke, About his marriage, nor my owne disgraceHaue euer made me sowre my patient cheeke,Or bend one wrinckle on my Soueraignes face:I am the last of noble Edwards sonnes,Of whom thy Father Prince of Wales was first,In warre was neuer Lyon rag'd more fierce:In peace, was neuer gentle Lambe more milde,Then was that yong and Princely Gentleman,His face thou hast, for euen so look'd heAccomplish'd with the number of thy howers:But when he frown'd, it was against the French,And not against his friends: his noble handDid win what he did spend: and spent not thatWhich his triumphant fathers hand had won:His hands were guilty of no kindreds blood,But bloody with the enemies of his kinne:Oh Richard, Yorke is too farre gone with greefe,Or else he neuer would compare betweene. Rich. Why Vncle,What's the matter? Yor. Oh my Liege, pardon me if you please, if notI pleas'd not to be pardon'd, am content with all:Seeke you to seize, and gripe into your handsThe Royalties and Rights of banish'd Herford?Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford liue?Was not Gaunt iust? and is not Harry true?Did not the one deserue to haue an heyre?Is not his heyre a well-deseruing sonne?Take Herfords rights away, and take from timeHis Charters, and his customarie rights:Let not to morrow then insue to day,Be not thy selfe. For how art thou a KingBut by faire sequence and succession?Now afore God, God forbid I say true,If you do wrongfully seize Herfords right,Call in his Letters Patents that he hathBy his Atturneyes generall, to sueHis Liuerie, and denie his offer'd homage,You plucke a thousand dangers on your head,You loose a thousand well-disposed hearts,And pricke my tender patience to those thoughtsWhich honor and allegeance cannot thinke. Ric. Thinke what you will: we seise into our hands,His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. Yor. Ile not be by the while: My Liege farewell, What will ensue heereof, there's none can tell.But by bad courses may be vnderstood,That their euents can neuer fall out good. Exit. Rich. Go Bushie to the Earle of Wiltshire streight,Bid him repaire to vs to Ely house,To see this businesse: to morrow nextWe will for Ireland, and 'tis time, I trow:And we create in absence of our selfeOur Vncle Yorke, Lord Gouernor of England:For he is iust, and alwayes lou'd vs well.Come on our Queene, to morrow must we part,Be merry, for our time of stay is short. Flourish. Manet North. Willoughby, & Ross. Nor. Well Lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. Ross. And liuing too, for now his sonne is Duke. Wil. Barely in title, not in reuennew. Nor. Richly in both, if iustice had her right. Ross. My heart is great: but it must break with silence,Er't be disburthen'd with a liberall tongue. Nor. Nay speake thy mind: & let him ne'r speak moreThat speakes thy words againe to do thee harme. Wil. Tends that thou'dst speake to th' Du[ke]. of Hereford,If it be so, out with it boldly man,Quicke is mine eare to heare of good towards him. Ross. No good at all that I can do for him,Vnlesse you call it good to pitie him,Bereft and gelded of his patrimonie. Nor. Now afore heauen, 'tis shame such wrongs areborne.In him a royall Prince, and many moeOf noble blood in this declining Land;The King is not himselfe, but basely ledBy Flatterers, and what they will informeMeerely in hate 'gainst any of vs all,That will the King seuerely prosecute'Gainst vs, our liues, our children, and our heires. Ros. The Commons hath he pil'd with greeuous taxesAnd quite lost their hearts: the Nobles hath he findeFor ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. Wil. And daily new exactions are deuis'd,As blankes, beneuolences, and I wot not what:But what o' Gods name doth become of this? Nor. Wars hath not wasted it, for war'd he hath not.But basely yeelded vpon comprimize,That which his Ancestors atchieu'd with blowes:More hath he spent in peace, then they in warres. Ros. The Earle of Wiltshire hath the realme in Farme. Wil. The Kings growne bankrupt like a broken man. Nor. Reproach, and dissolution hangeth ouer him. Ros. He hath not monie for these Irish warres:(His burthenous taxations notwithstanding)But by the robbing of the banish'd Duke. Nor. His noble Kinsman, most degenerate King:But Lords, we heare this fearefull tempest sing,Yet seeke no shelter to auoid the storme:We see the winde sit sore vpon our sailes,And yet we strike not, but securely perish. Ros. We see the very wracke that we must suffer,And vnauoyded is the danger nowFor suffering so the causes of our wracke. Nor. Not so: euen through the hollow eyes of death,I spie life peering: but I dare not sayHow neere the tidings of our comfort is. Wil. Nay let vs share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours Ros. Be confident to speake Northumberland,We three, are but thy selfe, and speaking so,Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold. Nor. Then thus: I haue from Port le Blan A Bay in Britaine, receiu'd intelligence,That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainald Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother Archbishop, late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir Iohn Rainston, Sir Iohn Norberie, & Sir Robert Waterton, & Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Britaine, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of warreAre making hither with all due expedience,And shortly meane to touch our Northerne shore:Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stayThe first departing of the King for Ireland.If then we shall shake off our slauish yoake,Impe out our drooping Countries broken wing,Redeeme from broaking pawne the blemish'd Crowne,Wipe off the dust that hides our Scepters gilt,And make high Maiestie looke like it selfe,Away with me in poste to Rauenspurgh, But if you faint, as fearing to do so,Stay, and be secret, and my selfe will go. Ros. To horse, to horse, vrge doubts to them that feare. Wil. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Queene, Bushy, and Bagot. Bush. Madam, your Maiesty is too much sad,You promis'd when you parted with the King,To lay aside selfe-harming heauinesse,And entertaine a cheerefull disposition. Qu. To please the King, I did: to please my selfeI cannot do it: yet I know no causeWhy I should welcome such a guest as greefe,Saue bidding farewell to so sweet a guestAs my sweet Richard; yet againe me thinkes,Some vnborne sorrow, ripe in fortunes wombeIs comming towards me, and my inward souleWith nothing trembles, at something it greeues,More then with parting from my Lord the King. Bush. Each substance of a greefe hath twenty shadowsWhich shewes like greefe it selfe, but is not so:For sorrowes eye, glazed with blinding teares,Diuides one thing intire, to many obiects,Like perspectiues, which rightly gaz'd vponShew nothing but confusion, ey'd awry,Distinguish forme: so your sweet MaiestieLooking awry vpon your Lords departure,Finde shapes of greefe, more then himselfe to waile,Which look'd on as it is, is naught but shadowesOf what it is not: then thrice-gracious Queene,More then your Lords departure weep not, more's not seene;Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrowes eie,Which for things true, weepe things imaginary. Qu. It may be so: but yet my inward soulePerswades me it is otherwise: how ere it be,I cannot but be sad: so heauy sad,As though on thinking on no thought I thinke,Makes me with heauy nothing faint and shrinke. Bush. 'Tis nothing but conceit (my gracious Lady.) Qu. 'Tis nothing lesse: conceit is still deriu'dFrom some fore-father greefe, mine is not so,For nothing hath begot my something greefe,Or something, hath the nothing that I greeue,'Tis in reuersion that I do possesse,But what it is, that is not yet knowne, whatI cannot name, 'tis namelesse woe I wot. Enter Greene. Gree. Heauen saue your Maiesty, and wel met Gentlemen:I hope the King is not yet shipt for Ireland. Qu. Why hop'st thou so? Tis better hope he is:For his designes craue hast, his hast good hope,Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipt? Gre. That he our hope, might haue retyr'd his power,and driuen into dispaire an enemies hope,Who strongly hath set footing in this Land.The banish'd Bullingbrooke repeales himselfe,And with vp-lifted Armes is safe arriu'dAt Rauenspurg. Qu. Now God in heauen forbid. Gr. O Madam 'tis too true: and that is worse,The L[ord]. Northumberland, his yong sonne Henrie Percie, The Lords of Rosse, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powrefull friends are fled to him. Bush. Why haue you not proclaim'd NorthumberlandAnd the rest of the reuolted faction, Traitors? Gre. We haue: whereupon the Earle of WorcesterHath broke his staffe, resign'd his Stewardship,And al the houshold seruants fled with him to Bullinbrook Qu. So Greene, thou art the midwife of my woe,And Bullinbrooke my sorrowes dismall heyre:Now hath my soule brought forth her prodegie,And I a gasping new deliuered mother,Haue woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow ioyn'd. Bush. Dispaire not Madam. Qu. Who shall hinder me?I will dispaire, and be at enmitieWith couzening hope; he is a Flatterer,A Parasite, a keeper backe of death,Who gently would dissolue the bands of life,Which false hopes linger in extremity. Enter Yorke. Gre. Heere comes the Duke of Yorke. Qu. With signes of warre about his aged necke,Oh full of carefull businesse are his lookes:Vncle, for heauens sake speake comfortable words: Yor. Comfort's in heauen, and we are on the earth,Where nothing liues but crosses, care and greefe:Your husband he is gone to saue farre off,Whilst others come to make him loose at home:Heere am I left to vnder-prop his Land,Who weake with age, cannot support my selfe:Now comes the sicke houre that his surfet made,Now shall he try his friends that flattered him. Enter a seruant. Ser. My Lord, your sonne was gone before I came. Yor. He was: why so: go all which way it will:The Nobles they are fled, the Commons they are cold,And will I feare reuolt on Herfords side.Sirra, get thee to Plashie to my sister Gloster,Bid her send me presently a thousand pound,Hold, take my Ring. Ser. My Lord, I had forgotTo tell your Lordship, to day I came by, and call'd there,But I shall greeue you to report the rest. Yor. What is't knaue? Ser. An houre before I came, the Dutchesse di'de. Yor. Heau'n for his mercy, what a tide of woesCome rushing on this wofull Land at once?I know not what to do: I would to heauen(So my vntruth had not prouok'd him to it)The King had cut off my head with my brothers.What, are there postes dispatcht for Ireland?How shall we do for money for these warres?Come sister (Cozen I would say) pray pardon me.Go fellow, get thee home, prouide some Carts,And bring away the Armour that is there.Gentlemen, will you muster men?If I know how, or which way to order these affairesThus disorderly thrust into my hands,Neuer beleeue me. Both are my kinsmen,Th' one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oathAnd dutie bids defend: th' other againeIs my kinsman, whom the King hath wrong'd,Whom conscience, and my kindred bids to right:Well, somewhat we must do: Come Cozen,Ile dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster vp your men,And meet me presently at Barkley Castle:I should to Plashy too: but time will not permit,All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at six and seuen. Exit Bush. The winde sits faire for newes to go to Ireland,But none returnes: For vs to leuy powerProportionable to th' enemy, is all impossible. Gr. Besides our neerenesse to the King in loue,Is neere the hate of those loue not the King. Ba. And that's the wauering Commons, for their loueLies in their purses, and who so empties them,By so much fils their hearts with deadly hate. Bush. Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd Bag. If iudgement lye in them, then so do we,Because we haue beene euer neere the King. Gr. Well: I will for refuge straight to Bristoll Castle,The Earle of Wiltshire is alreadie there. Bush. Thither will I with you, for little officeWill the hatefull Commons performe for vs,Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces:Will you go along with vs? Bag. No, I will to Ireland to his Maiestie:Farewell, if hearts presages be not vaine,We three here part, that neu'r shall meete againe. Bu. That's as Yorke thriues to beate back Bullinbroke Gr. Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakesIs numbring sands, and drinking Oceans drie,Where one on his side fights, thousands will flye. Bush. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and euer.Well, we may meete againe. Bag. I feare me neuer. Exit.
Scaena Tertia. Enter the Duke of Hereford, and Northum-berland. Bul. How farre is it my Lord to Berkley now? Nor. Beleeue me noble Lord,I am a stranger heere in Gloustershire,These high wilde hilles, and rough vneeuen waies,Drawes out our miles, and makes them wearisome.And yet our faire discourse hath beene as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable:But I bethinke me, what a wearie wayFrom Rauenspurgh to Cottshold will be found,In Rosse and Willoughby, wanting your companie,Which I protest hath very much beguildThe tediousnesse, and processe of my trauell:But theirs is sweetned with the hope to haueThe present benefit that I possesse;And hope to ioy, is little lesse in ioy,Then hope enioy'd: By this, the wearie LordsShall make their way seeme short, as mine hath done,By sight of what I haue, your Noble Companie. Bull. Of much lesse value is my Companie,Then your good words: but who comes here? Enter H[arry]. Percie. North. It is my Sonne, young Harry Percie, Sent from my Brother Worcester: Whence soeuer. Harry, how fares your Vnckle? Percie. I had thought, my Lord, to haue learn'd hishealth of you. North. Why, is he not with the Queene? Percie. No, my good Lord, he hath forsook the Court,Broken his Staffe of Office, and disperstThe Household of the King. North. What was his reason?He was not so resolu'd, when we last spake together. Percie. Because your Lordship was proclaimed Traitor.But hee, my Lord, is gone to Rauenspurgh,To offer seruice to the Duke of Hereford,And sent me ouer by Barkely, to discouerWhat power the Duke of Yorke had leuied there,Then with direction to repaire to Rauenspurgh. North. Haue you forgot the Duke of Hereford (Boy.) Percie. No, my good Lord; for that is not forgotWhich ne're I did remember: to my knowledge,I neuer in my life did looke on him. North. Then learne to know him now: this is theDuke. Percie. My gracious Lord, I tender you my seruice,Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young,Which elder dayes shall ripen, and confirmeTo more approued seruice, and desert. Bull. I thanke thee gentle Percie, and be sureI count my selfe in nothing else so happy,As in a Soule remembring my good Friends:And as my Fortune ripens with thy Loue,It shall be still thy true Loues recompence,My Heart this Couenant makes, my Hand thus seales it. North. How farre is it to Barkely? and what stirreKeepes good old Yorke there, with his Men of Warre? Percie. There stands the Castle, by yond tuft of Trees,Mann'd with three hundred men, as I haue heard,And in it are the Lords of Yorke, Barkely, and Seymor, None else of Name, and noble estimate. Enter Rosse and Willoughby. North. Here come the Lords of Rosse and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fierie red with haste. Bull. Welcome my Lords, I wot your loue pursuesA banisht Traytor; all my TreasurieIs yet but vnfelt thankes, which more enrich'd,Shall be your loue, and labours recompence. Ross. Your presence makes vs rich, most Noble Lord. Willo. And farre surmounts our labour to attaine it. Bull. Euermore thankes, th' Exchequer of the poore,Which till my infant-fortune comes to yeeres,Stands for my Bountie: but who comes here? Enter Barkely. North. It is my Lord of Barkely, as I ghesse. Bark. My Lord of Hereford, my Message is to you. Bull. My Lord, my Answere is to Lancaster, And I am come to seeke that Name in England,And I must finde that Title in your Tongue,Before I make reply to aught you say. Bark. Mistake me not, my Lord, 'tis not my meaningTo raze one Title of your Honor out.To you, my Lord, I come (what Lord you will)From the most glorious of this Land,The Duke of Yorke, to know what pricks you onTo take aduantage of the absent time,And fright our Natiue Peace with selfe-borne Armes. Enter Yorke. Bull. I shall not need transport my words by you,Here comes his Grace in Person. My Noble Vnckle. York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee,Whose dutie is deceiuable, and false. Bull. My gracious Vnckle. York. Tut, tut, Grace me no Grace, nor Vnckle me,I am no Traytors Vnckle; and that word Grace,In an vngracious mouth, is but prophane.Why haue these banish'd, and forbidden Legges,Dar'd once to touch a Dust of Englands Ground?But more then why, why haue they dar'd to marchSo many miles vpon her peacefull Bosome,Frighting her pale-fac'd Villages with Warre,And ostentation of despised Armes?Com'st thou because th' anoynted King is hence?Why foolish Boy, the King is left behind,And in my loyall Bosome lyes his power.Were I but now the Lord of such hot youth,As when braue Gaunt, thy Father, and my selfeRescued the Black Prince, that yong Mars of men,From forth the Rankes of many thousand French:Oh then, how quickly should this Arme of mine,Now Prisoner to the Palsie, chastise thee,And minister correction to thy Fault. Bull. My gracious Vnckle, let me know my Fault,On what Condition stands it, and wherein? York. Euen in Condition of the worst degree,In grosse Rebellion, and detested Treason:Thou art a banish'd man, and here art comeBefore th' expiration of thy time,In brauing Armes against thy Soueraigne. Bull. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford, But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And Noble Vnckle, I beseech your GraceLooke on my Wrongs with an indifferent eye:You are my Father, for me thinkes in youI see old Gaunt aliue. Oh then my Father,Will you permit, that I shall stand condemn'dA wandring Vagabond; my Rights and RoyaltiesPluckt from my armes perforce, and giuen awayTo vpstart Vnthrifts? Wherefore was I borne?If that my Cousin King, be King of England,It must be graunted, I am Duke of Lancaster.You haue a Sonne, Aumerle, my Noble Kinsman,Had you first died, and he beene thus trod downe,He should haue found his Vnckle Gaunt a Father,To rowze his Wrongs, and chase them to the bay.I am denyde to sue my Liuerie here,And yet my Letters Patents giue me leaue:My Fathers goods are all distraynd, and sold,And these, and all, are all amisse imployd. What would you haue me doe? I am a Subiect,And challenge Law: Attorneyes are deny'd me;And therefore personally I lay my claimeTo my Inheritance of free Discent. North. The Noble Duke hath been too much abus'd. Ross. It stands your Grace vpon, to doe him right. Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. York. My Lords of England, let me tell you this,I haue had feeling of my Cosens Wrongs,And labour'd all I could to doe him right:But in this kind, to come in brauing Armes,Be his owne Caruer, and cut out his way,To find out Right with Wrongs, it may not be;And you that doe abett him in this kind,Cherish Rebellion, and are Rebels all. North. The Noble Duke hath sworne his comming isBut for his owne; and for the right of that,Wee all haue strongly sworne to giue him ayd,And let him neu'r see Ioy, that breakes that Oath. York. Well, well, I see the issue of these Armes,I cannot mend it, I must needes confesse,Because my power is weake, and all ill left:But if I could, by him that gaue me life,I would attach you all, and make you stoopeVnto the Soueraigne Mercy of the King.But since I cannot, be it knowne to you,I doe remaine as Neuter. So fare you well,Vnlesse you please to enter in the Castle,And there repose you for this Night. Bull. An offer Vnckle, that wee will accept:But wee must winne your Grace to goe with vsTo Bristow Castle, which they say is heldBy Bushie, Bagot, and their Complices,The Caterpillers of the Commonwealth,Which I haue sworne to weed, and plucke away. York. It may be I will go with you: but yet Ile pawse,For I am loth to breake our Countries Lawes:Nor Friends, nor Foes, to me welcome you are,Things past redresse, are now with me past care. Exeunt.
Scoena Quarta. Enter Salisbury, and a Captaine. Capt. My Lord of Salisbury, we haue stayd ten dayes,And hardly kept our Countreymen together,And yet we heare no tidings from the King;Therefore we will disperse our selues: farewell. Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trustie Welchman,The King reposeth all his confidence in thee. Capt. 'Tis thought the King is dead, we will not stay;The Bay-trees in our Countrey all are wither'd,And Meteors fright the fixed Starres of Heauen;The pale-fac'd Moone lookes bloody on the Earth,And leane-look'd Prophets whisper fearefull change;Rich men looke sad, and Ruffians dance and leape,The one in feare, to loose what they enioy,The other to enioy by Rage, and Warre:These signes fore-run the death of Kings.Farewell, our Countreymen are gone and fled,As well assur'd Richard their King is dead. Exit. Sal. Ah Richard, with eyes of heauie mind,I see thy Glory, like a shooting Starre,Fall to the base Earth, from the Firmament:Thy Sunne sets weeping in the lowly West,Witnessing Stormes to come, Woe, and Vnrest:Thy Friends are fled, to wait vpon thy Foes,And crossely to thy good, all fortune goes. Exit.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, Northumberland,Rosse, Percie, Willoughby, with Bushieand Greene Prisoners. Bull. Bring forth these men: Bushie and Greene, I will not vex your soules,(Since presently your soules must part your bodies)With too much vrging your pernitious liues,For 'twere no Charitie: yet to wash your bloodFrom off my hands, here in the view of men,I will vnfold some causes of your deaths.You haue mis-led a Prince, a Royall King,A happie Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments,By you vnhappied, and disfigur'd cleane:You haue in manner with your sinfull houresMade a Diuorce betwixt his Queene and him,Broke the possession of a Royall Bed,And stayn'd the beautie of a faire Queenes Cheekes,With teares drawn fro[m] her eyes, with your foule wrongs.My selfe a Prince, by fortune of my birth,Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue,Till you did make him mis-interprete me,Haue stoopt my neck vnder your iniuries,And sigh'd my English breath in forraine Clouds,Eating the bitter bread of banishment;While you haue fed vpon my Seignories,Dis-park'd my Parkes, and fell'd my Forrest Woods;From mine owne Windowes torne my Household Coat,Raz'd out my Impresse, leauing me no signe,Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood,To shew the World I am a Gentleman.This, and much more, much more then twice all this,Condemnes you to the death: see them deliuered ouerTo execution, and the hand of death. Bushie. More welcome is the stroake of death to me,Then Bullingbrooke to England. Greene. My comfort is, that Heauen will take our soules,And plague Iniustice with the paines of Hell. Bull. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd:Vnckle, you say the Queene is at your House,For Heauens sake fairely let her be entreated,Tell her I send to her my kind commends;Take speciall care my Greetings be deliuer'd. York. A Gentleman of mine I haue dispatch'dWith Letters of your loue, to her at large. Bull. Thankes gentle Vnckle: come Lords away,To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices; A while to worke, and after holliday. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Drums: Flourish, and Colours.Enter Richard, Aumerle, Carlile, and Souldiers. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call you this at hand? Au. Yea, my Lord: how brooks your Grace the ayre,After your late tossing on the breaking Seas? Rich. Needs must I like it well: I weepe for ioyTo stand vpon my Kingdome once againe.Deere Earth, I doe salute thee with my hand,Though Rebels wound thee with their Horses hoofes:As a long parted Mother with her Child,Playes fondly with her teares, and smiles in meeting;So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth,And doe thee fauor with my Royall hands.Feed not thy Soueraignes Foe, my gentle Earth,Nor with thy Sweetes, comfort his rauenous sence:But let thy Spiders, that suck vp thy Venome,And heauie-gated Toades lye in their way,Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete,Which with vsurping steps doe trample thee.Yeeld stinging Nettles to mine Enemies;And when they from thy Bosome pluck a Flower,Guard it I prethee with a lurking Adder,Whose double tongue may with a mortall touchThrow death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies.Mock not my sencelesse Coniuration, Lords;This Earth shall haue a feeling, and these StonesProue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue KingShall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes. Car. Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you KingHath power to keepe you King, in spight of all. Aum. He meanes, my Lord, that we are too remisse,Whilest Bullingbrooke through our securitie,Growes strong and great, in substance and in friends. Rich. Discomfortable Cousin, knowest thou not,That when the searching Eye of Heauen is hidBehind the Globe, that lights the lower World,Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnseene,In Murthers and in Out-rage bloody here:But when from vnder this Terrestriall BallHe fires the prowd tops of the Easterne Pines,And darts his Lightning through eu'ry guiltie hole,Then Murthers, Treasons, and detested sinnes(The Cloake of Night being pluckt from off their backs)Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselues.So when this Theefe, this Traytor Bullingbrooke, Who all this while hath reuell'd in the Night,Shall see vs rising in our Throne, the East,His Treasons will sit blushing in his face,Not able to endure the sight of Day;But selfe-affrighted, tremble at his sinne.Not all the Water in the rough rude SeaCan wash the Balme from an anoynted King;The breath of worldly men cannot deposeThe Deputie elected by the Lord:For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath prest,To lift shrewd Steele against our Golden Crowne,Heauen for his Richard hath in heauenly payA glorious Angell: then if Angels fight,Weake men must fall, for Heauen still guards the right. Enter Salisbury. Welcome my Lord, how farre off lyes your Power? Salisb. Nor neere, nor farther off, my gracious Lord,Then this weake arme; discomfort guides my tongue,And bids me speake of nothing but despaire:One day too late, I feare (my Noble Lord)Hath clouded all thy happie dayes on Earth:Oh call backe Yesterday, bid Time returne,And thou shalt haue twelue thousand fighting men:To day, to day, vnhappie day too lateOrethrowes thy Ioyes, Friends, Fortune, and thy State;For all the Welchmen hearing thou wert dead,Are gone to Bullingbrooke, disperst, and fled. Aum. Comfort my Liege, why lookes your Grace sopale? Rich. But now the blood of twentie thousand menDid triumph in my face, and they are fled,And till so much blood thither come againe,Haue I not reason to looke pale, and dead?All Soules that will be safe, flye from my side,For Time hath set a blot vpon my pride. Aum. Comfort my Liege, remember who you are. Rich. I had forgot my selfe. Am I not King?Awake thou sluggard Maiestie, thou sleepest:Is not the Kings Name fortie thousand Names?Arme, arme my Name: a punie subiect strikesAt thy great glory. Looke not to the ground,Ye Fauorites of a King: are wee not high?High be our thoughts: I know my Vnckle Yorke Hath Power enough to serue our turne.But who comes here? Enter Scroope. Scroope. More health and happinesse betide my Liege,Then can my care-tun'd tongue deliuer him. Rich. Mine eare is open, and my heart prepar'd:The worst is worldly losse, thou canst vnfold:Say, Is my Kingdome lost? why 'twas my Care:And what losse is it to be rid of Care?Striues Bullingbrooke to be as Great as wee?Greater he shall not be: If hee serue God,Wee'l serue him too, and be his Fellow so.Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend,They breake their Faith to God, as well as vs:Cry Woe, Destruction, Ruine, Losse, Decay,The worst is Death, and Death will haue his day. Scroope. Glad am I, that your Highnesse is so arm'dTo beare the tidings of Calamitie.Like an vnseasonable stormie day,Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Shores,As if the World were all dissolu'd to teares:So high, aboue his Limits, swells the RageOf Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull LandWith hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele:White Beares haue arm'd their thin and hairelesse ScalpsAgainst thy Maiestie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces,Striue to speake bigge, and clap their female iointsIn stiffe vnwieldie Armes: against thy CrowneThy very Beads-men learne to bend their BowesOf double fatall Eugh: against thy StateYea Distaffe-Women manage rustie Bills:Against thy Seat both young and old rebell,And all goes worse then I haue power to tell. Rich. Too well, too well thou tell'st a Tale so ill.Where is the Earle of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?What is become of Bushie? where is Greene? That they haue let the dangerous EnemieMeasure our Confines with such peacefull steps?If we preuaile, their heads shall pay for it.I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke. Scroope. Peace haue they made with him indeede (myLord.) Rich. Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without redemption,Dogges, easily woon to fawne on any man,Snakes in my heart blood warm'd, that sting my heart,Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse then Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warreVpon their spotted Soules for this Offence. Scroope. Sweet Loue (I see) changing his propertie,Turnes to the sowrest, and most deadly hate:Againe vncurse their Soules; their peace is madeWith Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curseHaue felt the worst of Deaths destroying hand,And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground. Aum. Is Bushie, Greene, and the Earle of Wiltshiredead? Scroope. Yea, all of them at Bristow lost their heads. Aum. Where is the Duke my Father with his Power? Rich. No matter where; of comfort no man speake:Let's talke of Graues, of Wormes, and Epitaphs,Make Dust our Paper, and with Raynie eyesWrite Sorrow on the Bosome of the Earth.Let's chuse Executors, and talke of Wills:And yet not so; for what can we bequeath,Saue our deposed bodies to the ground?Our Lands, our Liues, and all are Bullingbrookes, And nothing can we call our owne, but Death,And that small Modell of the barren Earth,Which serues as Paste, and Couer to our Bones:For Heauens sake let vs sit vpon the ground,And tell sad stories of the death of Kings:How some haue been depos'd, some slaine in warre,Some haunted by the Ghosts they haue depos'd,Some poyson'd by their Wiues, some sleeping kill'd,All murther'd. For within the hollow CrowneThat rounds the mortall Temples of a King,Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique sitsScoffing his State, and grinning at his Pompe,Allowing him a breath, a little Scene,To Monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with lookes,Infusing him with selfe and vaine conceit,As if this Flesh, which walls about our Life,Were Brasse impregnable: and humor'd thus,Comes at the last, and with a little PinneBores through his Castle Walls, and farwell King.Couer your heads, and mock not flesh and bloodWith solemne Reuerence: throw away Respect,Tradition, Forme, and Ceremonious dutie,For you haue but mistooke me all this while:I liue with Bread like you, feele Want,Taste Griefe, need Friends: subiected thus,How can you say to me, I am a King? Carl. My Lord, wise men ne're waile their present woes,But presently preuent the wayes to waile:To feare the Foe, since feare oppresseth strength,Giues in your weakenesse, strength vnto your Foe;Feare, and be slaine, no worse can come to sight,And fight and die, is death destroying death,Where fearing, dying, payes death seruile breath. Aum. My Father hath a Power, enquire of him;And learne to make a Body of a Limbe. Rich. Thou chid'st me well: proud Bullingbrooke I comeTo change Blowes with thee, for our day of Doome:This ague fit of feare is ouer-blowne,An easie taske it is to winne our owne.Say Scroope, where lyes our Vnckle with his Power?Speake sweetly man, although thy lookes be sowre. Scroope. Men iudge by the complexion of the SkieThe state and inclination of the day;So may you by my dull and heauie Eye:My Tongue hath but a heauier Tale to say:I play the Torturer, by small and smallTo lengthen out the worst, that must be spoken.Your Vnckle Yorke is ioyn'd with Bullingbrooke, And all your Northerne Castles yeelded vp,And all your Southerne Gentlemen in ArmesVpon his Faction. Rich. Thou hast said enough.Beshrew thee Cousin, which didst lead me forthOf that sweet way I was in, to despaire:What say you now? What comfort haue we now?By Heauen Ile hate him euerlastingly,That bids me be of comfort any more.Goe to Flint Castle, there Ile pine away,A King, Woes slaue, shall Kingly Woe obey:That Power I haue, discharge, and let 'em goeTo eare the Land, that hath some hope to grow,For I haue none. Let no man speake againeTo alter this, for counsaile is but vaine. Aum. My Liege, one word. Rich. He does me double wrong,That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.Discharge my followers: let them hence away,From Richards Night, to Bullingbrookes faire Day. Exeunt.
Scaena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Bullingbrooke,Yorke, Northumberland, Attendants. Bull. So that by this intelligence we learneThe Welchmen are dispers'd, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the King, who lately landedWith some few priuate friends, vpon this Coast. North. The newes is very faire and good, my Lord, Richard, not farre from hence, hath hid his head. York. It would beseeme the Lord Northumberland,To say King Richard: alack the heauie day,When such a sacred King should hide his head. North. Your Grace mistakes: onely to be briefe,Left I his Title out. York. The time hath beene,Would you haue beene so briefe with him, he wouldHaue beene so briefe with you, to shorten you,For taking so the Head, your whole heads length. Bull. Mistake not (Vnckle) farther then you should. York. Take not (good Cousin) farther then you should.Least you mistake the Heauens are ore your head. Bull. I know it (Vnckle) and oppose not my selfeAgainst their will. But who comes here? Enter Percie. Welcome Harry: what, will not this Castle yeeld? Per. The Castle royally is mann'd, my Lord,Against thy entrance. Bull. Royally? Why, it containes no King? Per. Yes (my good Lord)It doth containe a King: King Richard lyesWithin the limits of yond Lime and Stone,And with him, the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroope, besides a Clergie manOf holy reuerence; who, I cannot learne. North. Oh, belike it is the Bishop of Carlile. Bull. Noble Lord,Goe to the rude Ribs of that ancient Castle,Through Brazen Trumpet send the breath of ParleInto his ruin'd Eares, and thus deliuer: Henry Bullingbrooke vpon his knees doth kisseKing Richards hand, and sends allegeanceAnd true faith of heart to his Royall Person: hither comeEuen at his feet, to lay my Armes and Power,Prouided, that my Banishment repeal'd,And Lands restor'd againe, be freely graunted:If not, Ile vse th 'aduantage of my Power,And lay the Summers dust with showers of blood,Rayn'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen;The which, how farre off from the mind of Bullingbrooke It is, such Crimson Tempest should bedrenchThe fresh greene Lap of faire King Richards Land,My stooping dutie tenderly shall shew.Goe signifie as much, while here we marchVpon the Grassie Carpet of this Plaine:Let's march without the noyse of threatning Drum,That from this Castles tatter'd BattlementsOur faire Appointments may be well perus'd.Me thinkes King Richard and my selfe should meetWith no lesse terror then the ElementsOf Fire and Water, when their thundring smoakeAt meeting teares the cloudie Cheekes of Heauen:Be he the fire, Ile be the yeelding Water;The Rage be his, while on the Earth I raineMy Waters on the Earth, and not on him.March on, and marke King Richard how he lookes. Parle without, and answere within: then a Flourish. Enter on the Walls, Richard, Carlile, Aumerle, Scroop,Salisbury. See, see, King Richard doth himselfe appeareAs doth the blushing discontented Sunne,From out the fierie Portall of the East,When he perceiues the enuious Clouds are bentTo dimme his glory, and to staine the tractOf his bright passage to the Occident. York. Yet lookes he like a King: behold his Eye(As bright as is the Eagles) lightens forthControlling Maiestie: alack, alack, for woe,That any harme should staine so faire a shew. Rich. Wee are amaz'd, and thus long haue we stoodTo watch the fearefull bending of thy knee,Because we thought our selfe thy lawfull King:And if we be, how dare thy ioynts forgetTo pay their awfull dutie to our presence?If we be not, shew vs the Hand of God,That hath dismiss'd vs from our Stewardship,For well wee know, no Hand of Blood and BoneCan gripe the sacred Handle of our Scepter,Vnlesse he doe prophane, steale, or vsurpe.And though you thinke, that all, as you haue done,Haue torne their Soules, by turning them from vs,And we are barren, and bereft of Friends:Yet know, my Master, God Omnipotent,Is mustring in his Clouds, on our behalfe,Armies of Pestilence, and they shall strikeYour Children yet vnborne, and vnbegot,That lift your Vassall Hands against my Head,And threat the Glory of my precious Crowne.Tell Bullingbrooke, for yond me thinkes he is,That euery stride he makes vpon my Land,Is dangerous Treason: He is come to opeThe purple Testament of bleeding Warre;But ere the Crowne he lookes for, liue in peace,Ten thousand bloody crownes of Mothers SonnesShall ill become the flower of Englands face,Change the complexion of her Maid-pale PeaceTo Scarlet Indignation, and bedewHer Pastors Grasse with faithfull English Blood. North. The King of Heauen forbid our Lord the KingShould so with ciuill and vnciuill ArmesBe rush'd vpon: Thy thrice-noble Cousin, Harry Bullingbrooke, doth humbly kisse thy hand,And by the Honorable Tombe he sweares,That stands vpon your Royall Grandsires Bones,And by the Royalties of both your Bloods,(Currents that spring from one most gracious Head)And by the buried Hand of Warlike Gaunt, And by the Worth and Honor of himselfe,Comprising all that may be sworne, or said,His comming hither hath no further scope,Then for his Lineall Royalties, and to beggeInfranchisement immediate on his knees:Which on thy Royall partie graunted once,His glittering Armes he will commend to Rust,His barbed Steedes to Stables, and his heartTo faithfull seruice of your Maiestie:This sweares he, as he is a Prince, is iust,And as I am a Gentleman, I credit him. Rich. Northumberland, say thus: The King returnes,His Noble Cousin is right welcome hither,And all the number of his faire demandsShall be accomplish'd without contradiction:With all the gracious vtterance thou hast,Speake to his gentle hearing kind commends.We doe debase our selfe (Cousin) doe we not,To looke so poorely, and to speake so faire?Shall we call back Northumberland, and sendDefiance to the Traytor, and so die? Aum. No, good my Lord, let's fight with gentle words,Till time lend friends, and friends their helpeful Swords. Rich. Oh God, oh God, that ere this tongue of mine,That layd the Sentence of dread BanishmentOn yond prowd man, should take it off againeWith words of sooth: Oh that I were as greatAs is my Griefe, or lesser then my Name,Or that I could forget what I haue beene,Or not remember what I must be now:Swell'st thou prowd heart? Ile giue thee scope to beat,Since Foes haue scope to beat both thee and me. Aum. Northumberland comes backe from Bulling-brooke. Rich. What must the King doe now? must he submit?The King shall doe it: Must he be depos'd?The King shall be contented: Must he looseThe Name of King? o' Gods Name let it goe.Ile giue my Iewels for a sett of Beades,My gorgeous Pallace, for a Hermitage,My gay Apparrell, for an Almes-mans Gowne,My figur'd Goblets, for a Dish of Wood,My Scepter, for a Palmers walking Staffe, My Subiects, for a payre of carued Saints,And my large Kingdome, for a little Graue,A little little Graue, an obscure Graue.Or Ile be buryed in the Kings high-way,Some way of common Trade, where Subiects feetMay howrely trample on their Soueraignes Head:For on my heart they tread now, whilest I liue;And buryed once, why not vpon my Head? Aumerle, thou weep'st (my tender-hearted Cousin)Wee'le make foule Weather with despised Teares:Our sighes, and they, shall lodge the Summer Corne,And make a Dearth in this reuolting Land.Or shall we play the Wantons with our Woes,And make some prettie Match, with shedding Teares?As thus: to drop them still vpon one place,Till they haue fretted vs a payre of Graues,Within the Earth: and therein lay'd, there lyesTwo Kinsmen, digg'd their Graues with weeping Eyes?Would not this ill, doe well? Well, well, I seeI talke but idly, and you mock at mee.Most mightie Prince, my Lord Northumberland, What sayes King Bullingbrooke? Will his MaiestieGiue Richard leaue to liue, till Richard die?You make a Legge, and Bullingbrooke sayes I. North. My Lord, in the base Court he doth attendTo speake with you, may it please you to come downe. Rich. Downe, downe I come, like glist'ring Phaeton, Wanting the manage of vnruly Iades.In the base Court? base Court, where Kings grow base,To come at Traytors Calls, and doe them Grace.In the base Court come down: down Court, down King,For night-Owls shrike, where mou[n]ting Larks should sing. Bull. What sayes his Maiestie? North. Sorrow, and griefe of heartMakes him speake fondly, like a frantick man:Yet he is come. Bull. Stand all apart,And shew faire dutie to his Maiestie.My gracious Lord. Rich. Faire Cousin,You debase your Princely Knee,To make the base Earth prowd with kissing it.Me rather had, my Heart might feele your Loue,Then my vnpleas'd Eye see your Courtesie.Vp Cousin, vp, your Heart is vp, I know,Thus high at least, although your Knee be low. Bull. My gracious Lord, I come but for mineowne. Rich. Your owne is yours, and I am yours, andall. Bull. So farre be mine, my most redoubted Lord,As my true seruice shall deserue your loue. Rich. Well you deseru'd:They well deserue to haue,That know the strong'st, and surest way to get.Vnckle giue me your Hand: nay, drie your Eyes,Teares shew their Loue, but want their Remedies.Cousin, I am too young to be your Father,Though you are old enough to be my Heire.What you will haue, Ile giue, and willing to,For doe we must, what force will haue vs doe.Set on towards London:Cousin, is it so? Bull. Yea, my good Lord. Rich. Then I must not say, no. Flourish. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter the Queene, and two Ladies. Qu. What sport shall we deuise here in this Garden,To driue away the heauie thought of Care? La. Madame, wee'le play at Bowles. Qu. 'Twill make me thinke the World is full of Rubs,And that my fortune runnes against the Byas. La. Madame, wee'le Dance. Qu. My Legges can keepe no measure in Delight,When my poore Heart no measure keepes in Griefe.Therefore no Dancing (Girle) some other sport. La. Madame, wee'le tell Tales. Qu. Of Sorrow, or of Griefe? La. Of eyther, Madame. Qu. Of neyther, Girle.For if of Ioy, being altogether wanting,It doth remember me the more of Sorrow:Or if of Griefe, being altogether had,It addes more Sorrow to my want of Ioy:For what I haue, I need not to repeat;And what I want, it bootes not to complaine. La. Madame, Ile sing. Qu. 'Tis well that thou hast cause:But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou weepe. La. I could weepe, Madame, would it doe you good. Qu. And I could sing, would weeping doe me good,And neuer borrow any Teare of thee. Enter a Gardiner, and two Seruants. But stay, here comes the Gardiners,Let's step into the shadow of these Trees.My wretchednesse, vnto a Rowe of Pinnes,They'le talke of State: for euery one doth so,Against a Change; Woe is fore-runne with Woe. Gard. Goe binde thou vp yond dangling Apricocks,Which like vnruly Children, make their SyreStoupe with oppression of their prodigall weight:Giue some supportance to the bending twigges.Goe thou, and like an ExecutionerCut off the heads of too fast growing sprayes,That looke too loftie in our Common-wealth:All must be euen, in our Gouernment.You thus imploy'd, I will goe root awayThe noysome Weedes, that without profit suckeThe Soyles fertilitie from wholesome flowers. Ser. Why should we, in the compasse of a Pale,Keepe Law and Forme, and due Proportion,Shewing as in a Modell our firme Estate?When our Sea-walled Garden, the whole Land,Is full of Weedes, her fairest Flowers choakt vp,Her Fruit-trees all vnpruin'd, her Hedges ruin'd,Her Knots disorder'd, and her wholesome HearbesSwarming with Caterpillers. Gard. Hold thy peace.He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd Spring,Hath now himselfe met with the Fall of Leafe.The Weeds that his broad-spreading Leaues did shelter,That seem'd, in eating him, to hold him vp,Are pull'd vp, Root and all, by Bullingbrooke: I meane, the Earle of Wiltshire, Bushie, Greene. Ser. What are they dead? Gard. They are,And Bullingbrooke hath seiz'd the wastefull King.Oh, what pitty is it, that he had not so trim'dAnd drest his Land, as we this Garden, at time of yeare,And wound the Barke, the skin of our Fruit-trees,Least being ouer-proud with Sap and Blood,With too much riches it confound it selfe?Had he done so, to great and growing men,They might haue liu'd to beare, and he to tasteTheir fruites of dutie. Superfluous branchesWe lop away, that bearing boughes may liue:Had he done so, himselfe had borne the Crowne,Which waste and idle houres, hath quite thrown downe. Ser. What thinke you the King shall be depos'd? Gar. Deprest he is already, and depos'd'Tis doubted he will be. Letters came last nightTo a deere Friend of the Duke of Yorkes,That tell blacke tydings. Qu. Oh I am prest to death through want of speaking:Thou old Adams likenesse, set to dresse this Garden:How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this vnpleasing newes What Eue? what Serpent hath suggested thee,To make a second fall of cursed man?Why do'st thou say, King Richard is depos'd,Dar'st thou, thou little better thing then earth,Diuine his downfall? Say, where, when, and howCam'st thou by this ill-tydings? Speake thou wretch. Gard. Pardon me Madam. Little ioy haue ITo breath these newes; yet what I say, is true;King Richard, he is in the mighty holdOf Bullingbrooke, their Fortunes both are weigh'd:In your Lords Scale, is nothing but himselfe,And some few Vanities, that make him light:But in the Ballance of great Bullingbrooke, Besides himselfe, are all the English Peeres,And with that oddes he weighes King Richard downe.Poste you to London, and you'l finde it so,I speake no more, then euery one doth know. Qu. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foote,Doth not thy Embassage belong to me?And am I last that knowes it? Oh thou think'stTo serue me last, that I may longest keepeThy sorrow in my breast. Come Ladies goe,To meet at London, Londons King in woe.What was I borne to this: that my sad looke,Should grace the Triumph of great Bullingbrooke. Gard'ner, for telling me this newes of woe,I would the Plants thou graft'st, may neuer grow. Exit. G. Poore Queen, so that thy State might be no worse,I would my skill were subiect to thy curse:Heere did she drop a teare, heere in this placeIle set a Banke of Rew, sowre Herbe of Grace:Rue, eu'n for ruth, heere shortly shall be seene,In the remembrance of a Weeping Queene. Exit.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima. Enter as to the Parliament, Bullingbrooke, Aumerle, Nor-thumberland, Percie, Fitz-Water, Surrey, Carlile, Abbotof Westminster. Herauld, Officers, and Bagot. Bullingbrooke. Call forth Bagot. Now Bagot, freely speake thy minde,What thou do'st know of Noble Glousters death:Who wrought it with the King, and who perform'dThe bloody Office of his Timelesse end. Bag. Then set before my face, the Lord Aumerle. Bul. Cosin, stand forth, and looke vpon that man. Bag. My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongueScornes to vnsay, what it hath once deliuer'd.In that dead time, when Glousters death was plotted,I heard you say, Is not my arme of length,That reacheth from the restfull English CourtAs farre as Callis, to my Vnkles head.Amongst much other talke, that very time,I heard you say, that you had rather refuseThe offer of an hundred thousand Crownes,Then Bullingbrookes returne to England; adding withall,How blest this Land would be, in this your Cosins death. Aum. Princes, and Noble Lords:What answer shall I make to this base man?Shall I so much dishonor my faire Starres,On equall termes to giue him chasticement?Either I must, or haue mine honor soyl'dWith th' Attaindor of his sland'rous Lippes.There is my Gage, the manuall Seale of deathThat markes thee out for Hell. Thou lyest,And will maintaine what thou hast said, is false,In thy heart blood, though being all too baseTo staine the temper of my Knightly sword. Bul. Bagot forbeare, thou shalt not take it vp. Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the bestIn all this presence, that hath mou'd me so. Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathize:There is my Gage, Aumerle, in Gage to thine:By that faire Sunne, that shewes me where thou stand'st,I heard thee say (and vauntingly thou spak'st it)That thou wer't cause of Noble Glousters death.If thou deniest it, twenty times thou lyest,And I will turne thy falshood to thy hart,Where it was forged with my Rapiers point. Aum. Thou dar'st not (Coward) liue to see the day. Fitz. Now by my Soule, I would it were this houre. Aum. Fitzwater thou art damn'd to hell for this. Per. Aumerle, thou lye'st: his Honor is as trueIn this Appeale, as thou art all vniust:And that thou art so, there I throw my GageTo proue it on thee, to th' extreamest pointOf mortall breathing. Seize it, if thou dar'st. Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off,And neuer brandish more reuengefull Steele,Ouer the glittering Helmet of my Foe. Surrey. My Lord Fitz-water: I do remember well, the very time Aumerle, and you did talke. Fitz. My Lord,'Tis very true: You were in presence then,And you can witnesse with me, this is true. Surrey. As false, by heauen,As Heauen it selfe is true. Fitz. Surrey, thou Lyest. Surrey. Dishonourable Boy;That Lye, shall lie so heauy on my Sword,That it shall render Vengeance, and Reuenge,Till thou the Lye-giuer, and that Lye, doe lyeIn earth as quiet, as thy Fathers Scull.In proofe whereof, there is mine Honors pawne,Engage it to the Triall, if thou dar'st. Fitzw. How fondly do'st thou spurre a forward Horse?If I dare eate, or drinke, or breathe, or liue,I dare meete Surrey in a Wildernesse,And spit vpon him, whilest I say he Lyes,And Lyes, and Lyes: there is my Bond of Faith,To tye thee to my strong Correction.As I intend to thriue in this new World, Aumerle is guiltie of my true Appeale.Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolke say,That thou Aumerle didst send two of thy men,To execute the Noble Duke at Callis. Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a Gage,That Norfolke lyes: here doe I throw downe this,If he may be repeal'd, to trie his Honor. Bull. These differences shall all rest vnder Gage,Till Norfolke be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be;And (though mine Enemie) restor'd againeTo all his Lands and Seignories: when hee's return'd,Against Aumerle we will enforce his Tryall. Carl. That honorable day shall ne're be seene.Many a time hath banish'd Norfolke foughtFor Iesu Christ, in glorious Christian fieldStreaming the Ensigne of the Christian Crosse,Against black Pagans, Turkes, and Saracens:And toyl'd with workes of Warre, retyr'd himselfeTo Italy, and there at Venice gaueHis Body to that pleasant Countries Earth,And his pure Soule vnto his Captaine Christ,Vnder whose Colours he had fought so long. Bull. Why Bishop, is Norfolke dead? Carl. As sure as I liue, my Lord. Bull. Sweet peace conduct his sweet SouleTo the Bosome of good old Abraham. Lords Appealants, your differe[n]ces shal all rest vnder gage,Till we assigne you to your dayes of Tryall. Enter Yorke. Yorke. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to theeFrom plume-pluckt Richard, who with willing SouleAdopts thee Heire, and his high Scepter yeeldsTo the possession of thy Royall Hand.Ascend his Throne, descending now from him,And long liue Henry, of that Name the Fourth. Bull. In Gods Name, Ile ascend the Regall Throne. Carl. Mary, Heauen forbid.Worst in this Royall Presence may I speake,Yet best beseeming me to speake the truth.Would God, that any in this Noble PresenceWere enough Noble, to be vpright IudgeOf Noble Richard: then true Noblenesse wouldLearne him forbearance from so foule a Wrong.What Subiect can giue Sentence on his King?And who sits here, that is not Richards Subiect?Theeues are not iudg'd, but they are by to heare,Although apparant guilt be seene in them:And shall the figure of Gods Maiestie,His Captaine, Steward, Deputie elect,Anoynted, Crown'd, planted many yeeres,Be iudg'd by subiect, and inferior breathe,And he himselfe not present? Oh, forbid it, God,That in a Christian Climate, Soules refin'deShould shew so heynous, black, obscene a deed.I speake to Subiects, and a Subiect speakes,Stirr'd vp by Heauen, thus boldly for his KingMy Lord of Hereford here, whom you call King,Is a foule Traytor to prowd Herefords King.And if you Crowne him, let me prophecie,The blood of English shall manure the ground,And future Ages groane for his foule Act.Peace shall goe sleepe with Turkes and Infidels,And in this Seat of Peace, tumultuous WarresShall Kinne with Kinne, and Kinde with Kinde confound.Disorder, Horror, Feare, and MutinieShall here inhabite, and this Land be call'dThe field of Golgotha, and dead mens Sculls.Oh, if you reare this House, against this HouseIt will the wofullest Diuision proue,That euer fell vpon this cursed Earth.Preuent it, resist it, and let it not be so,Least Child, Childs Children cry against you, Woe. North. Well haue you argu'd Sir: and for your paines,Of Capitall Treason we arrest you here.My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge,To keepe him safely, till his day of Tryall.May it please you, Lords, to grant the Commons Suit? Bull. Fetch hither Richard, that in common viewHe may surrender: so we shall proceedeWithout suspition. Yorke. I will be his Conduct. Exit. Bull. Lords, you that here are vnder our Arrest,Procure your Sureties for your Dayes of Answer:Little are we beholding to your Loue,And little look'd for at your helping Hands. Enter Richard and Yorke. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a King,Before I haue shooke off the Regall thoughtsWherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet haue learn'dTo insinuate, flatter, bowe, and bend my Knee.Giue Sorrow leaue a while, to tuture meTo this submission. Yet I well rememberThe fauors of these men: were they not mine?Did they not sometime cry, All hayle to me?So Iudas did to Christ: but he in twelue,Found truth in all, but one; I, in twelue thousand, none.God saue the King: will no man say, Amen?Am I both Priest, and Clarke? well then, Amen.God saue the King, although I be not hee:And yet Amen, if Heauen doe thinke him mee.To doe what seruice, am I sent for hither? Yorke. To doe that office of thine owne good will,Which tyred Maiestie did make thee offer:The Resignation of thy State and CrowneTo Henry Bullingbrooke. Rich. Giue me the Crown. Here Cousin, seize the Crown:Here Cousin, on this side my Hand, on that side thine.Now is this Golden Crowne like a deepe Well,That owes two Buckets, filling one another,The emptier euer dancing in the ayre,The other downe, vnseene, and full of Water:That Bucket downe, and full of Teares am I,Drinking my Griefes, whil'st you mount vp on high. Bull. I thought you had been willing to resigne. Rich. My Crowne I am, but still my Griefes are mine:You may my Glories and my State depose,But not my Griefes; still am I King of those. Bull. Part of your Cares you giue me with your Crowne. Rich. Your Cares set vp, do not pluck my Cares downe.My Care, is losse of Care, by old Care done,Your Care, is gaine of Care, by new Care wonne:The Cares I giue, I haue, though giuen away,They 'tend the Crowne, yet still with me they stay: Bull. Are you contented to resigne the Crowne? Rich. I, no; no, I: for I must nothing bee:Therefore no, no, for I resigne to thee.Now, marke me how I will vndoe my selfe.I giue this heauie Weight from off my Head,And this vnwieldie Scepter from my Hand,The pride of Kingly sway from out my Heart.With mine owne Teares I wash away my Balme,With mine owne Hands I giue away my Crowne,With mine owne Tongue denie my Sacred State,With mine owne Breath release all dutious Oathes;All Pompe and Maiestie I doe forsweare:My Manors, Rents, Reuenues, I forgoe;My Acts, Decrees, and Statutes I denie:God pardon all Oathes that are broke to mee,God keepe all Vowes vnbroke are made to thee.Make me that nothing haue, with nothing grieu'd,And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all atchieu'd.Long may'st thou liue in Richards Seat to sit,And soone lye Richard in an Earthie Pit.God saue King Henry, vn-King'd Richard sayes,And send him many yeeres of Sunne-shine dayes.What more remaines? North. No more: but that you readeThese Accusations, and these grieuous Crymes,Committed by your Person, and your followers,Against the State, and Profit of this Land:That by confessing them, the Soules of menMay deeme, that you are worthily depos'd. Rich. Must I doe so? and must I rauell outMy weau'd-vp follyes? Gentle Northumberland, If thy Offences were vpon Record,Would it not shame thee, in so faire a troupe,To reade a Lecture of them? If thou would'st,There should'st thou finde one heynous Article,Contayning the deposing of a King,And cracking the strong Warrant of an Oath,Mark'd with a Blot, damn'd in the Booke of Heauen.Nay, all of you, that stand and looke vpon me,Whil'st that my wretchednesse doth bait my selfe,Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands,Shewing an outward pittie: yet you Pilates Haue here deliuer'd me to my sowre Crosse,And Water cannot wash away your sinne. North. My Lord dispatch, reade o're these Articles. Rich. Mine Eyes are full of Teares, I cannot see:And yet salt-Water blindes them not so much,But they can see a sort of Traytors here.Nay, if I turne mine Eyes vpon my selfe,I finde my selfe a Traytor with the rest:For I haue giuen here my Soules consent,T' vndeck the pompous Body of a King;Made Glory base; a Soueraigntie, a Slaue;Prowd Maiestie, a Subiect; State, a Pesant. North. My Lord. Rich. No Lord of thine, thou haught-insulting man;No, nor no mans Lord: I haue no Name, no Title;No, not that Name was giuen me at the Font,But 'tis vsurpt: alack the heauie day,That I haue worne so many Winters out,And know not now, what Name to call my selfe.Oh, that I were a Mockerie, King of Snow,Standing before the Sunne of Bullingbrooke, To melt my selfe away in Water-drops.Good King, great King, and yet not greatly good, And if my word be Sterling yet in England,Let it command a Mirror hither straight,That it may shew me what a Face I haue,Since it is Bankrupt of his Maiestie. Bull. Goe some of you, and fetch a Looking-Glasse. North. Read o're this Paper, while the Glasse doth come. Rich. Fiend, thou torments me, ere I come to Hell. Bull. Vrge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. North. The Commons will not then be satisfy'd. Rich. They shall be satisfy'd: Ile reade enough,When I doe see the very Booke indeede,Where all my sinnes are writ, and that's my selfe. Enter one with a Glasse. Giue me that Glasse, and therein will I reade.No deeper wrinckles yet? hath Sorrow struckeSo many Blowes vpon this Face of mine,And made no deeper Wounds? Oh flatt'ring Glasse,Like to my followers in prosperitie,Thou do'st beguile me. Was this Face, the FaceThat euery day, vnder his House-hold Roofe,Did keepe ten thousand men? Was this the Face,That like the Sunne, did make beholders winke?Is this the Face, which fac'd so many follyes,That was at last out-fac'd by Bullingbrooke?A brittle Glory shineth in this Face,As brittle as the Glory, is the Face,For there it is, crackt in an hundred shiuers.Marke silent King, the Morall of this sport,How soone my Sorrow hath destroy'd my Face. Bull. The shadow of your Sorrow hath destroy'dThe shadow of your Face. Rich. Say that againe.The shadow of my Sorrow: ha, let's see,'Tis very true, my Griefe lyes all within,And these externall manner of Laments,Are meerely shadowes, to the vnseene Griefe,That swells with silence in the tortur'd Soule.There lyes the substance: and I thanke thee KingFor thy great bountie, that not onely giu'stMe cause to wayle, but teachest me the wayHow to lament the cause. Ile begge one Boone,And then be gone, and trouble you no more.Shall I obtaine it? Bull. Name it, faire Cousin. Rich. Faire Cousin? I am greater then a King:For when I was a King, my flatterersWere then but subiects; being now a subiect,I haue a King here to my flatterer:Being so great, I haue no neede to begge. Bull. Yet aske. Rich. And shall I haue? Bull. You shall. Rich. Then giue me leaue to goe. Bull. Whither? Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. Bull. Goe some of you, conuey him to the Tower. Rich. Oh good: conuey: Conueyers are you all,That rise thus nimbly by a true Kings fall. Bull. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set downeOur Coronation: Lords, prepare your selues. Exeunt. Abbot. A wofull Pageant haue we here beheld. Carl. The Woes to come, the Children yet vnborne,Shall feele this day as sharpe to them as Thorne. Aum. You holy Clergie-men, is there no PlotTo rid the Realme of this pernicious Blot. Abbot. Before I freely speake my minde herein,You shall not onely take the Sacrament,To bury mine intents, but also to effect What euer I shall happen to deuise.I see your Browes are full of Discontent,Your Heart of Sorrow, and your Eyes of Teares.Come home with me to Supper, Ile lay a PlotShall shew vs all a merry day. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter Queene, and Ladies. Qu. This way the King will come: this is the wayTo Iulius Caesars ill-erected Tower:To whose flint Bosome, my condemned LordIs doom'd a Prisoner, by prowd Bullingbrooke. Here let vs rest, if this rebellious EarthHaue any resting for her true Kings Queene. Enter Richard, and Guard. But soft, but see, or rather doe not see,My faire Rose wither: yet looke vp; behold,That you in pittie may dissolue to dew,And wash him fresh againe with true-loue Teares.Ah thou, the Modell where old Troy did stand,Thou Mappe of Honor, thou King Richards Tombe,And not King Richard: thou most beauteous Inne,Why should hard-fauor'd Griefe be lodg'd in thee,When Triumph is become an Ale-house Guest. Rich. Ioyne not with griefe, faire Woman, do not so,To make my end too sudden: learne good Soule,To thinke our former State a happie Dreame,From which awak'd, the truth of what we are,Shewes vs but this. I am sworne Brother (Sweet)To grim Necessitie; and hee and IWill keepe a League till Death. High thee to France,And Cloyster thee in some Religious House:Our holy liues must winne a new Worlds Crowne,Which our prophane houres here haue stricken downe. Qu. What, is my Richard both in shape and mindeTransform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bullingbrooke Depos'd thine Intellect? hath he beene in thy Heart?The Lyon dying, thrusteth forth his Paw,And wounds the Earth, if nothing else, with rageTo be o're-powr'd: and wilt thou, Pupill-like,Take thy Correction mildly, kisse the Rodde,And fawne on Rage with base Humilitie,Which art a Lyon, and a King of Beasts? Rich. A King of Beasts indeed: if aught but Beasts,I had beene still a happy King of Men.Good (sometime Queene) prepare thee hence for France:Thinke I am dead, and that euen here thou tak'st,As from my Death-bed, my last liuing leaue.In Winters tedious Nights sit by the fireWith good old folkes, and let them tell thee TalesOf wofull Ages, long agoe betide:And ere thou bid good-night, to quit their griefe,Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,And send the hearers weeping to their Beds:For why? the sencelesse Brands will sympathizeThe heauie accent of thy mouing Tongue,And in compassion, weepe the fire out:And some will mourne in ashes, some coale-black,For the deposing of a rightfull King. Enter Northumberland. North. My Lord, the mind of Bullingbrooke is chang'd.You must to Pomfret, not vnto the Tower.And Madame, there is order ta'ne for you:With all swift speed, you must away to France. Rich. Northumberland, thou Ladder wherewithallThe mounting Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne,The time shall not be many houres of age,More then it is, ere foule sinne, gathering head,Shall breake into corruption: thou shalt thinke,Though he diuide the Realme, and giue thee halfe,It is too little, helping him to all:He shall thinke, that thou which know'st the wayTo plant vnrightfull Kings, wilt know againe,Being ne're so little vrg'd another way,To pluck him headlong from the vsurped Throne.The Loue of wicked friends conuerts to Feare;That Feare, to Hate; and Hate turnes one, or both,To worthie Danger, and deserued Death. North. My guilt be on my Head, and there an end:Take leaue, and part, for you must part forthwith. Rich. Doubly diuorc'd? (bad men) ye violateA two-fold Marriage; 'twixt my Crowne, and me.And then betwixt me, and my marryed Wife.Let me vn-kisse the Oath 'twixt thee, and me;And yet not so, for with a Kisse 'twas made.Part vs, Northumberland: I, towards the North,Where shiuering Cold and Sicknesse pines the Clyme:My Queene to France: from whence, set forth in pompe,She came adorned hither like sweet May;Sent back like Hollowmas, or short'st of day. Qu. And must we be diuided? must we part? Rich. I, hand from hand (my Loue) and heart fro[m] heart. Qu. Banish vs both, and send the King with me. North. That were some Loue, but little Pollicy. Qu. Then whither he goes, thither let me goe. Rich. So two together weeping, make one Woe.Weepe thou for me in France; I, for thee heere:Better farre off, then neere, be ne're the neere.Goe, count thy Way with Sighes; I, mine with Groanes. Qu. So longest Way shall haue the longest Moanes. Rich. Twice for one step Ile groane, the Way being short,And peece the Way out with a heauie heart.Come, come, in wooing Sorrow let's be briefe,Since wedding it, there is such length in Griefe:One Kisse shall stop our mouthes, and dumbely part;Thus giue I mine, and thus take I thy heart. Qu. Giue me mine owne againe: 'twere no good part,To take on me to keepe, and kill thy heart.So, now I haue mine owne againe, be gone,That I may striue to kill it with a groane. Rich. We make Woe wanton with this fond delay:Once more adieu; the rest, let Sorrow say. Exeunt.
Scoena Secunda. Enter Yorke, and his Duchesse. Duch. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest,When weeping made you breake the story off,Of our two Cousins comming into London. Yorke. Where did I leaue? Duch. At that sad stoppe, my Lord,Where rude mis-gouern'd hands, from Windowes tops,Threw dust and rubbish on King Richards head. Yorke. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke, Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed,Which his aspiring Rider seem'd to know,With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course:While all tongues cride, God saue thee Bullingbrooke. You would haue thought the very windowes spake,So many greedy lookes of yong and old,Through Casements darted their desiring eyesVpon his visage: and that all the walles,With painted Imagery had said at once,Iesu preserue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke. Whil'st he, from one side to the other turning,Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke,Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:And thus still doing, thus he past along. Dutch. Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst? Yorke. As in a Theater, the eyes of menAfter a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage,Are idlely bent on him that enters next,Thinking his prattle to be tedious:Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyesDid scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,His face still combating with teares and smiles(The badges of his greefe and patience)That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'dThe hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.But heauen hath a hand in these euents,To whose high will we bound our calme contents.To Bullingbrooke, are we sworne Subiects now,Whose State, and Honor, I for aye allow. Enter Aumerle. Dut. Heere comes my sonne Aumerle. Yor. Aumerle that was,But that is lost, for being Richards Friend.And Madam, you must call him Rutland now:I am in Parliament pledge for his truth,And lasting fealtie to the new-made King. Dut. Welcome my sonne: who are the Violets now,That strew the greene lap of the new-come Spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not,God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one. Yorke. Well, beare you well in this new-spring of timeLeast you be cropt before you come to prime.What newes from Oxford? Hold those Iusts & Triumphs? Aum. For ought I know my Lord, they do. Yorke. You will be there I know. Aum. If God preuent not, I purpose so. Yor. What Seale is that that hangs without thy bosom?Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing. Aum. My Lord, 'tis nothing. Yorke. No matter then who sees it,I will be satisfied, let me see the Writing. Aum. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,It is a matter of small consequence,Which for some reasons I would not haue seene. Yorke. Which for some reasons sir, I meane to see:I feare, I feare. Dut. What should you feare?'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd intoFor gay apparrell, against the Triumph. Yorke. Bound to himselfe? What doth he with a BondThat he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole.Boy, let me see the Writing. Aum. I do beseech you pardon me, I may not shew it. Yor. I will be satisfied: let me see it I say. Snatches it Treason, foule Treason, Villaine, Traitor, Slaue. Dut. What's the matter, my Lord? Yorke. Hoa, who's within there? Saddle my horse.Heauen for his mercy: what treachery is heere? Dut. Why, what is't my Lord? Yorke. Giue me my boots, I say: Saddle my horse:Now by my Honor, my life, my troth,I will appeach the Villaine. Dut. What is the matter? Yorke. Peace foolish Woman. Dut. I will not peace. What is the matter Sonne? Aum. Good Mother be content, it is no moreThen my poore life must answer. Dut. Thy life answer? Enter Seruant with Boots. Yor. Bring me my Boots, I will vnto the King. Dut. Strike him Aumerle. Poore boy, thou art amaz'd,Hence Villaine, neuer more come in my sight. Yor. Giue me my Boots, I say. Dut. Why Yorke, what wilt thou do?Wilt thou not hide the Trespasse of thine owne?Haue we more Sonnes? Or are we like to haue?Is not my teeming date drunke vp with time?And wilt thou plucke my faire Sonne from mine Age,And rob me of a happy Mothers name?Is he not like thee? Is he not thine owne? Yor. Thou fond mad woman:Wilt thou conceale this darke Conspiracy?A dozen of them heere haue tane the Sacrament,And interchangeably set downe their handsTo kill the King at Oxford. Dut. He shall be none:Wee'l keepe him heere: then what is that to him? Yor. Away fond woman: were hee twenty times mySon, I would appeach him. Dut. Hadst thou groan'd for him as I haue done,Thou wouldest be more pittifull:But now I know thy minde; thou do'st suspectThat I haue bene disloyall to thy bed,And that he is a Bastard, not thy Sonne:Sweet Yorke, sweet husband, be not of that minde:He is as like thee, as a man may bee,Not like to me, nor any of my Kin,And yet I loue him. Yorke. Make way, vnruly Woman. Exit Dut. After Aumerle. Mount thee vpon his horse,Spurre post, and get before him to the King,And begge thy pardon, ere he do accuse thee,Ile not be long behind: though I be old,I doubt not but to ride as fast as Yorke:And neuer will I rise vp from the ground,Till Bullingbrooke haue pardon'd thee: Away be gone. Exit
Scoena Tertia. Enter Bullingbrooke, Percie, and other Lords. Bul. Can no man tell of my vnthriftie Sonne?'Tis full three monthes since I did see him last.If any plague hang ouer vs, 'tis he,I would to heauen (my Lords) he might be found:Enquire at London, 'mongst the Tauernes there: For there (they say) he dayly doth frequent,With vnrestrained loose Companions,Euen such (they say) as stand in narrow Lanes,And rob our Watch, and beate our passengers,Which he, yong wanton, and effeminate BoyTakes on the point of Honor, to supportSo dissolute a crew. Per. My Lord, some two dayes since I saw the Prince,And told him of these Triumphes held at Oxford. Bul. And what said the Gallant? Per. His answer was: he would vnto the Stewes,And from the common'st creature plucke a GloueAnd weare it as a fauour, and with thatHe would vnhorse the lustiest Challenger. Bul. As dissolute as desp'rate, yet through both,I see some sparkes of better hope: which elder dayesMay happily bring forth. But who comes heere? Enter Aumerle. Aum. Where is the King? Bul. What meanes our Cosin, that hee staresAnd lookes so wildely? Aum. God saue your Grace. I do beseech your MaiestyTo haue some conference with your Grace alone. Bul. Withdraw your selues, and leaue vs here alone:What is the matter with our Cosin now? Aum. For euer may my knees grow to the earth,My tongue cleaue to my roofe within my mouth,Vnlesse a Pardon, ere I rise, or speake. Bul. Intended, or committed was this fault?If on the first, how heynous ere it bee,To win thy after loue, I pardon thee. Aum. Then giue me leaue, that I may turne the key,That no man enter, till my tale be done. Bul. Haue thy desire. Yorke within. Yor. My Liege beware, looke to thy selfe,Thou hast a Traitor in thy presence there. Bul. Villaine, Ile make thee safe. Aum. Stay thy reuengefull hand, thou hast no causeto feare. Yorke. Open the doore, secure foole-hardy King:Shall I for loue speake treason to thy face?Open the doore, or I will breake it open. Enter Yorke. Bul. What is the matter (Vnkle) speak, recouer breath,Tell vs how neere is danger,That we may arme vs to encounter it. Yor. Peruse this writing heere, and thou shalt knowThe reason that my haste forbids me show. Aum. Remember as thou read'st, thy promise past:I do repent me, reade not my name there,My heart is not confederate with my hand. Yor. It was (villaine) ere thy hand did set it downe.I tore it from the Traitors bosome, King.Feare, and not Loue, begets his penitence;Forget to pitty him, least thy pitty proueA Serpent, that will sting thee to the heart. Bul. Oh heinous, strong, and bold Conspiracie,O loyall Father of a treacherous Sonne:Thou sheere, immaculate, and siluer fountaine,From whence this streame, through muddy passagesHath had his current, and defil'd himselfe.Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad,And thy abundant goodnesse shall excuseThis deadly blot, in thy digressing sonne. Yorke. So shall my Vertue be his Vices bawd,And he shall spend mine Honour, with his Shame;As thriftlesse Sonnes, their scraping Fathers Gold.Mine honor liues, when his dishonor dies,Or my sham'd life, in his dishonor lies:Thou kill'st me in his life, giuing him breath,The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death. Dutchesse within. Dut. What hoa (my Liege) for heauens sake let me in. Bul. What shrill-voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry? Dut. A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I.Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore,A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before. Bul. Our Scene is alter'd from a serious thing,And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King.My dangerous Cosin, let your Mother in,I know she's come, to pray for your foule sin. Yorke. If thou do pardon, whosoeuer pray,More sinnes for this forgiuenesse, prosper may.This fester'd ioynt cut off, the rest rests sound,This let alone, will all the rest confound. Enter Dutchesse. Dut. O King, beleeue not this hard-hearted man,Loue, louing not it selfe, none other can. Yor. Thou franticke woman, what dost thou make here,Shall thy old dugges, once more a Traitor reare? Dut. Sweet Yorke be patient, heare me gentle Liege. Bul. Rise vp good Aunt. Dut. Not yet, I thee beseech.For euer will I kneele vpon my knees,And neuer see day, that the happy sees,Till thou giue ioy: vntill thou bid me ioy,By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing Boy. Aum. Vnto my mothers prayres, I bend my knee. Yorke. Against them both, my true ioynts bended be. Dut. Pleades he in earnest? Looke vpon his Face,His eyes do drop no teares: his prayres are in iest:His words come from his mouth, ours from our brest.He prayes but faintly, and would be denide,We pray with heart, and soule, and all beside:His weary ioynts would gladly rise, I know,Our knees shall kneele, till to the ground they grow:His prayers are full of false hypocrisie,Ours of true zeale, and deepe integritie:Our prayers do out-pray his, then let them haueThat mercy, which true prayers ought to haue. Bul. Good Aunt stand vp. Dut. Nay, do not say stand vp.But Pardon first, and afterwards stand vp. And if I were thy Nurse, thy tongue to teach,Pardon should be the first word of thy speach.I neuer long'd to heare a word till now:Say Pardon (King,) let pitty teach thee how.The word is short: but not so short as sweet,No word like Pardon, for Kings mouth's so meet. Yorke. Speake it in French (King) say Pardon'ne moy. Dut. Dost thou teach pardon, Pardon to destroy?Ah my sowre husband, my hard-hearted Lord,That set's the word it selfe, against the word.Speake Pardon, as 'tis currant in our Land,The chopping French we do not vnderstand.Thine eye begins to speake, set thy tongue there,Or in thy pitteous heart, plant thou thine eare,That hearing how our plaints and prayres do pearce,Pitty may moue thee, Pardon to rehearse. Bul. Good Aunt, stand vp. Dut. I do not sue to stand,Pardon is all the suite I haue in hand. Bul. I pardon him, as heauen shall pardon mee. Dut. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee?Yet am I sicke for feare: Speake it againe,Twice saying Pardon, doth not pardon twaine,But makes one pardon strong. Bul. I pardon him with all my hart. Dut. A God on earth thou art. Bul. But for our trusty brother-in-Law, the Abbot,With all the rest of that consorted crew,Destruction straight shall dogge them at the heeles:Good Vnckle helpe to order seuerall powresTo Oxford, or where ere these Traitors are:They shall not liue within this world I sweare,But I will haue them, if I once know where.Vnckle farewell, and Cosin adieu:Your mother well hath praid, and proue you true. Dut. Come my old son, I pray heauen make thee new. Exeunt. Enter Exton and Seruants. Ext. Didst thou not marke the King what words heespake?Haue I no friend will rid me of this liuing feare:Was it not so? Ser. Those were his very words. Ex. Haue I no Friend? (quoth he:) he spake it twice,And vrg'd it twice together, did he not? Ser. He did. Ex. And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me,As who should say, I would thou wer't the manThat would diuorce this terror from my heart,Meaning the King at Pomfret: Come, let's goe;I am the Kings Friend, and will rid his Foe. Exit.
Scaena Quarta. Enter Richard. Rich. I haue bin studying, how to compareThis Prison where I liue, vnto the World:And for because the world is populous,And heere is not a Creature, but my selfe,I cannot do it: yet Ile hammer't out.My Braine, Ile proue the Female to my Soule,My Soule, the Father: and these two begetA generation of still breeding Thoughts;And these same Thoughts, people this Little WorldIn humors, like the people of this world,For no thought is contented. The better sort,As thoughts of things Diuine, are intermixtWith scruples, and do set the Faith it selfeAgainst the Faith: as thus: Come litle ones: & then again,It is as hard to come, as for a CamellTo thred the posterne of a Needles eye.Thoughts tending to Ambition, they do plotVnlikely wonders; how these vaine weake nailesMay teare a passage through the Flinty ribbesOf this hard world, my ragged prison walles:And for they cannot, dye in their owne pride.Thoughts tending to Content, flatter themselues,That they are not the first of Fortunes slaues,Nor shall not be the last. Like silly Beggars,Who sitting in the Stockes, refuge their shameThat many haue, and others must sit there;And in this Thought, they finde a kind of ease,Bearing their owne misfortune on the backeOf such as haue before indur'd the like.Thus play I in one Prison, many people,And none contented. Sometimes am I King;Then Treason makes me wish my selfe a Beggar,And so I am. Then crushing penurie,Perswades me, I was better when a King:Then am I king'd againe: and by and by,Thinke that I am vn-king'd by Bullingbrooke, And straight am nothing. But what ere I am, Musick Nor I, nor any man, that but man is,With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas'dWith being nothing. Musicke do I heare?Ha, ha? keepe time: How sowre sweet Musicke is,When Time is broke, and no Proportion kept?So is it in the Musicke of mens liues:And heere haue I the daintinesse of eare,To heare time broke in a disorder'd string:But for the Concord of my State and Time,Had not an eare to heare my true Time broke.I wasted Time, and now doth Time waste me:For now hath Time made me his numbring clocke;My Thoughts, are minutes; and with Sighes they iarre,Their watches on vnto mine eyes, the outward Watch,Whereto my finger, like a Dialls point,Is pointing still, in cleansing them from teares.Now sir, the sound that tels what houre it is,Are clamorous groanes, that strike vpon my heart,Which is the bell: so Sighes, and Teares, and Grones,Shew Minutes, Houres, and Times: but my TimeRuns poasting on, in Bullingbrookes proud ioy,While I stand fooling heere, his iacke o'th' Clocke.This Musicke mads me, let it sound no more,For though it haue holpe madmen to their wits,In me it seemes, it will make wise-men mad:Yet blessing on his heart that giues it me;For 'tis a signe of loue, and loue to Richard, Is a strange Brooch, in this all-hating world. Enter Groome. Groo. Haile Royall Prince. Rich. Thankes Noble Peere,The cheapest of vs, is ten groates too deere.What art thou? And how com'st thou hither?Where no man euer comes, but that sad doggeThat brings me food, to make misfortune liue? Groo. I was a poore Groome of thy Stable (King)When thou wer't King: who trauelling towards Yorke,With much adoo, at length haue gotten leaueTo looke vpon my (sometimes Royall) masters face.O how it yern'd my heart, when I beheldIn London streets, that Coronation day,When Bullingbrooke rode on Roane Barbary,That horse, that thou so often hast bestrid,That horse, that I so carefully haue drest. Rich. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me gentle Friend,How went he vnder him? Groo. So proudly, as if he had disdain'd the ground. Rich. So proud, that Bullingbrooke was on his backe;That Iade hath eate bread from my Royall hand.This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.Would he not stumble? Would he not fall downe(Since Pride must haue a fall) and breake the neckeOf that proud man, that did vsurpe his backe?Forgiuenesse horse: Why do I raile on thee,Since thou created to be aw'd by manWas't borne to beare? I was not made a horse, And yet I beare a burthen like an Asse,Spur-gall'd, and tyrd by iauncing Bullingbrooke. Enter Keeper with a Dish. Keep. Fellow, giue place, heere is no longer stay. Rich. If thou loue me, 'tis time thou wer't away. Groo. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shallsay. Exit. Keep. My Lord, wilt please you to fall too? Rich. Taste of it first, as thou wer't wont to doo. Keep. My Lord I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton,Who lately came from th' King, commands the contrary. Rich. The diuell take Henrie of Lancaster, and thee;Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Keep. Helpe, helpe, helpe. Enter Exton and Seruants. Ri. How now? what meanes Death in this rude assalt?Villaine, thine owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument,Go thou and fill another roome in hell. Exton strikes him downe. That hand shall burne in neuer-quenching fire,That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand,Hath with the Kings blood, stain'd the Kings own land.Mount, mount my soule, thy seate is vp on high,Whil'st my grosse flesh sinkes downward, heere to dye. Exton. As full of Valor, as of Royall blood,Both haue I spilt: Oh would the deed were good.For now the diuell, that told me I did well,Sayes, that this deede is chronicled in hell.This dead King to the liuing King Ile beare,Take hence the rest, and giue them buriall heere. Exit.
Scoena Quinta. Flourish. Enter Bullingbrooke, Yorke, withother Lords & attendants. Bul. Kinde Vnkle Yorke, the latest newes we heare,Is that the Rebels haue consum'd with fireOur Towne of Cicester in Gloucestershire,But whether they be tane or slaine, we heare not. Enter Northumberland. Welcome my Lord: What is the newes? Nor. First to thy Sacred State, wish I all happinesse:The next newes is, I haue to London sentThe heads of Salsbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appeareAt large discoursed in this paper heere. Bul. We thank thee gentle Percy for thy paines,And to thy worth will adde right worthy gaines. Enter Fitz-waters. Fitz. My Lord, I haue from Oxford sent to London,The heads of Broccas, and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted Traitors,That sought at Oxford, thy dire ouerthrow. Bul. Thy paines Fitzwaters shall not be forgot,Right Noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter Percy and Carlile. Per. The grand Conspirator, Abbot of Westminster,With clog of Conscience, and sowre Melancholly,Hath yeelded vp his body to the graue:But heere is Carlile, liuing to abideThy Kingly doome, and sentence of his pride. Bul. Carlile, this is your doome:Choose out some secret place, some reuerend roomeMore then thou hast, and with it ioy thy life:So as thou liu'st in peace, dye free from strife:For though mine enemy, thou hast euer beene,High sparkes of Honor in thee haue I seene. Enter Exton with a Coffin. Exton. Great King, within this Coffin I presentThy buried feare. Heerein all breathlesse liesThe mightiest of thy greatest enemies Richard of Burdeaux, by me hither brought. Bul. Exton, I thanke thee not, for thou hast wroughtA deede of Slaughter, with thy fatall hand,Vpon my head, and all this famous Land. Ex. From your owne mouth my Lord, did I this deed. Bul. They loue not poyson, that do poyson neede,Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead,I hate the Murtherer, loue him murthered.The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,But neither my good word, nor Princely fauour.With Caine go wander through the shade of night,And neuer shew thy head by day, nor light.Lords, I protest my soule is full of woe,That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow.Come mourne with me, for that I do lament,And put on sullen Blacke incontinent:Ile make a voyage to the Holy-land,To wash this blood off from my guilty hand.March sadly after, grace my mourning heere,In weeping after this vntimely Beere. Exeunt.
FINIS. The First Part of Henry the Fourth,with the Life and Death of HENRYSirnamed HOT-SPVRRE.
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter the King, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, Earleof Westmerland, with others. King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,Finde we a time for frighted Peace to pant,And breath shortwinded accents of new broilsTo be commenc'd in Stronds a-farre remote:No more the thirsty entrance of this Soile,Shall daube her lippes with her owne childrens blood:No more shall trenching Warre channell her fields,Nor bruise her Flowrets with the Armed hoofesOf hostile paces. Those opposed eyes,Which like the Meteors of a troubled Heauen,All of one Nature, of one Substance bred,Did lately meete in the intestine shocke,And furious cloze of ciuill Butchery,Shall now in mutuall well-beseeming rankesMarch all one way, and be no more oppos'dAgainst Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies.The edge of Warre, like an ill-sheathed knife,No more shall cut his Master. Therefore Friends,As farre as to the Sepulcher of Christ,Whose Souldier now vnder whose blessed CrosseWe are impressed and ingag'd to fight,Forthwith a power of English shall we leuie,Whose armes were moulded in their Mothers wombe,To chace these Pagans in those holy Fields,Ouer whose Acres walk'd those blessed feeteWhich fourteene hundred yeares ago were nail'dFor our aduantage on the bitter Crosse.But this our purpose is a tweluemonth old,And bootlesse 'tis to tell you we will go:Therefore we meete not now. Then let me heareOf you my gentle Cousin Westmerland,What yesternight our Councell did decree,In forwarding this deere expedience. West. My Liege: This haste was hot in question,And many limits of the Charge set downeBut yesternight: when all athwart there cameA Post from Wales, loaden with heauy Newes;Whose worst was, That the Noble Mortimer, Leading the men of Herefordshire to fightAgainst the irregular and wilde Glendower, Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,And a thousand of his people butchered:Vpon whose dead corpes there was such misuse,Such beastly, shamelesse transformation,By those Welshwomen done, as may not be(Without much shame) re-told or spoken of. King. It seemes then, that the tidings of this broile,Brake off our businesse for the Holy land. West. This matcht with other like, my gracious Lord,Farre more vneuen and vnwelcome NewesCame from the North, and thus it did report:On Holy-roode day, the gallant Hotspurre there,Young Harry Percy, and braue Archibald, That euer-valiant and approoued Scot,At Holmeden met, where they did spendA sad and bloody houre:As by discharge of their Artillerie,And shape of likely-hood the newes was told:For he that brought them, in the very heateAnd pride of their contention, did take horse,Vncertaine of the issue any way. King. Heere is a deere and true industrious friend,Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horse,Strain'd with the variation of each soyle,Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours:And he hath brought vs smooth and welcome newes.The Earle of Dowglas is discomfited,Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty KnightsBalk'd in their owne blood did Sir Walter seeOn Holmedons Plaines. Of Prisoners, Hotspurre tooke Mordake Earle of Fife, and eldest sonneTo beaten Dowglas, and the Earle of Atholl, Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoyle?A gallant prize? Ha Cosin, is it not? Infaith it is. West. A Conquest for a Prince to boast of. King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, & mak'st me sin,In enuy, that my Lord NorthumberlandShould be the Father of so blest a Sonne:A Sonne, who is the Theame of Honors tongue;Among'st a Groue, the very straightest Plant,Who is sweet Fortunes Minion, and her Pride:Whil'st I by looking on the praise of him,See Ryot and Dishonor staine the browOf my yong Harry. O that it could be prou'd,That some Night-tripping-Faiery, had exchang'dIn Cradle-clothes, our Children where they lay,And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet: Then would I haue his Harry, and he mine:But let him from my thoughts. What thinke you CozeOf this young Percies pride? The PrisonersWhich he in this aduenture hath surpriz'd,To his owne vse he keepes, and sends me wordI shall haue none but Mordake Earle of Fife. West. This is his Vnckles teaching. This is WorcesterMaleuolent to you in all Aspects:Which makes him prune himselfe, and bristle vpThe crest of Youth against your Dignity. King. But I haue sent for him to answer this:And for this cause a-while we must neglectOur holy purpose to Ierusalem.Cosin, on Wednesday next, our Councell we will holdAt Windsor, and so informe the Lords:But come your selfe with speed to vs againe,For more is to be saide, and to be done,Then out of anger can be vttered. West. I will my Liege. Exeunt
Scaena Secunda. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, Sir Iohn Fal-staffe, and Pointz. Fal. Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad? Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of oldeSacke, and vnbuttoning thee after Supper, and sleepingvpon Benches in the afternoone, that thou hast forgottento demand that truely, which thou wouldest truly know.What a diuell hast thou to do with the time of the day?vnlesse houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons,and clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the signesof Leaping-houses, and the blessed Sunne himselfe a fairehot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I see no reason,why thou shouldest bee so superfluous, to demaund thetime of the day. Fal. Indeed you come neere me now Hal, for we thattake Purses, go by the Moone and seuen Starres, and notby Phoebus hee, that wand'ring Knight so faire. And Iprythee sweet Wagge, when thou art King, as God sauethy Grace, Maiesty I should say, for Grace thou wiltehaue none. Prin. What, none? Fal. No, not so much as will serue to be Prologue toan Egge and Butter. Prin. Well, how then? Come roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry then, sweet Wagge, when thou art King,let not vs that are Squires of the Nights bodie, bee call'dTheeues of the Dayes beautie. Let vs be Dianaes Forre-sters, Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moone;and let men say, we be men of good Gouernment, beinggouerned as the Sea, by our noble and chast mistris theMoone, vnder whose countenance we steale. Prin. Thou say'st well, and it holds well too: for thefortune of vs that are the Moones men, doeth ebbe andflow like the Sea, beeing gouerned as the Sea is, by theMoone: as for proofe. Now a Purse of Gold most reso-lutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutelyspent on Tuesday Morning; got with swearing, Lay by:and spent with crying, Bring in: now, in as low an ebbeas the foot of the Ladder, and by and by in as high a flowas the ridge of the Gallowes. Fal. Thou say'st true Lad: and is not my Hostesse ofthe Tauerne a most sweet Wench? Prin. As is the hony, my old Lad of the Castle: and isnot a Buffe Ierkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now? how now mad Wagge? What in thyquips and thy quiddities? What a plague haue I to doewith a Buffe-Ierkin? Prin. Why, what a poxe haue I to doe with my Ho-stesse of the Tauerne? Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reck'ning many atime and oft. Prin. Did I euer call for thee to pay thy part? Fal. No, Ile giue thee thy due, thou hast paid al there. Prin. Yea and elsewhere, so farre as my Coine wouldstretch, and where it would not, I haue vs'd my credit. Fal. Yea, and so vs'd it, that were it heere apparant,that thou art Heire apparant. But I prythee sweet Wag,shall there be Gallowes standing in England when thouart King? and resolution thus fobb'd as it is, with the ru-stie curbe of old Father Anticke the Law? Doe not thouwhen thou art a King, hang a Theefe. Prin. No, thou shalt. Fal. Shall I? O rare! Ile be a braue Iudge. Prin. Thou iudgest false already. I meane, thou shalthaue the hanging of the Theeues, and so become a rareHangman. Fal. Well Hal, well: and in some sort it iumpes withmy humour, as well as waiting in the Court, I can tellyou. Prin. For obtaining of suites? Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suites, whereof the Hang-man hath no leane Wardrobe. I am as Melancholly as aGyb-Cat, or a lugg'd Beare. Prin. Or an old Lyon, or a Louers Lute. Fal. Yea, or the Drone of a Lincolnshire Bagpipe. Prin. What say'st thou to a Hare, or the Melanchollyof Moore Ditch? Fal. Thou hast the most vnsauoury smiles, and art in-deed the most comparatiue rascallest sweet yong Prince.But Hal, I prythee trouble me no more with vanity, I woldthou and I knew, where a Commodity of good nameswere to be bought: an olde Lord of the Councell ratedme the other day in the street about you sir; but I mark'dhim not, and yet hee talk'd very wisely, but I regardedhim not, and yet he talkt wisely, and in the street too. Prin. Thou didst well: for no man regards it. Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeedeable to corrupt a Saint. Thou hast done much harme vn-to me Hall, God forgiue thee for it. Before I knew thee Hal, I knew nothing: and now I am (if a man shold speaketruly) little better then one of the wicked. I must giue o-uer this life, and I will giue it ouer: and I do not, I am aVillaine. Ile be damn'd for neuer a Kings sonne in Chri-stendome. Prin. Where shall we take a purse to morrow, Iacke? Fal. Where thou wilt Lad, Ile make one: and I doenot, call me Villaine, and baffle me. Prin. I see a good amendment of life in thee: FromPraying, to Purse-taking. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my Vocation Hal: 'Tis no sin for aman to labour in his Vocation. Pointz. Now shall wee know if Gads hill haue set aWatch. O, if men were to be saued by merit, what holein Hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omni-potent Villaine, that euer cryed, Stand, to a true man. Prin. Good morrow Ned. Poines. Good morrow sweet Hal. What saies Mon-sieur remorse? What sayes Sir Iohn Sacke and Sugar:Iacke? How agrees the Diuell and thee about thy Soule,that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a Cup ofMadera, and a cold Capons legge? Prin. Sir Iohn stands to his word, the diuel shall hauehis bargaine, for he was neuer yet a Breaker of Prouerbs: He will giue the diuell his due. Poin. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word withthe diuell. Prin. Else he had damn'd cozening the diuell. Poy. But my Lads, my Lads, to morrow morning, byfoure a clocke early at Gads hill, there are Pilgrimes go-ing to Canterbury with rich Offerings, and Traders ri-ding to London with fat Purses. I haue vizards for youall; you haue horses for your selues: Gads-hill lyes tonight in Rochester, I haue bespoke Supper to morrow inEastcheape; we may doe it as secure as sleepe: if you willgo, I will stuffe your Purses full of Crownes: if you willnot, tarry at home and be hang'd. Fal. Heare ye Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not,Ile hang you for going. Poy. You will chops. Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? Prin. Who, I rob? I a Theefe? Not I. Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fel-lowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the blood-royall,if thou dar'st not stand for ten shillings. Prin. Well then, once in my dayes Ile be a mad-cap. Fal. Why, that's well said. Prin. Well, come what will, Ile tarry at home. Fal. Ile be a Traitor then, when thou art King. Prin. I care not. Poyn. Sir Iohn, I prythee leaue the Prince & me alone,I will lay him downe such reasons for this aduenture, thathe shall go. Fal. Well, maist thou haue the Spirit of perswasion;and he the eares of profiting, that what thou speakest,may moue; and what he heares may be beleeued, that thetrue Prince, may (for recreation sake) proue a false theefe;for the poore abuses of the time, want countenance. Far-well, you shall finde me in Eastcheape. Prin. Farwell the latter Spring. Farewell AlhollownSummer. Poy. Now, my good sweet Hony Lord, ride with vsto morrow. I haue a iest to execute, that I cannot man-nage alone. Falstaffe, Haruey, Rossill, and Gads-hill, shallrobbe those men that wee haue already way-layde, yourselfe and I, wil not be there: and when they haue the boo-ty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from myshoulders. Prin. But how shal we part with them in setting forth? Poyn. Why, we wil set forth before or after them, andappoint them a place of meeting, wherin it is at our plea-sure to faile; and then will they aduenture vppon the ex-ploit themselues, which they shall haue no sooner atchie-ued, but wee'l set vpon them. Prin. I, but tis like that they will know vs by ourhorses, by our habits, and by euery other appointment tobe our selues. Poy. Tut our horses they shall not see, Ile tye them inthe wood, our vizards wee will change after wee leauethem: and sirrah, I haue Cases of Buckram for the nonce,to immaske our noted outward garments. Prin. But I doubt they will be too hard for vs. Poin. Well, for two of them, I know them to bee astrue bred Cowards as euer turn'd backe: and for the thirdif he fight longer then he sees reason, Ile forswear Armes.The vertue of this Iest will be, the incomprehensible lyesthat this fat Rogue will tell vs, when we meete at Supper:how thirty at least he fought with, what Wardes, whatblowes, what extremities he endured; and in the reproofeof this, lyes the iest. Prin. Well, Ile goe with thee, prouide vs all thingsnecessary, and meete me to morrow night in Eastcheape,there Ile sup. Farewell. Poyn. Farewell, my Lord. Exit Pointz Prin. I know you all, and will a-while vpholdThe vnyoak'd humor of your idlenesse:Yet heerein will I imitate the Sunne,Who doth permit the base contagious cloudesTo smother vp his Beauty from the world,That when he please againe to be himselfe,Being wanted, he may be more wondred at,By breaking through the foule and vgly mistsOf vapours, that did seeme to strangle him.If all the yeare were playing holidaies,To sport, would be as tedious as to worke;But when they seldome come, they wisht-for come,And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.So when this loose behauiour I throw off,And pay the debt I neuer promised;By how much better then my word I am,By so much shall I falsifie mens hopes,And like bright Mettall on a sullen ground:My reformation glittering o're my fault,Shall shew more goodly, and attract more eyes,Then that which hath no foyle to set it off.Ile so offend, to make offence a skill,Redeeming time, when men thinke least I will.
Scoena Tertia. Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspurre,Sir Walter Blunt, and others. King. My blood hath beene too cold and temperate,Vnapt to stirre at these indignities,And you haue found me; for accordingly,You tread vpon my patience: But be sure,I will from henceforth rather be my Selfe,Mighty, and to be fear'd, then my conditionWhich hath beene smooth as Oyle, soft as yong Downe,And therefore lost that Title of respect,Which the proud soule ne're payes, but to the proud. Wor. Our house (my Soueraigne Liege) little deseruesThe scourge of greatnesse to be vsed on it,And that same greatnesse too, which our owne handsHaue holpe to make so portly. Nor. My Lord. King. Worcester get thee gone: for I do seeDanger and disobedience in thine eye.O sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,And Maiestie might neuer yet endureThe moody Frontier of a seruant brow,You haue good leaue to leaue vs. When we needYour vse and counsell, we shall send for you.You were about to speake. North. Yea, my good Lord. Those Prisoners in your Highnesse demanded,Which Harry Percy heere at Holmedon tooke,Were (as he sayes) not with such strength deniedAs was deliuered to your Maiesty:Who either through enuy, or misprision,Was guilty of this fault; and not my Sonne. Hot. My Liege, I did deny no Prisoners.But, I remember when the fight was done,When I was dry with Rage, and extreame Toyle,Breathlesse, and Faint, leaning vpon my Sword,Came there a certaine Lord, neat and trimly drest;Fresh as a Bride-groome, and his Chin new reapt,Shew'd like a stubble Land at Haruest home.He was perfumed like a Milliner,And 'twixt his Finger and his Thumbe, he heldA Pouncet-box: which euer and anonHe gaue his Nose, and took't away againe:Who therewith angry, when it next came there,Tooke it in Snuffe. And still he smil'd and talk'd:And as the Souldiers bare dead bodies by,He call'd them vntaught Knaues, Vnmannerly,To bring a slouenly vnhandsome CoarseBetwixt the Winde, and his Nobility.With many Holiday and Lady tearmeHe question'd me: Among the rest, demandedMy Prisoners, in your Maiesties behalfe.I then, all-smarting, with my wounds being cold,(To be so pestered with a Popingay)Out of my Greefe, and my Impatience,Answer'd (neglectingly) I know not what,He should, or should not: For he made me mad,To see him shine so briske, and smell so sweet,And talke so like a Waiting-Gentlewoman,Of Guns, & Drums, and Wounds: God saue the marke;And telling me, the Soueraign'st thing on earthWas Parmacity, for an inward bruise:And that it was great pitty, so it was,That villanous Salt-peter should be digg'dOut of the Bowels of the harmlesse Earth,Which many a good Tall Fellow had destroy'dSo Cowardly. And but for these vile Gunnes,He would himselfe haue beene a Souldier.This bald, vnioynted Chat of his (my Lord)Made me to answer indirectly (as I said.)And I beseech you, let not this reportCome currant for an Accusation,Betwixt my Loue, and your high Maiesty. Blunt. The circumstance considered, good my Lord,What euer Harry Percie then had said,To such a person, and in such a place,At such a time, with all the rest retold,May reasonably dye, and neuer riseTo do him wrong, or any way impeachWhat then he said, so he vnsay it now. King. Why yet doth deny his Prisoners,But with Prouiso and Exception,That we at our owne charge, shall ransome straightHis Brother-in-Law, the foolish Mortimer, Who (in my soule) hath wilfully betraidThe liues of those, that he did leade to Fight,Against the great Magitian, damn'd Glendower: Whose daughter (as we heare) the Earle of MarchHath lately married. Shall our Coffers then,Be emptied, to redeeme a Traitor home?Shall we buy Treason? and indent with Feares,When they haue lost and forfeyted themselues.No: on the barren Mountaine let him sterue:For I shall neuer hold that man my Friend,Whose tongue shall aske me for one peny costTo ransome home reuolted Mortimer. Hot. Reuolted Mortimer?He neuer did fall off, my Soueraigne Liege,But by the chance of Warre: to proue that true,Needs no more but one tongue. For all those Wounds,Those mouthed Wounds, which valiantly he tooke,When on the gentle Seuernes siedgie banke,In single Opposition hand to hand,He did confound the best part of an houreIn changing hardiment with great Glendower: Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drinkVpon agreement, of swift Seuernes flood;Who then affrighted with their bloody lookes,Ran fearefully among the trembling Reeds,And hid his crispe-head in the hollow banke,Blood-stained with these Valiant Combatants.Neuer did base and rotten PolicyColour her working with such deadly wounds;Nor neuer could the Noble Mortimer Receiue so many, and all willingly:Then let him not be sland'red with Reuolt. King. Thou do'st bely him Percy, thou dost bely him;He neuer did encounter with Glendower: I tell thee, he durst as well haue met the diuell alone,As Owen Glendower for an enemy.Art thou not asham'd? But Sirrah, henceforthLet me not heare you speake of Mortimer. Send me your Prisoners with the speediest meanes,Or you shall heare in such a kinde from meAs will displease ye. My Lord Northumberland, We License your departure with your sonne,Send vs your Prisoners, or you'l heare of it. Exit King. Hot. And if the diuell come and roare for themI will not send them. I will after straightAnd tell him so: for I will ease my heart,Although it be with hazard of my head. Nor. What? drunke with choller? stay & pause awhile,Heere comes your Vnckle. Enter Worcester. Hot. Speake of Mortimer?Yes, I will speake of him, and let my souleWant mercy, if I do not ioyne with him.In his behalfe, Ile empty all these Veines,And shed my deere blood drop by drop i'th dust,But I will lift the downfall Mortimer As high i'th Ayre, as this Vnthankfull King,As this Ingrate and Cankred Bullingbrooke. Nor. Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad Wor. Who strooke this heate vp after I was gone? Hot. He will (forsooth) haue all my Prisoners:And when I vrg'd the ransom once againeOf my Wiues Brother, then his cheeke look'd pale,And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,Trembling euen at the name of Mortimer. Wor. I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'dBy Richard that dead is, the next of blood? Nor. He was: I heard the Proclamation,And then it was, when the vnhappy King(Whose wrongs in vs God pardon) did set forthVpon his Irish Expedition:From whence he intercepted, did returneTo be depos'd, and shortly murthered. Wor. And for whose death, we in the worlds wide mouthLiue scandaliz'd, and fouly spoken of. Hot. But soft I pray you; did King Richard thenProclaime my brother Mortimer, Heyre to the Crowne? Nor. He did, my selfe did heare it. Hot. Nay then I cannot blame his Cousin King,That wish'd him on the barren Mountaines staru'd.But shall it be, that you that set the CrowneVpon the head of this forgetfull man,And for his sake, wore the detested blotOf murtherous subornation? Shall it be,That you a world of curses vndergoe,Being the Agents, or base second meanes,The Cords, the Ladder, or the Hangman rather?O pardon, if that I descend so low,To shew the Line, and the PredicamentWherein you range vnder this subtill King.Shall it for shame, be spoken in these dayes,Or fill vp Chronicles in time to come,That men of your Nobility and Power,Did gage them both in an vniust behalfe(As Both of you, God pardon it, haue done)To put downe Richard, that sweet louely Rose,And plant this Thorne, this Canker Bullingbrooke?And shall it in more shame be further spoken,That you are fool'd, discarded, and shooke offBy him, for whom these shames ye vnderwent?No: yet time serues, wherein you may redeemeYour banish'd Honors, and restore your seluesInto the good Thoughts of the world againe.Reuenge the geering and disdain'd contemptOf this proud King, who studies day and nightTo answer all the Debt he owes vnto you,Euen with the bloody Payment of your deaths:Therefore I say—— Wor. Peace Cousin, say no more.And now I will vnclaspe a Secret booke,And to your quicke conceyuing Discontents,Ile reade you Matter, deepe and dangerous,As full of perill and aduenturous Spirit,As to o're-walke a Current, roaring loudOn the vnstedfast footing of a Speare. Hot. If he fall in, good night, or sinke or swimme:Send danger from the East vnto the West,So Honor crosse it from the North to South,And let them grapple: The blood more stirresTo rowze a Lyon, then to start a Hare. Nor. Imagination of some great exploit,Driues him beyond the bounds of Patience. Hot. By heauen, me thinkes it were an easie leap,To plucke bright Honor from the pale-fac'd Moone,Or diue into the bottome of the deepe,Where Fadome-line could neuer touch the ground,And plucke vp drowned Honor by the Lockes:So he that doth redeeme her thence, might weareWithout Co-riuall, all her Dignities:But out vpon this halfe-fac'd Fellowship. Wor. He apprehends a World of Figures here,But not the forme of what he should attend:Good Cousin giue me audience for a-while,And list to me. Hot. I cry you mercy. Wor. Those same Noble ScottesThat are your Prisoners. Hot. Ile keepe them all.By heauen, he shall not haue a Scot of them:No, if a Scot would saue his Soule, he shall not.Ile keepe them, by this Hand. Wor. You start away,And lend no eare vnto my purposes.Those Prisoners you shall keepe. Hot. Nay, I will: that's flat:He said, he would not ransome Mortimer: Forbad my tongue to speake of Mortimer. But I will finde him when he lyes asleepe,And in his eare, Ile holla Mortimer. Nay, Ile haue a Starling shall be taught to speakeNothing but Mortimer, and giue it him,To keepe his anger still in motion. Wor. Heare you Cousin: a word. Hot. All studies heere I solemnly defie,Saue how to gall and pinch this Bullingbrooke, And that same Sword and Buckler Prince of Wales.But that I thinke his Father loues him not,And would be glad he met with some mischance,I would haue poyson'd him with a pot of Ale. Wor. Farewell Kinsman: Ile talke to youWhen you are better temper'd to attend. Nor. Why what a Waspe-tongu'd & impatient fooleArt thou, to breake into this Womans mood,Tying thine eare to no tongue but thine owne? Hot. Why look you, I am whipt & scourg'd with rods,Netled, and stung with Pismires, when I heareOf this vile Politician Bullingbrooke. In Richards time: What de'ye call the place?A plague vpon't, it is in Gloustershire:'Twas, where the madcap Duke his Vncle kept,His Vncle Yorke, where I first bow'd my kneeVnto this King of Smiles, this Bullingbrooke: When you and he came backe from Rauenspurgh. Nor. At Barkley Castle. Hot. You say true:Why what a caudie deale of curtesie,This fawning Grey-hound then did proffer me,Looke when his infant Fortune came to age,And gentle Harry Percy, and kinde Cousin:O, the Diuell take such Couzeners, God forgiue me,Good Vncle tell your tale, for I haue done. Wor. Nay, if you haue not, too't againe,Wee'l stay your leysure. Hot. I haue done insooth. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish Prisoners.Deliuer them vp without their ransome straight,And make the Dowglas sonne your onely meaneFor powres in Scotland: which for diuers reasonsWhich I shall send you written, be assur'dWill easily be granted you, my Lord.Your Sonne in Scotland being thus imploy'd,Shall secretly into the bosome creepeOf that same noble Prelate, well belou'd,The Archbishop. Hot. Of Yorke, is't not? Wor. True, who beares hardHis Brothers death at Bristow, the Lord Scroope. I speake not this in estimation,As what I thinke might be, but what I knowIs ruminated, plotted, and set downe,And onely stayes but to behold the faceOf that occasion that shall bring it on. Hot. I smell it:Vpon my life, it will do wond'rous well. Nor. Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'st slip. Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a Noble plot, And then the power of Scotland, and of YorkeTo ioyne with Mortimer, Ha. Wor. And so they shall. Hot. Infaith it is exceedingly well aym'd. Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids vs speed,To saue our heads, by raising of a Head:For, beare our selues as euen as we can,The King will alwayes thinke him in our debt,And thinke, we thinke our selues vnsatisfied,Till he hath found a time to pay vs home.And see already, how he doth beginneTo make vs strangers to his lookes of loue. Hot. He does, he does; wee'l be reueng'd on him. Wor. Cousin, farewell. No further go in this,Then I by Letters shall direct your courseWhen time is ripe, which will be sodainly:Ile steale to Glendower, and loe, Mortimer, Where you, and Dowglas, and our powres at once,As I will fashion it, shall happily meete,To beare our fortunes in our owne strong armes,Which now we hold at much vncertainty. Nor. Farewell good Brother, we shall thriue, I trust. Hot. Vncle, adieu: O let the houres be short,Till fields, and blowes, and grones, applaud our sport. Exit
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter a Carrier with a Lanterne in his hand. 1.Car. Heigh-ho, an't be not foure by the day, Ile behang'd. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yetour horse not packt. What Ostler? Ost. Anon, anon. 1.Car. I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a fewFlockes in the point: the poore Iade is wrung in the wi-thers, out of all cesse. Enter another Carrier. 2.Car. Pease and Beanes are as danke here as a Dog,and this is the next way to giue poore Iades the Bottes:This house is turned vpside downe since Robin the Ostlerdyed. 1.Car. Poore fellow neuer ioy'd since the price of oatsrose, it was the death of him. 2.Car. I thinke this is the most villanous house in alLondon rode for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench. 1.Car. Like a Tench? There is ne're a King in Chri-stendome, could be better bit, then I haue beene since thefirst Cocke. 2.Car. Why, you will allow vs ne're a Iourden, andthen we leake in your Chimney: and your Chamber-lyebreeds Fleas like a Loach. 1.Car. What Ostler, come away, and be hangd: comeaway. 2.Car. I haue a Gammon of Bacon, and two razes ofGinger, to be deliuered as farre as Charing-crosse. 1.Car. The Turkies in my Pannier are quite starued.What Ostler? A plague on thee, hast thou neuer an eye inthy head? Can'st not heare? And t'were not as good adeed as drinke, to break the pate of thee, I am a very Vil-laine. Come and be hang'd, hast no faith in thee? Enter Gads-hill. Gad. Good-morrow Carriers. What's a clocke? Car. I thinke it be two a clocke. Gad. I prethee lend me thy Lanthorne to see my Gel-ding in the stable. 1.Car. Nay soft I pray ye, I know a trick worth twoof that. Gad. I prethee lend me thine. 2.Car. I, when, canst tell? Lend mee thy Lanthorne(quoth-a) marry Ile see thee hang'd first. Gad. Sirra Carrier: What time do you mean to cometo London? 2.Car. Time enough to goe to bed with a Candle, Iwarrant thee. Come neighbour Mugges, wee'll call vpthe Gentlemen, they will along with company, for theyhaue great charge. Exeunt Enter Chamberlaine. Gad. What ho, Chamberlaine? Cham. At hand quoth Pick-purse. Gad. That's euen as faire, as at hand quoth the Cham-berlaine: For thou variest no more from picking of Pur-ses, then giuing direction, doth from labouring. Thoulay'st the plot, how. Cham. Good morrow Master Gads-Hill, it holds cur-rant that I told you yesternight. There's a Franklin in thewilde of Kent, hath brought three hundred Markes withhim in Gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company lastnight at Supper; a kinde of Auditor, one that hath abun-dance of charge too (God knowes what) they are vp al-ready, and call for Egges and Butter. They will awaypresently. Gad. Sirra, if they meete not with S[aint]. Nicholas Clarks,Ile giue thee this necke. Cham. No, Ile none of it: I prythee keep that for theHangman, for I know thou worshipst S[aint]. Nicholas as tru-ly as a man of falshood may. Gad. What talkest thou to me of the Hangman? If Ihang, Ile make a fat payre of Gallowes. For, if I hang,old Sir Iohn hangs with mee, and thou know'st hee's noStarueling. Tut, there are other Troians that thou dream'stnot of, the which (for sport sake) are content to doe theProfession some grace; that would (if matters should beelook'd into) for their owne Credit sake, make all Whole.I am ioyned with no Foot-land-Rakers, No Long-staffesix-penny strikers, none of these mad Mustachio-purple-hu'd-Maltwormes,but with Nobility, and Tranquilitie;Bourgomasters, and great Oneyers, such as can holde in,such as will strike sooner then speake; and speake soonerthen drinke, and drinke sooner then pray: and yet I lye,for they pray continually vnto their Saint the Common-wealth; or rather, not to pray to her, but prey on her: forthey ride vp & downe on her, and make hir their Boots. Cham. What, the Commonwealth their Bootes? Willshe hold out water in foule way? Gad. She will, she will; Iustice hath liquor'd her. Westeale as in a Castle, cocksure: we haue the receit of Fern-seede, we walke inuisible. Cham. Nay, I thinke rather, you are more beholdingto the Night, then to the Fernseed, for your walking in-uisible. Gad. Giue me thy hand.Thou shalt haue a share in our purpose,As I am a true man. Cham. Nay, rather let mee haue it, as you are a falseTheefe. Gad. Goe too: Homo is a common name to all men.Bid the Ostler bring the Gelding out of the stable. Fare-well, ye muddy Knaue. Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Prince, Poynes, and Peto. Poines. Come shelter, shelter, I haue remoued Falstafs Horse, and he frets like a gum'd Veluet. Prin. Stand close. Enter Falstaffe. Fal. Poines, Poines, and be hang'd Poines. Prin. Peace ye fat-kidney'd Rascall, what a brawlingdost thou keepe. Fal. What Poines. Hal? Prin. He is walk'd vp to the top of the hill, Ile go seekhim. Fal. I am accurst to rob in that Theefe company: thatRascall hath remoued my Horse, and tied him I know notwhere. If I trauell but foure foot by the squire further a foote, I shall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not butto dye a faire death for all this, if I scape hanging for kil-ling that Rogue, I haue forsworne his company hourelyany time this two and twenty yeare, & yet I am bewitchtwith the Rogues company. If the Rascall haue not giuenme medicines to make me loue him, Ile be hang'd; it couldnot be else: I haue drunke Medicines. Poines, Hal, aPlague vpon you both. Bardolph, Peto: Ile starue ere Irob a foote further. And 'twere not as good a deede as todrinke, to turne True-man, and to leaue these Rogues, Iam the veriest Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth.Eight yards of vneuen ground, is threescore & ten milesafoot with me: and the stony-hearted Villaines knowe itwell enough. A plague vpon't, when Theeues cannot betrue one to another. They Whistle. Whew: a plague light vpon you all. Giue my Horse youRogues: giue me my Horse, and be hang'd. Prin. Peace ye fat guttes, lye downe, lay thine eareclose to the ground, and list if thou can heare the tread ofTrauellers. Fal. Haue you any Leauers to lift me vp again beingdowne? Ile not beare mine owne flesh so far afoot again,for all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plaguemeane ye to colt me thus? Prin. Thou ly'st, thou art not colted, thou art vncolted. Fal. I prethee good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,good Kings sonne. Prin. Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler? Fal. Go hang thy selfe in thine owne heire-apparant-Garters:If I be tane, Ile peach for this: and I haue notBallads made on all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a Cup ofSacke be my poyson: when a iest is so forward, & a footetoo, I hate it. Enter Gads-hill. Gad. Stand. Fal. So I do against my will. Poin. O 'tis our Setter, I know his voyce: Bardolfe, what newes? Bar. Case ye, case ye; on with your Vizards, there'smony of the Kings comming downe the hill, 'tis goingto the Kings Exchequer. Fal. You lie you rogue, 'tis going to the Kings Tauern. Gad. There's enough to make vs all. Fal. To be hang'd. Prin. You foure shall front them in the narrow Lane: Ned and I, will walke lower; if they scape from your en-counter, then they light on vs. Peto. But how many be of them? Gad. Some eight or ten. Fal. Will they not rob vs? Prin. What, a Coward Sir Iohn Paunch? Fal. Indeed I am not Iohn of Gaunt your Grandfather;but yet no Coward, Hal. Prin. Wee'l leaue that to the proofe. Poin. Sirra Iacke, thy horse stands behinde the hedg,when thou need'st him, there thou shalt finde him. Fare-well, and stand fast. Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd. Prin. Ned, where are our disguises? Poin. Heere hard by: Stand close. Fal. Now my Masters, happy man be his dole, say I:euery man to his businesse. Enter Trauellers. Tra. Come Neighbor: the boy shall leade our Horsesdowne the hill: Wee'l walke a-foot a while, and ease ourLegges. Theeues. Stay. Tra. Iesu blesse vs. Fal. Strike down with them, cut the villains throats; a whorson Caterpillars: Bacon-fed Knaues, they hate vsyouth; downe with them, fleece them. Tra. O, we are vndone, both we and ours for euer. Fal. Hang ye gorbellied knaues, are you vndone? Noye Fat Chuffes, I would your store were heere. On Ba-cons, on, what ye knaues? Yong men must liue, you areGrand Iurers, are ye? Wee'l iure ye ifaith. Heere they rob them, and binde them. Enter thePrince and Poines. Prin. The Theeues haue bound the True-men: Nowcould thou and I rob the Theeues, and go merily to Lon-don, it would be argument for a Weeke, Laughter for aMoneth, and a good iest for euer. Poynes. Stand close, I heare them comming. Enter Theeues againe. Fal. Come my Masters, let vs share, and then to horssebefore day: and the Prince and Poynes bee not two ar-rand Cowards, there's no equity stirring. There's no moevalour in that Poynes, than in a wilde Ducke. Prin. Your money. Poin. Villaines. As they are sharing, the Prince and Poynes set vpon them.They all run away, leauing the booty behind them. Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to Horse:The Theeues are scattred, and possest with fear so strong-ly, that they dare not meet each other: each takes his fel-low for an Officer. Away good Ned, Falstaffe sweates todeath, and Lards the leane earth as he walkes along: wer'tnot for laughing, I should pitty him. Poin. How the Rogue roar'd. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Hotspurre solus, reading a Letter. But for mine owne part, my Lord. I could bee well contented tobe there, in respect of the loue I beare your house. He could be contented: Why is he not then? in respect ofthe loue he beares our house. He shewes in this, he loueshis owne Barne better then he loues our house. Let mesee some more. The purpose you vndertake is dangerous. Why that's certaine: 'Tis dangerous to take a Colde, tosleepe, to drinke: but I tell you (my Lord foole) out ofthis Nettle, Danger; we plucke this Flower, Safety. The purpose you vndertake is dangerous, the Friends you haue na-med vncertaine, the Time it selfe vnsorted, and your whole Plot too light, for the counterpoize of so great an Opposition. Say you so, say you so: I say vnto you againe, you are ashallow cowardly Hinde, and you Lye. What a lacke-braine is this? I protest, our plot is as good a plot as euerwas laid; our Friend true and constant: A good Plotte,good Friends, and full of expectation: An excellent plot,very good Friends. What a Frosty-spirited rogue is this?Why, my Lord of Yorke commends the plot, and thegenerall course of the action. By this hand, if I were nowby this Rascall, I could braine him with his Ladies Fan.Is there not my Father, my Vncle, and my Selfe, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of Yorke, and Owen Glendour?Is there not besides, the Dowglas? Haue I not all their let-ters, to meete me in Armes by the ninth of the next Mo-neth? and are they not some of them set forward already?What a Pagan Rascall is this? An Infidell. Ha, you shallsee now in very sincerity of Feare and Cold heart, will heto the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I coulddiuide my selfe, and go to buffets, for mouing such a dishof skim'd Milk with so honourable an Action. Hang him,let him tell the King we are prepared. I will set forwardsto night. Enter his Lady. How now Kate, I must leaue you within these two hours. La. O my good Lord, why are you thus alone?For what offence haue I this fortnight binA banish'd woman from my Harries bed?Tell me (sweet Lord) what is't that takes from theeThy stomacke, pleasure, and thy golden sleepe?Why dost thou bend thine eyes vpon the earth?And start so often when thou sitt'st alone?Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheekes?And giuen my Treasures and my rights of thee,To thicke-ey'd musing, and curst melancholly?In my faint-slumbers, I by thee haue watcht,And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Warres:Speake tearmes of manage to thy bounding Steed,Cry courage to the field. And thou hast talk'dOf Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents,Of Palizadoes, Frontiers, Parapets,Of Basiliskes, of Canon, Culuerin,Of Prisoners ransome, and of Souldiers slaine,And all the current of a headdy fight.Thy spirit within thee hath beene so at Warre,And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleepe,That beds of sweate hath stood vpon thy Brow,Like bubbles in a late-disturbed Streame;And in thy face strange motions haue appear'd,Such as we see when men restraine their breathOn some great sodaine hast. O what portents are these?Some heauie businesse hath my Lord in hand,And I must know it: else he loues me not. Hot. What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone? Ser. He is my Lord, an houre agone. Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses fro[m] the Sheriffe? Ser. One horse, my Lord, he brought euen now. Hot. What Horse? A Roane, a crop eare, is it not. Ser. It is my Lord. Hot. That Roane shall be my Throne. Well, I willbacke him straight. Esperance, bid Butler lead him forthinto the Parke. La. But heare you, my lord. Hot. What say'st thou my Lady? La. What is it carries you away? Hot. Why, my horse (my Loue) my horse. La. Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazell hath notsuch a deale of Spleene, as you are tost with. In sooth Ileknow your businesse Harry, that I will. I feare my Bro-ther Mortimer doth stirre about his Title, and hath sentfor you to line his enterprize. But if you go—— Hot. So farre a foot, I shall be weary, Loue. La. Come, come, you Paraquito, answer me directlyvnto this question, that I shall aske. Indeede Ile breakethy little finger Harry, if thou wilt not tel me true. Hot. Away, away you trifler: Loue, I loue thee not,I care not for thee Kate: this is no worldTo play with Mammets, and to tilt with lips.We must haue bloodie Noses, and crack'd Crownes,And passe them currant too. Gods me, my horse.What say'st thou Kate? what wold'st thou haue with me? La. Do ye not loue me? Do ye not indeed?Well, do not then. For since you loue me not,I will not loue my selfe. Do you not loue me?Nay, tell me if thou speak'st in iest, or no. Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?And when I am a horsebacke, I will sweareI loue thee infinitely. But hearke you Kate, I must not haue you henceforth, question me,Whether I go: nor reason whereabout.Whether I must, I must: and to conclude,This Euening must I leaue thee, gentle Kate. I know you wise, but yet no further wiseThen Harry Percies wife. Constant you are,But yet a woman: and for secrecie,No Lady closer. For I will beleeueThou wilt not vtter what thou do'st not know,And so farre wilt I trust thee, gentle Kate. La. How so farre? Hot. Not an inch further. But harke you Kate, Whither I go, thither shall you go too:To day will I set forth, to morrow you.Will this content you Kate? La. It must of force. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Prince and Poines. Prin. Ned, prethee come out of that fat roome, & lendme thy hand to laugh a little. Poines. Where hast bene Hall? Prin. With three or foure Logger-heads, amongst 3.or fourescore Hogsheads. I haue sounded the verie basestring of humility. Sirra, I am sworn brother to a leash ofDrawers, and can call them by their names, as Tom, Dicke, and Francis. They take it already vpon their confidence,that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the Kingof Curtesie: telling me flatly I am no proud Iack like Fal-staffe, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, andwhen I am King of England, I shall command al the goodLaddes in East-cheape. They call drinking deepe, dy-ing Scarlet; and when you breath in your watering, then they cry hem, and bid you play it off. To conclude, I amso good a proficient in one quarter of an houre, that I candrinke with any Tinker in his owne Language during mylife. I tell thee Ned, thou hast lost much honor, that thouwer't not with me in this action: but sweet Ned, to swee-ten which name of Ned, I giue thee this peniworth of Su-gar, clapt euen now into my hand by an vnder Skinker,one that neuer spake other English in his life, then Eight shillings and six pence, and, You are welcome: with this shriladdition, Anon, Anon sir, Score a Pint of Bastard in the Halfe Moone, or so. But Ned, to driue away time till Fal-staffe come, I prythee doe thou stand in some by-roome,while I question my puny Drawer, to what end hee gaueme the Sugar, and do neuer leaue calling Francis, that hisTale to me may be nothing but, Anon: step aside, and Ileshew thee a President. Poines. Francis. Prin. Thou art perfect. Poin. Francis. Enter Drawer. Fran. Anon, anon sir; looke downe into the Pomgar-net, Ralfe. Prince. Come hither Francis. Fran. My Lord. Prin. How long hast thou to serue, Francis? Fran. Forsooth fiue yeares, and as much as to—— Poin. Francis. Fran. Anon, anon sir. Prin. Fiue yeares: Berlady a long Lease for the clin-king of Pewter. But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, asto play the coward with thy Indenture, & show it a fairepaire of heeles, and run from it? Fran. O Lord sir, Ile be sworne vpon all the Books inEngland, I could finde in my heart. Poin. Francis. Fran. Anon, anon sir. Prin. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shalbe—— Poin. Francis. Fran. Anon sir, pray you stay a little, my Lord. Prin. Nay but harke you Francis, for the Sugar thougauest me, 'twas a penyworth, was't not? Fran. O Lord sir, I would it had bene two. Prin. I will giue thee for it a thousand pound: Askeme when thou wilt, and thou shalt haue it. Poin. Francis. Fran. Anon, anon. Prin. Anon Francis? No Francis, but to morrow Fran-cis: or Francis, on thursday: or indeed Francis when thouwilt. But Francis. Fran. My Lord. Prin. Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Ierkin, Christallbutton, Not-pated, Agat ring, Puke stocking, Caddicegarter, Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch. Fran. O Lord sir, who do you meane? Prin. Why then your browne Bastard is your onelydrinke: for looke you Francis, your white Canuas doub-let will sulley. In Barbary sir, it cannot come to so much. Fran. What sir? Poin. Francis. Prin. Away you Rogue, dost thou heare them call? Heere they both call him, the Drawer stands amazed,not knowing which way to go. Enter Vintner. Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a cal-ling? Looke to the Guests within: My Lord, olde Sir Iohn with halfe a dozen more, are at the doore: shall I letthem in? Prin. Let them alone awhile, and then open the doore. Poines. Enter Poines. Poin. Anon, anon sir. Prin. Sirra, Falstaffe and the rest of the Theeues, are atthe doore, shall we be merry? Poin. As merrie as Crickets my Lad. But harke yee,What cunning match haue you made this iest of theDrawer? Come, what's the issue? Prin. I am now of all humors, that haue shewed them-selues humors, since the old dayes of goodman Adam, tothe pupill age of this present twelue a clock at midnight.What's a clocke Francis? Fran. Anon, anon sir. Prin. That euer this Fellow should haue fewer wordsthen a Parret, and yet the sonne of a Woman. His indu-stry is vp-staires and down-staires, his eloquence the par-cell of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind, the Hot-spurre of the North, he that killes me some sixe or seauendozen of Scots at a Breakfast, washes his hands, and saiesto his wife; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O mysweet Harry sayes she, how many hast thou kill'd to day?Giue my Roane horse a drench (sayes hee) and answeres,some fourteene, an houre after: a trifle, a trifle. I pretheecall in Falstaffe, Ile play Percy, and that damn'd Brawneshall play Dame Mortimer his wife. Riuo, sayes the drun-kard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow. Enter Falstaffe. Poin. Welcome Iacke, where hast thou beene? Fal. A plague of all Cowards I say, and a Vengeancetoo, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. EreI leade this life long, Ile sowe nether stockes, and mendthem too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me a Cup ofSacke, Rogue. Is there no Vertue extant? Prin. Didst thou neuer see Titan kisse a dish of Butter,pittifull hearted Titan that melted at the sweete Tale ofthe Sunne? If thou didst, then behold that compound. Fal. You Rogue, heere's Lime in this Sacke too: thereis nothing but Roguery to be found in Villanous man; yeta Coward is worse then a Cup of Sack with lime. A vil-lanous Coward, go thy wayes old Iacke, die when thouwilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpon theface of the earth, then am I a shotten Herring: there liuesnot three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of themis fat, and growes old, God helpe the while, a bad world Isay. I would I were a Weauer, I could sing all manner ofsongs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still. Prin. How now Woolsacke, what mutter you? Fal. A Kings Sonne? If I do not beate thee out of thyKingdome with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Sub-iects afore thee like a flocke of Wilde-geese, Ile neuerweare haire on my face more. You Prince of Wales? Prin. Why you horson round man? what's the matter? Fal. Are you not a Coward? Answer me to that, and Poines there? Prin. Ye fat paunch, and yee call mee Coward, Ilestab thee. Fal. I call thee Coward? Ile see thee damn'd ere I call the Coward: but I would giue a thousand pound I couldrun as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in theshoulders, you care not who sees your backe: Call you that backing of your friends? a plague vpon such bac-king: giue me them that will face me. Giue me a Cupof Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunke to day. Prin. O Villaine, thy Lippes are scarce wip'd, sincethou drunk'st last. Falst. All's one for that. He drinkes. A plague of all Cowards still, say I. Prince. What's the matter? Falst. What's the matter? here be foure of vs, haueta'ne a thousand pound this Morning. Prince. Where is it, Iack? where is it? Falst. Where is it? taken from vs, it is: a hundredvpon poore foure of vs. Prince. What, a hundred, man? Falst. I am a Rogue, if I were not at halfe Sword witha dozen of them two houres together. I haue scaped bymiracle. I am eight times thrust through the Doublet,foure through the Hose, my Buckler cut through andthrough, my Sword hackt like a Hand-saw, ecce signum. I neuer dealt better since I was a man: all would not doe.A plague of all Cowards: let them speake; if they speakemore or lesse then truth, they are villaines, and the sonnesof darknesse. Prince. Speake sirs, how was it? Gad. We foure set vpon some dozen. Falst. Sixteene, at least, my Lord. Gad. And bound them. Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Falst. You Rogue, they were bound, euery man ofthem, or I am a Iew else, an Ebrew Iew. Gad. As we were sharing, some sixe or seuen fresh menset vpon vs. Falst. And vnbound the rest, and then come in theother. Prince. What, fought yee with them all? Falst. All? I know not what yee call all: but if Ifought not with fiftie of them, I am a bunch of Radish:if there were not two or three and fiftie vpon poore olde Iack, then am I no two-legg'd Creature. Poin. Pray Heauen, you haue not murthered some ofthem. Falst. Nay, that's past praying for, I haue pepper'dtwo of them: Two I am sure I haue payed, two Roguesin Buckrom Sutes. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee aLye, spit in my face, call me Horse: thou knowest my oldeword: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; foure Roguesin Buckrom let driue at me. Prince. What, foure? thou sayd'st but two, euen now. Falst. Foure Hal, I told thee foure. Poin. I, I, he said foure. Falst. These foure came all a-front, and mainely thrustat me; I made no more adoe, but tooke all their seuenpoints in my Targuet, thus. Prince. Seuen? why there were but foure, euen now. Falst. In buckrom. Poin. I, foure, in Buckrom Sutes. Falst. Seuen, by these Hilts, or I am a Villaine else. Prin. Prethee let him alone, we shall haue more anon. Falst. Doest thou heare me, Hal? Prin. I, and marke thee too, Iack. Falst. Doe so, for it is worth the listning too: thesenine in Buckrom, that I told thee of. Prin. So, two more alreadie. Falst. Their Points being broken. Poin. Downe fell his Hose. Falst. Began to giue me ground: but I followed meclose, came in foot and hand; and with a thought, seuen ofthe eleuen I pay'd. Prin. O monstrous! eleuen Buckrom men growneout of two? Falst. But as the Deuill would haue it, three mis-be-gotten Knaues, in Kendall Greene, came at my Back, andlet driue at me; for it was so darke, Hal, that thou could'stnot see thy Hand. Prin. These Lyes are like the Father that begets them,grosse as a Mountaine, open, palpable. Why thou Clay-brayn'dGuts, thou Knotty-pated Foole, thou Horson ob-scene greasie Tallow Catch. Falst. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not thetruth, the truth? Prin. Why, how could'st thou know these men inKendall Greene, when it was so darke, thou could'st notsee thy Hand? Come, tell vs your reason: what say'st thouto this? Poin. Come, your reason Iack, your reason. Falst. What, vpon compulsion? No: were I at theStrappado, or all the Racks in the World, I would nottell you on compulsion. Giue you a reason on compulsi-on? If Reasons were as plentie as Black-berries, I wouldgiue no man a Reason vpon compulsion, I. Prin. Ile be no longer guiltie of this sinne. This san-guine Coward, this Bed-presser, this Hors-back-breaker,this huge Hill of Flesh. Falst. Away you Starueling, you Elfe-skin, you driedNeats tongue, Bulles-pissell, you stocke-fish: O for brethto vtter. What is like thee? You Tailors yard, you sheathyou Bow-case, you vile standing tucke. Prin. Well, breath a-while, and then to't againe: andwhen thou hast tyr'd thy selfe in base comparisons, heareme speake but thus. Poin. Marke Iacke. Prin. We two, saw you foure set on foure and boundthem, and were Masters of their Wealth: mark now howa plaine Tale shall put you downe. Then did we two, seton you foure, and with a word, outfac'd you from yourprize, and haue it: yea, and can shew it you in the House.And Falstaffe, you caried your Guts away as nimbly, withas quicke dexteritie, and roared for mercy, and still ranneand roar'd, as euer I heard Bull-Calfe. What a Slaue artthou, to hacke thy sword as thou hast done, and then sayit was in fight. What trick? what deuice? what startinghole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this openand apparant shame? Poines. Come, let's heare Iacke: What tricke hastthou now? Fal. I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why heareye my Masters, was it for me to kill the Heire apparant?Should I turne vpon the true Prince? Why, thou knowestI am as valiant as Hercules: but beware Instinct, the Lionwill not touch the true Prince: Instinct is a great matter.I was a Coward on Instinct: I shall thinke the better ofmy selfe, and thee, during my life: I, for a valiant Lion,and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you hauethe Mony. Hostesse, clap to the doores: watch to night,pray to morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boyes, Harts of Gold,all the good Titles of Fellowship come to you. What,shall we be merry? shall we haue a Play extempory. Prin. Content, and the argument shall be, thy runingaway. Fal. A, no more of that Hall, and thou louest me. Enter Hostesse Host. My Lord, the Prince? Prin. How now my Lady the Hostesse, what say'stthou to me? Hostesse. Marry, my Lord, there is a Noble man of theCourt at doore would speake with you: hee sayes, heecomes from your Father. Prin. Giue him as much as will make him a Royallman, and send him backe againe to my Mother. Falst. What manner of man is hee? Hostesse. An old man. Falst. What doth Grauitie out of his Bed at Midnight?Shall I giue him his answere? Prin. Prethee doe Iacke. Falst. 'Faith, and Ile send him packing. Exit. Prince. Now Sirs: you fought faire; so did you Peto, so did you Bardol: you are Lyons too, you ranneaway vpon instinct: you will not touch the true Prince;no, fie. Bard. 'Faith, I ranne when I saw others runne. Prin. Tell mee now in earnest, how came Falstaffes Sword so hackt? Peto. Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and said, heewould sweare truth out of England, but hee would makeyou beleeue it was done in fight, and perswaded vs to doethe like. Bard. Yea, and to tickle our Noses with Spear-grasse,to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garmentswith it, and sweare it was the blood of true men. I didthat I did not this seuen yeeres before, I blusht to hearehis monstrous deuices. Prin. O Villaine, thou stolest a Cup of Sacke eigh-teene yeeres agoe, and wert taken with the manner, andeuer since thou hast blusht extempore: thou hadst fireand sword on thy side, and yet thou ranst away; whatinstinct hadst thou for it? Bard. My Lord, doe you see these Meteors? doe youbehold these Exhalations? Prin. I doe Bard. What thinke you they portend? Prin. Hot Liuers, and cold Purses. Bard. Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken. Prin. No, if rightly taken, Halter. Enter Falstaffe. Heere comes leane Iacke, heere comes bare-bone. Hownow my sweet Creature of Bombast, how long is't agoe, Iacke, since thou saw'st thine owne Knee? Falst. My owne Knee? When I was about thy yeeres(Hal) I was not an Eagles Talent in the Waste, I couldhaue crept into any Aldermans Thumbe-Ring: a plagueof sighing and griefe, it blowes a man vp like a Bladder.There's villanous Newes abroad; heere was Sir Iohn Braby from your Father; you must goe to the Court inthe Morning. The same mad fellow of the North, Percy; and hee of Wales, that gaue Amamon the Bastinado,and made Lucifer Cuckold, and swore the Deuill his trueLiege-man vpon the Crosse of a Welch-hooke; what aplague call you him? Poin. O, Glendower. Falst. Owen, Owen; the same, and his Sonne in Law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the sprightlyScot of Scots, Dowglas, that runnes a Horse-backe vp aHill perpendicular. Prin. Hee that rides at high speede, and with a Pistollkills a Sparrow flying. Falst. You haue hit it. Prin. So did he neuer the Sparrow. Falst. Well, that Rascall hath good mettall in him,hee will not runne. Prin. Why, what a Rascall art thou then, to prayse himso for running? Falst. A Horse-backe (ye Cuckoe) but a foot hee willnot budge a foot. Prin. Yes Iacke, vpon instinct. Falst. I grant ye, vpon instinct: Well, hee is there too,and one Mordake, and a thousand blew-Cappes more. Worcester is stolne away by Night: thy Fathers Beard isturn'd white with the Newes; you may buy Land nowas cheape as stinking Mackrell. Prin. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sunne, and thisciuill buffetting hold, wee shall buy Maiden-heads asthey buy Hob-nayles, by the Hundreds. Falst. By the Masse Lad, thou say'st true, it is like weeshall haue good trading that way. But tell me Hal, artnot thou horrible afear'd? thou being Heire apparant,could the World picke thee out three such Enemyes a-gaine, as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and thatDeuill Glendower? Art not thou horrible afraid? Dothnot thy blood thrill at it? Prin. Not a whit: I lacke some of thy instinct. Falst. Well, thou wilt be horrible chidde to morrow,when thou commest to thy Father: if thou doe loue me,practise an answere. Prin. Doe thou stand for my Father, and examine meevpon the particulars of my Life. Falst. Shall I? content: This Chayre shall bee myState, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cushion myCrowne. Prin. Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'd-Stoole, thy Gol-den Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious richCrowne, for a pittifull bald Crowne. Falst. Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out ofthee now shalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacketo make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be thought Ihaue wept, for I must speake in passion, and I will doe itin King Cambyses vaine. Prin. Well, heere is my Legge. Falst. And heere is my speech: stand aside Nobilitie. Hostesse. This is excellent sport, yfaith. Falst. Weepe not, sweet Queene, for trickling tearesare vaine. Hostesse. O the Father, how hee holdes his counte-nance? Falst. For Gods sake Lords, conuey my trustfull Queen,For teares doe stop the floud-gates of her eyes. Hostesse. O rare, he doth it as like one of these harlotryPlayers, as euer I see. Falst. Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-braine. Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou spendest thytime; but also, how thou art accompanied: For thoughthe Camomile, the more it is troden, the faster it growes;yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it weares.Thou art my Sonne: I haue partly thy Mothers Word,partly my Opinion; but chiefely, a villanous tricke ofthine Eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether Lippe, thatdoth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, heerelyeth the point: why, being Sonne to me, art thou sopoynted at? Shall the blessed Sonne of Heauen proue aMicher, and eate Black-berryes? a question not to beeaskt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Theefe, andtake Purses? a question to be askt. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is knowne to many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: this Pitch (asancient Writers doe report) doth defile; so doth the com-panie thou keepest: for Harry, now I doe not speake tothee in Drinke, but in Teares; not in Pleasure, but in Pas-sion; not in Words onely, but in Woes also: and yetthere is a vertuous man, whom I haue often noted in thycompanie, but I know not his Name. Prin. What manner of man, and it like your Ma-iestie? Falst. A goodly portly man yfaith, and a corpulent,of a chearefull Looke, a pleasing Eye, and a most nobleCarriage, and as I thinke, his age some fiftie, or (byrlady)inclining to threescore; and now I remember mee, hisName is Falstaffe: if that man should be lewdly giuen,hee deceiues mee; for Harry, I see Vertue in his Lookes.If then the Tree may be knowne by the Fruit, as the Fruitby the Tree, then peremptorily I speake it, there is Vertuein that Falstaffe: him keepe with, the rest banish. Andtell mee now, thou naughtie Varlet, tell mee, where hastthou beene this moneth? Prin. Do'st thou speake like a King? doe thou standfor mee, and Ile play my Father. Falst. Depose me: if thou do'st it halfe so grauely, somaiestically, both in word and matter, hang me vp by theheeles for a Rabbet-sucker, or a Poulters Hare. Prin. Well, heere I am set. Falst. And heere I stand: iudge my Masters. Prin. Now Harry, whence come you? Falst. My Noble Lord, from East-cheape. Prin. The complaints I heare of thee, are grieuous. Falst. Yfaith, my Lord, they are false: Nay, Ile tickleye for a young Prince. Prin. Swearest thou, vngracious Boy? henceforthne're looke on me: thou art violently carryed away fromGrace: there is a Deuill haunts thee, in the likenesse of afat old Man; a Tunne of Man is thy Companion: Whydo'st thou conuerse with that Trunke of Humors, thatBoulting-Hutch of Beastlinesse, that swolne Parcell ofDropsies, that huge Bombard of Sacke, that stuft Cloake-bagge of Guts, that rosted Manning Tree Oxe with thePudding in his Belly, that reuerend Vice, that grey ini-quitie, that Father Ruffian, that Vanitie in yeeres? where-in is he good, but to taste Sacke, and drinke it? whereinneat and cleanly, but to carue a Capon, and eat it? where-in Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Craftie, but in Villa-nie? wherein Villanous, but in all things? wherein wor-thy, but in nothing? Falst. I would your Grace would take me with you:whom meanes your Grace? Prince. That villanous abhominable mis-leader ofYouth, Falstaffe, that old white-bearded Sathan. Falst. My Lord, the man I know. Prince. I know thou do'st. Falst. But to say, I know more harme in him then inmy selfe, were to say more then I know. That hee is olde(the more the pittie) his white hayres doe witnesse it:but that hee is (sauing your reuerence) a Whore-ma-ster,that I vtterly deny. If Sacke and Sugar bee a fault,Heauen helpe the Wicked: if to be olde and merry, be asinne, then many an olde Hoste that I know, is damn'd:if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharaohs leane Kine areto be loued. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poines: but for sweete Iacke Falstaffe, kinde Iacke Falstaffe, true Iacke Falstaffe, valiant Iacke Fal-staffe, and therefore more valiant, being as hee is olde Iack Falstaffe, banish not him thy Harryes companie, banishnot him thy Harryes companie; banish plumpe Iacke, andbanish all the World. Prince. I doe, I will. Enter Bardolph running. Bard. O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sherife, with a mostmonstrous Watch, is at the doore. Falst. Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I haue muchto say in the behalfe of that Falstaffe. Enter the Hostesse. Hostesse. O, my Lord, my Lord. Falst. Heigh, heigh, the Deuill rides vpon a Fiddle-sticke: what's the matter? Hostesse. The Sherife and all the Watch are at thedoore: they are come to search the House, shall I letthem in? Falst. Do'st thou heare Hal, neuer call a true peece ofGold a Counterfeit: thou art essentially made, withoutseeming so. Prince. And thou a naturall Coward, without in-stinct. Falst. I deny your Maior: if you will deny theSherife, so: if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cartas well as another man, a plague on my bringing vp: Ihope I shall as soone be strangled with a Halter, as ano-ther. Prince. Goe hide thee behinde the Arras, the restwalke vp aboue. Now my Masters, for a true Face andgood Conscience. Falst. Both which I haue had: but their date is out,and therefore Ile hide me. Exit. Prince. Call in the Sherife. Enter Sherife and the Carrier. Prince. Now Master Sherife, what is your will withmee? She. First pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hathfollowed certaine men vnto this house. Prince. What men? She. One of them is well knowne, my gracious Lord,a grosse fat man. Car. As fat as Butter. Prince. The man, I doe assure you, is not heere,For I my selfe at this time haue imploy'd him:And Sherife, I will engage my word to thee,That I will by to morrow Dinner time,Send him to answere thee, or any man,For any thing he shall be charg'd withall:And so let me entreat you, leaue the house. She. I will, my Lord: there are two GentlemenHaue in this Robberie lost three hundred Markes. Prince. It may be so: if he haue robb'd these men,He shall be answerable: and so farewell. She. Good Night, my Noble Lord. Prince. I thinke it is good Morrow, is it not? She. Indeede, my Lord, I thinke it be two a Clocke. Exit. Prince. This oyly Rascall is knowne as well as Poules:goe call him forth. Peto. Falstaffe? fast asleepe behinde the Arras, andsnorting like a Horse. Prince. Harke, how hard he fetches breath: search hisPockets. He searcheth his Pockets, and findethcertaine Papers. Prince. What hast thou found? Peto. Nothing but Papers, my Lord. Prince. Let's see, what be they? reade them. Peto. Item, a Capon. ii.s.ii.d.Item, Sawce iiii.d.Item, Sacke, two Gallons. v.s.viii.d.Item, Anchoues and Sacke after Supper. ii.s.vi.d.Item, Bread. ob. Prince. O monstrous, but one halfe penny-worth ofBread to this intollerable deale of Sacke? What there iselse, keepe close, wee'le reade it at more aduantage: therelet him sleepe till day. Ile to the Court in the Morning:Wee must all to the Warres, and thy place shall be hono-rable. Ile procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot,and I know his death will be a Match of Twelue-score.The Money shall be pay'd backe againe with aduantage.Be with me betimes in the Morning: and so good mor-row Peto. Peto. Good morrow, good my Lord. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Enter Hotspurre, Worcester, Lord Mortimer,Owen Glendower. Mort. These promises are faire, the parties sure,And our induction full of prosperous hope. Hotsp. Lord Mortimer, and Cousin Glendower, Will you sit downe?And Vnckle Worcester; a plague vpon it,I haue forgot the Mappe. Glend. No, here it is:Sit Cousin Percy, sit good Cousin Hotspurre: For by that Name, as oft as Lancaster doth speake of you,His Cheekes looke pale, and with a rising sigh,He wisheth you in Heauen. Hotsp. And you in Hell, as oft as he heares Owen Glen-dower spoke of. Glend. I cannot blame him: At my Natiuitie,The front of Heauen was full of fierie shapes,Of burning Cressets: and at my Birth,The frame and foundation of the EarthShak'd like a Coward. Hotsp. Why so it would haue done at the same season,if your Mothers Cat had but kitten'd, though your selfehad neuer beene borne. Glend. I say the Earth did shake when I was borne. Hotsp. And I say the Earth was not of my minde,If you suppose, as fearing you, it shooke. Glend. The heauens were all on fire, the Earth didtremble. Hotsp. Oh, then the Earth shookeTo see the Heauens on fire,And not in feare of your Natiuitie.Diseased Nature oftentimes breakes forthIn strange eruptions; and the teeming EarthIs with a kinde of Collick pincht and vext,By the imprisoning of vnruly WindeWithin her Wombe: which for enlargement striuing,Shakes the old Beldame Earth, and tombles downeSteeples, and mosse-growne Towers. At your Birth,Our Grandam Earth, hauing this distemperature,In passion shooke. Glend. Cousin: of many menI doe not beare these Crossings: Giue me leaueTo tell you once againe, that at my BirthThe front of Heauen was full of fierie shapes,The Goates ranne from the Mountaines, and the HeardsWere strangely clamorous to the frighted fields:These signes haue markt me extraordinarie,And all the courses of my Life doe shew,I am not in the Roll of common men.Where is the Liuing, clipt in with the Sea,That chides the Bankes of England, Scotland, and Wales,Which calls me Pupill, or hath read to me?And bring him out, that is but Womans Sonne,Can trace me in the tedious wayes of Art,And hold me pace in deepe experiments. Hotsp. I thinke there's no man speakes better Welsh:Ile to Dinner. Mort. Peace cousin Percy, you will make him mad. Glend. I can call Spirits from the vastie Deepe. Hotsp. Why so can I, or so can any man:But will they come, when you doe call for them? Glend. Why, I can teach thee, Cousin, to command theDeuill. Hotsp. And I can teach thee, Cousin, to shame the Deuil,By telling truth. Tell truth, and shame the Deuill. If thou haue power to rayse him, bring him hither,And Ile be sworne, I haue power to shame him hence.Oh, while you liue, tell truth, and shame the Deuill. Mort. Come, come, no more of this vnprofitableChat. Glend. Three times hath Henry Bullingbrooke made headAgainst my Power: thrice from the Banks of Wye,And sandy-bottom'd Seuerne, haue I hent himBootlesse home, and Weather-beaten backe. Hotsp. Home without Bootes,And in foule Weather too,How scapes he Agues in the Deuils name? Glend. Come, heere's the Mappe:Shall wee diuide our Right,According to our three-fold order ta'ne? Mort. The Arch-Deacon hath diuided itInto three Limits, very equally:England, from Trent, and Seuerne. hitherto,By South and East, is to my part assign'd:All Westward, Wales, beyond the Seuerne shore,And all the fertile Land within that bound,To Owen Glendower: And deare Couze, to youThe remnant Northward, lying off from Trent.And our Indentures Tripartite are drawne:Which being sealed enterchangeably,(A Businesse that this Night may execute)To morrow, Cousin Percy, you and I,And my good Lord of Worcester, will set forth,To meete your Father, and the Scottish Power,As is appointed vs at Shrewsbury.My Father Glendower is not readie yet,Nor shall wee neede his helpe these foureteene dayes:Within that space, you may haue drawne togetherYour Tenants, Friends, and neighbouring Gentlemen. Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, Lords:And in my Conduct shall your Ladies come,From whom you now must steale, and take no leaue,For there will be a World of Water shed, Vpon the parting of your Wiues and you. Hotsp. Me thinks my Moity, North from Burton here,In quantitie equals not one of yours:See, how this Riuer comes me cranking in,And cuts me from the best of all my Land,A huge halfe Moone, a monstrous Cantle out.Ile haue the Currant in this place damn'd vp,And here the smug and Siluer Trent shall runne,In a new Channell, faire and euenly:It shall not winde with such a deepe indent,To rob me of so rich a Bottome here. Glend. Not winde? it shall, it must, you see it doth. Mort. Yea, but marke how he beares his course,And runnes me vp, with like aduantage on the other side,Gelding the opposed Continent as much,As on the other side it takes from you. Worc. Yea, but a little Charge will trench him here,And on this North side winne this Cape of Land,And then he runnes straight and euen. Hotsp. Ile haue it so, a little Charge will doe it. Glend. Ile not haue it alter'd. Hotsp. Will not you? Glend. No, nor you shall not. Hotsp. Who shall say me nay? Glend. Why, that will I. Hotsp. let me not vnderstand you then, speake it inWelsh. Glend. I can speake English, Lord, as well as you:For I was trayn'd vp in the English Court;Where, being but young, I framed to the HarpeMany an English Dittie, louely well,And gaue the Tongue a helpefull Ornament;A Vertue that was neuer seene in you. Hotsp. Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart,I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew,Then one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers:I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd,Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree,And that would set my teeth nothing an edge,Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie;'Tis like the forc't gate of a shuffling Nagge. Glend. Come, you shall haue Trent turn'd. Hotsp. I doe not care: Ile giue thrice so much LandTo any well-deseruing friend;But in the way of Bargaine, marke ye me,Ile cauill on the ninth part of a hayre.Are the Indentures drawne? shall we be gone? Glend. The Moone shines faire,You may away by Night:Ile haste the Writer; and withall,Breake with your Wiues, of your departure hence:I am afraid my Daughter will runne madde,So much she doteth on her Mortimer. Exit. Mort. Fie, Cousin Percy, how you crosse my Fa-ther. Hotsp. I cannot chuse: sometime he angers me,With telling me of the Moldwarpe and the Ant,Of the Dreamer Merlin, and his Prophecies;And of a Dragon, and a finne-lesse Fish,A clip-wing'd Griffin, and a moulten Rauen,A couching Lyon, and a ramping Cat,And such a deale of skimble-skamble Stuffe,As puts me from my Faith. I tell you what,He held me last Night, at least, nine howres,In reckning vp the seuerall Deuils Names,That were his Lacqueyes:I cry'd hum, and well, goe too,But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tediousAs a tyred Horse, a rayling Wife,Worse then a smoakie House. I had rather liueWith Cheese and Garlick in a Windmill farre,Then feede on Cates, and haue him talke to me,In any Summer-House in Christendome. Mort. In faith he was a worthy Gentleman,Exceeding well read, and profited,In strange Concealements:Valiant as a Lyon, and wondrous affable,And as Bountifull, as Mynes of India.Shall I tell you, Cousin,He holds your temper in a high respect,And curbes himselfe, euen of his naturall scope,When you doe crosse his humor: 'faith he does.I warrant you, that man is not aliue,Might so haue tempted him, as you haue done,Without the taste of danger, and reproofe:But doe not vse it oft, let me entreat you. Worc. In faith, my Lord, you are too wilfull blame,And since your comming hither, haue done enough,To put him quite besides his patience.You must needes learne, Lord, to amend this fault:Though sometimes it shew Greatnesse, Courage, Blood,And that's the dearest grace it renders you;Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh Rage,Defect of Manners, want of Gouernment,Pride, Haughtinesse, Opinion, and Disdaine:The least of which, haunting a Nobleman,Loseth mens hearts, and leaues behinde a stayneVpon the beautie of all parts besides,Beguiling them of commendation. Hotsp. Well, I am school'd:Good-manners be your speede;Heere come your Wiues, and let vs take our leaue. Enter Glendower, with the Ladies. Mort. This is the deadly spight, that angers me,My Wife can speake no English, I no Welsh. Glend. My Daughter weepes, shee'le not part with you,Shee'le be a Souldier too, shee'le to the Warres. Mort. Good Father tell her, that she and my Aunt Percy Shall follow in your Conduct speedily. Glendower speakes to her in Welsh, and she an-sweres him in the same. Glend. Shee is desperate heere:A peeuish selfe-will'd Harlotry,One that no perswasion can doe good vpon. The Lady speakes in Welsh. Mort. I vnderstand thy Lookes: that pretty WelshWhich thou powr'st down from these swelling Heauens,I am too perfect in: and but for shame,In such a parley should I answere thee. The Lady againe in welsh. Mort. I vnderstand thy Kisses, and thou mine,And that's a feeling disputation:But I will neuer be a Truant, Loue,Till I haue learn'd thy Language: for thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as Ditties highly penn'd,Sung by a faire Queene in a Summers Bowre,With rauishing Diuision to her Lute. Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will she runne madde. The Lady speakes againe in Welsh. Mort. O, I am Ignorance it selfe in this. Glend. She bids you,On the wanton Rushes lay you downe,And rest your gentle Head vpon her Lappe,And she will sing the Song that pleaseth you,And on your Eye-lids Crowne the God of Sleepe,Charming your blood with pleasing heauinesse;Making such difference betwixt Wake and Sleepe,As is the difference betwixt Day and Night,The houre before the Heauenly Harneis'd TeemeBegins his Golden Progresse in the East. Mort. With all my heart Ile sit, and heare her sing:By that time will our Booke, I thinke, be drawne. Glend. Doe so:And those Musitians that shall play to you,Hang in the Ayre a thousand Leagues from thence;And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. Hotsp. Come Kate, thou art perfect in lying downe:Come, quicke, quicke, that I may lay my Head in thyLappe. Lady. Goe, ye giddy-Goose. The Musicke playes. Hotsp. Now I perceiue the Deuill vnderstands Welsh,And 'tis no maruell he is so humorous:Byrlady hee's a good Musitian. Lady. Then would you be nothing but Musicall,For you are altogether gouerned by humors:Lye still ye Theefe, and heare the Lady sing in Welsh. Hotsp. I had rather heare (Lady) my Brach howle inIrish. Lady. Would'st haue thy Head broken? Hotsp. No. Lady. Then be still. Hotsp. Neyther, 'tis a Womans fault. Lady. Now God helpe thee. Hotsp. To the Welsh Ladies Bed. Lady. What's that? Hotsp. Peace, shee sings. Heere the Lady sings a Welsh Song. Hotsp. Come, Ile haue your Song too. Lady. Not mine, in good sooth. Hotsp. Not yours, in good sooth?You sweare like a Comfit-makers Wife:Not you, in good sooth; and, as true as I liue;And, as God shall mend me; and, as sure as day:And giuest such Sarcenet suretie for thy Oathes,As if thou neuer walk'st further then Finsbury.Sweare me, Kate, like a Lady, as thou art,A good mouth-filling Oath: and leaue in sooth,And such protest of Pepper Ginger-bread,To Veluet-Guards, and Sunday-Citizens.Come, sing. Lady. I will not sing. Hotsp. 'Tis the next way to turne Taylor, or be Red-brest teacher: and the Indentures be drawne, Ile awaywithin these two howres: and so come in, when yeewill. Exit. Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow,As hot Lord Percy is on fire to goe.By this our Booke is drawne: wee'le but seale,And then to Horse immediately. Mort. With all my heart. Exeunt.
Scaena Secunda. Enter the King, Prince of Wales, and others. King. Lords, giue vs leaue:The Prince of Wales, and I,Must haue some priuate conference:But be neere at hand,For wee shall presently haue neede of you. Exeunt Lords. I know not whether Heauen will haue it so,For some displeasing seruice I haue done;That in his secret Doome, out of my Blood,Hee'le breede Reuengement, and a Scourge for me:But thou do'st in thy passages of Life,Make me beleeue, that thou art onely mark'dFor the hot vengeance, and the Rod of heauenTo punish my Mistreadings. Tell me else,Could such inordinate and low desires,Such poore, such bare, such lewd, such meane attempts,Such barren pleasures, rude societie,As thou art matcht withall, and grafted too,Accompanie the greatnesse of thy blood,And hold their leuell with thy Princely heart? Prince. So please your Maiesty, I would I couldQuit all offences with as cleare excuse,As well as I am doubtlesse I can purgeMy selfe of many I am charg'd withall:Yet such extenuation let me begge,As in reproofe of many Tales deuis'd,Which oft the Eare of Greatnesse needes must heare,By smiling Pick-thankes, and base Newes-mongers;I may for some things true, wherein my youthHath faultie wandred, and irregular,Finde pardon on my true submission. King. Heauen pardon thee:Yet let me wonder, Harry, At thy affections, which doe hold a WingQuite from the flight of all thy ancestors.Thy place in Councell thou hast rudely lost,Which by thy younger Brother is supply'de;And art almost an alien to the heartsOf all the Court and Princes of my blood.The hope and expectation of thy timeIs ruin'd, and the Soule of euery manProphetically doe fore-thinke thy fall.Had I so lauish of my presence beene,So common hackney'd in the eyes of men,So stale and cheape to vulgar Company;Opinion, that did helpe me to the Crowne,Had still kept loyall to possession,And left me in reputelesse banishment,A fellow of no marke, nor likelyhood.By being seldome seene, I could not stirre,But like a Comet, I was wondred at, That men would tell their Children, This is hee:Others would say; Where, Which is Bullingbrooke. And then I stole all Courtesie from Heauen,And drest my selfe in such Humilitie,That I did plucke Allegeance from mens hearts,Lowd Showts and Salutations from their mouthes,Euen in the presence of the Crowned King.Thus I did keepe my Person fresh and new,My Presence like a Robe Pontificall,Ne're seene, but wondred at: and so my State,Seldome but sumptuous, shewed like a Feast,And wonne by rarenesse such Solemnitie.The skipping King hee ambled vp and downe,With shallow Iesters, and rash Bauin Wits,Soone kindled, and soone burnt, carded his state,Mingled his Royaltie with Carping Fooles,Had his great Name prophaned with their Scornes,And gaue his Countenance, against his Name,To laugh at gybing Boyes, and stand the pushOf euery Beardlesse vaine Comparatiue;Grew a Companion to the common Streetes,Enfeoff'd himselfe to Popularitie:That being dayly swallowed by mens Eyes,They surfeted with Honey, and began to loatheThe taste of Sweetnesse, whereof a littleMore then a little, is by much too much.So when he had occasion to be seene,He was but as the Cuckow is in Iune,Heard, not regarded: seene but with such Eyes,As sicke and blunted with Communitie,Affoord no extraordinarie Gaze,Such as is bent on Sunne-like Maiestie,When it shines seldome in admiring Eyes:But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids downe,Slept in his Face, and rendred such aspectAs Cloudie men vse to doe to their aduersaries,Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.And in that very Line, Harry, standest thou:For thou hast lost thy Princely Priuiledge,With vile participation. Not an EyeBut is awearie of thy common sight,Saue mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more:Which now doth that I would not haue it doe,Make blinde it selfe with foolish tendernesse. Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious Lord,Be more my selfe. King. For all the World,As thou art to this houre, was Richard then,When I from France set foot at Rauenspurgh;And euen as I was then, is Percy now:Now by my Scepter, and my Soule to boot,He hath more worthy interest to the StateThen thou, the shadow of Succession;For of no Right, nor colour like to Right.He doth fill fields with Harneis in the Realme,Turnes head against the Lyons armed Iawes;And being no more in debt to yeeres, then thou,Leades ancient Lords, and reuerent Bishops onTo bloody Battailes, and to brusing Armes.What neuer-dying Honor hath he got,Against renowned Dowglas? whose high Deedes,Whose hot Incursions, and great Name in Armes,Holds from all Souldiers chiefe Maioritie,And Militarie Title Capitall.Through all the Kingdomes that acknowledge Christ,Thrice hath the Hotspur Mars, in swathing Clothes,This Infant Warrior, in his Enterprises,Discomfited great Dowglas, ta'ne him once,Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,To fill the mouth of deepe Defiance vp,And shake the peace and safetie of our Throne.And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, The Arch-bishops Grace of Yorke, Dowglas, Mortimer, Capitulate against vs, and are vp.But wherefore doe I tell these Newes to thee?Why, Harry, doe I tell thee of my Foes,Which art my neer'st and dearest Enemie?Thou, that art like enough, through vassall Feare,Base Inclination, and the start of Spleene,To fight against me vnder Percies pay,To dogge his heeles, and curtsie at his frownes,To shew how much thou art degenerate. Prince. Doe not thinke so, you shall not finde it so:And Heauen forgiue them, that so much haue sway'dYour Maiesties good thoughts away from me:I will redeeme all this on Percies head,And in the closing of some glorious day,Be bold to tell you, that I am your Sonne,When I will weare a Garment all of Blood,And staine my fauours in a bloody Maske:Which washt away, shall scowre my shame with it.And that shall be the day, when ere it lights,That this same Child of Honor and Renowne.This gallant Hotspur, this all-praysed Knight.And your vnthought-of Harry chance to meet:For euery Honor sitting on his Helme,Would they were multitudes, and on my headMy shames redoubled. For the time will come,That I shall make this Northerne Youth exchangeHis glorious Deedes for my Indignities: Percy is but my Factor, good my Lord,To engrosse vp glorious Deedes on my behalfe:And I will call him to so strict account,That he shall render euery Glory vp,Yea, euen the sleightest worship of his time,Or I will teare the Reckoning from his Heart.This, in the Name of Heauen, I promise here:The which, if I performe, and doe suruiue,I doe beseech your Maiestie, may salueThe long-growne Wounds of my intemperature:If not, the end of Life cancells all Bands,And I will dye a hundred thousand Deaths,Ere breake the smallest parcell of this Vow. King. A hundred thousand Rebels dye in this:Thou shalt haue Charge, and soueraigne trust herein. Enter Blunt. How now good Blunt? thy Lookes are full of speed. Blunt. So hath the Businesse that I come to speake of.Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,That Dowglas and the English Rebels metThe eleuenth of this moneth, at Shrewsbury:A mightie and a fearefull Head they are,(If Promises be kept on euery hand)As euer offered foule play in a State. King. The earle of Westmerland set forth to day:With him my sonne, Lord Iohn of Lancaster,For this aduertisement is fiue dayes old.On Wednesday next, Harry thou shalt set forward:On thursday, wee our selues will march.Our meeting is Bridgenorth: and Harry, you shall march Through Glocestershire: by which account,Our Businesse valued some twelue dayes hence,Our generall Forces at Bridgenorth shall meete.Our Hands are full of Businesse: let's away,Aduantage feedes him fat, while men delay. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph. Falst. Bardolph, am I not falne away vilely, since thislast action? doe I not bate? doe I not dwindle? Whymy skinne hangs about me like an olde Ladies looseGowne: I am withered like an olde Apple Iohn. Well,Ile repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking:I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall haue nostrength to repent. And i haue not forgotten what thein-side of a Church is made of, I am a Pepper-Corne, aBrewers Horse, the in-side of a Church. Company, villa-nous Company hath beene the spoyle of me. Bard. Sir Iohn, you are so fretfull, you cannot liuelong. Falst. Why there is it: Come, sing me a bawdy Song,make me merry; I was as vertuously giuen, as a Gentle-man need to be; vertuous enough, swore little, dic'd notaboue seuen times a weeke, went to a Bawdy-house notaboue once in a quarter of an houre, payd Money that Iborrowed, three or foure times; liued well, and in goodcompasse: and now I liue out of all order, out of com-passe. Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir Iohn, that you mustneedes bee out of of all compasse; out all reasonablecompasse, Sir Iohn. Falst. Doe thou amend thy Face, and Ile amend thyLife: Thou art our Admirall, thou bearest the Lanternein the Poope, but 'tis in the Nose of thee; thou art theKnight of the burning Lampe. Bard. Why, Sir Iohn, my Face does you no harme. Falst. No, Ile be sworne: I make as good vse of it, asmany a man doth of a Deaths-Head, or a Memento Mori. I neuer see thy Face, but I thinke vpon Hell fire, and Diues that liued in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning,burning. If thou wert any way giuen to vertue, I wouldsweare by thy Face; my Oath should bee, By this Fire: But thou art altogether giuen ouer; and wert indeede,but for the Light in thy Face, the Sunne of vtter Darke-nesse. When thou ran'st vp Gads-Hill in the Night, tocatch my Horse, if I did not thinke that thou hadst beenean Ignis fatuus, or a Ball of Wild-fire, there's no Purchasein Money. O, thou art a perpetuall Triumph, an euer-lasting Bone-fire-Light: thou hast saued me a thousandMarkes in Linkes and Torches, walking with thee in theNight betwixt Tauerne and Tauerne: But the Sack thatthou hast drunke me, would haue bought me Lights asgood cheape, as the dearest Chandlers in Europe. I hauemaintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any timethis two and thirtie yeeres, Heauen reward me for it. Bard. I would my Face were in your Belly. Falst. So should I be sure to be heart-burn'd. Enter Hostesse. How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, haue you enquir'd yetwho pick'd my Pocket? Hostesse. Why Sir Iohn, what doe you thinke, Sir Iohn?doe you thinke I keepe Theeues in my House? I hauesearch'd, I haue enquired, so haz my Husband, Man byMan, Boy by Boy, Seruant by Seruant: the tight of ahayre was neuer lost in my house before. Falst. Ye lye Hostesse: Bardolph was shau'd, and lostmany a hayre; and Ile be sworne my Pocket was pick'd:goe to, you are a Woman, goe. Hostesse. Who I? I defie thee: I was neuer call'd soin mine owne house before. Falst. Goe to, I know you well enough. Hostesse. No, sir Iohn, you doe not know me, Sir Iohn: I know you, Sir Iohn: you owe me Money, Sir Iohn, andnow you picke a quarrell, to beguile me of it: I boughtyou a dozen of Shirts to your Backe. Falst. Doulas, filthy Doulas: I haue giuen themaway to Bakers Wiues, and they haue made Boulters ofthem. Hostesse. Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eightshillings an Ell: You owe Money here besides, Sir Iohn, for your Dyet, and by-Drinkings, and Money lent you,foure and twentie pounds. Falst. Hee had his part of it, let him pay. Hostesse. Hee? alas hee is poore, hee hath no-thing. Falst. How? Poore? Looke vpon his Face: What callyou Rich? Let them coyne his Nose, let them coyne hisCheekes, Ile not pay a Denier. What, will you make aYounker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inne,but I shall haue my Pocket pick'd? I haue lost a Seale-Ringof my Grand-fathers, worth fortie marke. Hostesse. I haue heard the Prince tell him, I know nothow oft, that that Ring was Copper. Falst. How? the Prince is a Iacke, a Sneake-Cuppe: and if hee were heere, I would cudgell him like a Dogge,if hee would say so. Enter the Prince marching, and Falstaffe meetshim, playing on his Trunchionlike a Fife. Falst. How now Lad? is the Winde in that Doore?Must we all march? Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. Hostesse. My Lord, I pray you heare me. Prince. What say'st thou, Mistresse Quickly? Howdoes thy Husband? I loue him well, hee is an honestman. Hostesse. Good, my Lord, heare mee. Falst. Prethee let her alone, and list to mee. Prince. What say'st thou, Iacke? Falst. The other Night I fell asleepe heere behind theArras, and had my Pocket pickt: this House is turn'dBawdy-house, they picke Pockets. Prince. What didst thou lose, Iacke? Falst. Wilt thou beleeue me, Hal? Three or foure Bondsof fortie pound apeece, and a Seale-Ring of my Grand-fathers. Prince. A Trifle, some eight-penny matter. Host. So I told him, my Lord; and I said, I heard yourGrace say so: and (my Lord) hee speakes most vilely ofyou, like a foule-mouth'd man as hee is, and said, heewould cudgell you. Prince. What hee did not? Host. There's neyther Faith, Truth, nor Woman-hoodin me else. Falst. There's no more faith in thee then a stu'de Prune;nor no more truth in thee, then in a drawne Fox: and forWooman-hood, Maid-marian may be the Deputies wifeof the Ward to thee. Go you nothing: go. Host. Say, what thing? what thing? Falst. What thing? why a thing to thanke heauen on. Host. I am no thing to thanke heauen on, I wold thoushouldst know it: I am an honest mans wife: and settingthy Knighthood aside, thou art a knaue to call me so. Falst. Setting thy woman-hood aside, thou art a beastto say otherwise. Host. Say, what beast, thou knaue thou? Fal. What beast? Why an Otter. Prin. An Otter, sir Iohn? Why an Otter? Fal. Why? She's neither fish nor flesh; a man knowesnot where to haue her. Host. Thou art vniust man in saying so; thou, or anieman knowes where to haue me, thou knaue thou. Prince. Thou say'st true Hostesse, and he slanders theemost grossely. Host. So he doth you, my Lord, and sayde this otherday, You ought him a thousand pound. Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Falst. A thousand pound Hal? A Million. Thy loue isworth a Million: thou ow'st me thy loue. Host. Nay my Lord, he call'd you Iacke, and said heewould cudgell you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph? Bar. Indeed Sir Iohn, you said so. Fal. Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper. Prince. I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou bee as good asthy word now? Fal. Why Hal? thou know'st, as thou art but a man, Idare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare theroaring of the Lyons Whelpe. Prince. And why not as the Lyon? Fal. The King himselfe is to bee feared as the Lyon:Do'st thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nayif I do, let my Girdle breake. Prin. O, if it should, how would thy guttes fall aboutthy knees. But sirra: There's no roome for Faith, Truth,nor Honesty, in this bosome of thine: it is all fill'd vppewith Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honest Womanwith picking thy pocket? Why thou horson impudentimbost Rascall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket butTauerne Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdie-houses,and one poore peny-worth of Sugar-candie to make theelong-winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with anie o-ther iniuries but these, I am a Villaine: And yet you willstand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong. Art thou notasham'd? Fal. Do'st thou heare Hal? Thou know'st in the stateof Innocency, Adam fell: and what should poore Iacke Falstaffe do, in the dayes of Villany? Thou seest, I hauemore flesh then another man, and therefore more frailty.You confesse then you pickt my Pocket? Prin. It appeares so by the Story. Fal. Hostesse, I forgiue thee:Go make ready Breakfast, loue thy Husband,Looke to thy Seruants, and cherish thy Guests:Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason:Thou seest, I am pacified still.Nay, I prethee be gone. Exit Hostesse. Now Hal, to the newes at Court for the Robbery, Lad?How is that answered? Prin. O my sweet Beefe:I must still be good Angell to thee.The Monie is paid backe againe. Fal. O, I do not like that paying backe, 'tis a doubleLabour. Prin. I am good Friends with my Father, and may doanything. Fal. Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou do'st,and do it with vnwash'd hands too. Bard. Do my Lord. Prin. I haue procured thee Iacke, A Charge of Foot. Fal. I would it had beene of Horse. Where shal I findeone that can steale well? O, for a fine theefe of two andtwentie, or thereabout: I am heynously vnprouided. WelGod be thanked for these Rebels, they offend none butthe Vertuous. I laud them, I praise them. Prin. Bardolph. Bar. My Lord. Prin. Go beare this Letter to Lord Iohn of LancasterTo my Brother Iohn. This to my Lord of Westmerland,Go Peto, to horse: for thou, and I,Haue thirtie miles to ride yet ere dinner time. Iacke, meet me tomorrow in the Temple HallAt two a clocke in the afternoone,There shalt thou know thy Charge, and there receiueMoney and Order for their Furniture.The Land is burning, Percie stands on hye,And either they, or we must lower lye. Fal. Rare words! braue world.Hostesse, my breakfast, come:Oh, I could wish this Tauerne were my drumme. Exeunt omnes.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima. Enter Harrie Hotspurre, Worcester,and Dowglas. Hot. Well said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truthIn this fine Age, were not thought flatterie,Such attribution should the Dowglas haue,As not a Souldiour of this seasons stampe,Should go so generall currant through the world.By heauen I cannot flatter: I defieThe Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer placeIn my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe.Nay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord. Dow. Thou art the King of Honor:No man so potent breathes vpon the ground,But I will Beard him. Enter a Messenger. Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. What letters hast there?I can but thanke you. Mess. These Letters come from your Father. Hot. Letters from him?Why comes he not himselfe? Mes. He cannot come, my Lord,He is greeuous sicke. Hot. How? haz he the leysure to be sicke now,In such a iustling time? Who leades his power?Vnder whose Gouernment come they along? Mess. His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde. Wor. I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed? Mess. He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I set forth:And at the time of my departure thence,He was much fear'd by his Physician. Wor. I would the state of time had first beene whole,Ere he by sicknesse had beene visited:His health was neuer better worth then now. Hotsp. Sicke now? droope now? this sicknes doth infectThe very Life-blood of our Enterprise,'Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe.He writes me here, that inward sicknesse,And that his friends by deputationCould not so soone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet,To lay so dangerous and deare a trustOn any Soule remou'd, but on his owne.Yet doth he giue vs bold aduertisement,That with our small coniunction we should on,To see how Fortune is dispos'd to vs:For, as he writes, there is no quailing now,Because the King is certainely possestOf all our purposes. What say you to it? Wor. Your Fathers sicknesse is a mayme to vs. Hotsp. A perillous Gash, a very Limme lopt off:And yet, in faith, it is not his present wantSeemes more then we shall finde it.Were it good, to set the exact wealth of all our statesAll at one Cast? To set so rich a mayneOn the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre,It were not good: for therein should we readeThe very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope,The very List, the very vtmost BoundOf all our fortunes. Dowg. Faith, and so wee should,Where now remaines a sweet reuersion.We may boldly spend, vpon the hopeOf what is to come in:A comfort of retyrement liues in this. Hotsp. A Randeuous, a Home to flye vnto,If that the Deuill and Mischance looke biggeVpon the Maydenhead of our Affaires. Wor. But yet I would your Father had beene here:The qualitie and Heire of our AttemptBrookes no diuision: It will be thoughtBy some, that know not why he is away,That wisedome, loyaltie, and meere dislikeOf our proceedings, kept the Earle from hence.And thinke, how such an apprehensionMay turne the tyde of fearefull Faction,And breede a kinde of question in our cause:For well you know, wee of the offring side,Must keepe aloofe from strict arbitrement,And stop all sight-holes, euery loope, from whenceThe eye of reason may prie in vpon vs:This absence of your Father drawes a Curtaine,That shewes the ignorant a kinde of feare,Before not dreamt of. Hotsp. You strayne too farre.I rather of his absence make this vse:It lends a Lustre, and more great Opinion,A larger Dare to your great Enterprize,Then if the Earle were here: for men must thinke,If we without his helpe, can make a HeadTo push against the Kingdome; with his helpe,We shall o're-turne it topsie-turuy downe:Yet all goes well, yet all our ioynts are whole. Dowg. As heart can thinke:There is not such a word spoke of in Scotland,At this Dreame of Feare. Enter Sir Richard Vernon. Hotsp. My Cousin Vernon, welcome by my Soule. Vern. Pray God my newes be worth a welcome, Lord.The Earle of Westmerland, seuen thousand strong,Is marching hither-wards, with Prince Iohn. Hotsp. No harme: what more? Vern. And further, I haue learn'd,The King himselfe in person hath set forth,Or hither-wards intended speedily,With strong and mightie preparation. Hotsp. He shall be welcome too.Where is his Sonne,The nimble-footed Mad-Cap, Prince of Wales,And his Cumrades, that daft the World aside,And bid it passe? Vern. All furnisht, all in Armes,All plum'd like Estridges, that with the WindeBayted like Eagles, hauing lately bath'd,Glittering in Golden Coates, like Images,As full of spirit as the Moneth of May,And gorgeous as the Sunne at Mid-summer,Wanton as youthfull Goates, wilde as young Bulls.I saw young Harry with his Beuer on,His Cushes on his thighes, gallantly arm'd,Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his Seat,As if an Angell dropt downe from the Clouds,To turne and winde a fierie Pegasus, And witch the World with Noble Horsemanship. Hotsp. No more, no more,Worse then the Sunne in March:This prayse doth nourish Agues: let them come.They come like Sacrifices in their trimme,And to the fire-ey'd Maid of smoakie Warre,All hot, and bleeding, will wee offer them:The mayled Mars shall on his Altar sitVp to the eares in blood. I am on fire,To heare this rich reprizall is so nigh,And yet not ours. Come, let me take my Horse,Who is to beare me like a Thunder-bolt,Against the bosome of the Prince of Wales. Harry to Harry, shall not Horse to HorseMeete, and ne're part, till one drop downe a Coarse?Oh, that Glendower were come. Ver. There is more newes:I learned in Worcester, as I rode along,He cannot draw his Power this fourteene dayes. Dowg. That's the worst Tidings that I heare ofyet. Wor. I by my faith, that beares a frosty sound. Hotsp. What may the Kings whole Battaile reachvnto? Ver. To thirty thousand. Hot. Forty let it be,My Father and Glendower being both away,The powres of vs, may serue so great a day.Come, let vs take a muster speedily:Doomesday is neere; dye all, dye merrily. Dow. Talke not of dying, I am out of feareOf death, or deaths hand, for this one halfe yeare. Exeunt Omnes.
Scaena Secunda. Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph. Falst. Bardolph, get thee before to Couentry, fill me aBottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: wee'leto Sutton-cop-hill to Night. Bard. Will you giue me Money, Captaine? Falst. Lay out, lay out. Bard. This Bottle makes an Angell. Falst. And if it doe, take it for thy labour: and if itmake twentie, take them all, Ile answere the Coynage.Bid my Lieutenant Peto meete me at the Townes end. Bard. I will Captaine: farewell. Exit. Falst. If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am asowc't-Gurnet: I haue mis-vs'd the Kings Presse dam-nably. I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftieSouldiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I presse menone but good House-holders, Yeomens Sonnes: enquireme out contracted Batchelers, such as had beene ask'dtwice on the Banes: such a Commoditie of warme slaues,as had as lieue heare the Deuill, as a Drumme; such asfeare the report of a Caliuer, worse then a struck-Foole,or a hurt wilde-Ducke. I prest me none but such Tostesand Butter, with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger thenPinnes heads, and they haue bought out their seruices:And now, my whole Charge consists of Ancients, Cor-porals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaues asragged a Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Glut-tons Dogges licked his Sores; and such, as indeed wereneuer Souldiers, but dis-carded vniust Seruingmen, youn-ger Sonnes to younger Brothers, reuolted Tapsters andOstlers, Trade-falne, the Cankers of a calme World, andlong Peace, tenne times more dis-honorable ragged,then an old-fac'd Ancient; and such haue I to fill vp theroomes of them that haue bought out their seruices: thatyou would thinke, that I had a hundred and fiftie totter'dProdigalls, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eatingDraffe and Huskes. A mad fellow met me on the way,and told me, I had vnloaded all the Gibbets, and prest thedead bodyes. No eye hath seene such skar-Crowes: Ilenot march through Couentry with them, that's flat. Nay,and the Villaines march wide betwixt the Legges, as ifthey had Gyues on; for indeede, I had the most of themout of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all myCompany: and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt to-gether, and throwne ouer the shoulders like a HeraldsCoat, without sleeues: and the Shirt, to say the truth,stolne from my Host of S[aint]. Albones, or the Red-NoseInne-keeper of Dauintry. But that's all one, they'le findeLinnen enough on euery Hedge. Enter the Prince, and the Lord of Westmerland. Prince. How now blowne Iack? how now Quilt? Falst. What Hal? How now mad Wag, what a Deuilldo'st thou in Warwickshire? My good Lord of West-merland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had al-ready beene at Shrewsbury. West. 'Faith, Sir Iohn, 'tis more then time that I werethere, and you too: but my Powers are there alreadie.The King, I can tell you, lookes for vs all: we must awayall to Night. Falst. Tut, neuer feare me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, tosteale Creame. Prince. I thinke to steale Creame indeed, for thy thefthath alreadie made thee Butter: but tell me, Iack, whosefellowes are these that come after? Falst. Mine, Hal, mine. Prince. I did neuer see such pittifull Rascals. Falst. Tut, tut, good enough to tosse: foode for Pow-der, foode for Powder: they'le fill a Pit, as well as better:tush man, mortall men, mortall men. Westm. I, but Sir Iohn, me thinkes they are exceedingpoore and bare, too beggarly. Falst. Faith, for their pouertie, I know not where theyhad that; and for their barenesse, I am sure they neuerlearn'd that of me. Prince. No, Ile be sworne, vnlesse you call three fingerson the Ribbes bare. But sirra, make haste, Percy is alreadyin the field. Falst. What, is the King encamp'd? Westm. Hee is, Sir Iohn, I feare wee shall stay toolong. Falst. Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the begin-ning of a Feast, fits a dull fighter, and a keene Guest. Exeunt.
Scoena Tertia. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Dowglas, andVernon. Hotsp. Wee'le fight with him to Night. Worc. It may not be. Dowg. You giue him then aduantage. Vern. Not a whit. Hotsp. Why say you so? lookes he not for supply? Vern. So doe wee. Hotsp. His is certaine, ours is doubtfull. Worc. Good Cousin be aduis'd, stirre not to night. Vern. Doe not, my Lord. Dowg. You doe not counsaile well:You speake it out of feare, and cold heart. Vern. Doe me no slander, Dowglas: by my Life,And I dare well maintaine it with my Life,If well-respected Honor bid me on,I hold as little counsaile with weake feare,As you, my Lord, or any Scot that this day liues.Let it be seene to morrow in the Battell,Which of vs feares. Dowg. Yea, or to night. Vern. Content. Hotsp. To night, say I. Vern. Come, come, it may not be.I wonder much, being me[n] of such great leading as you areThat you fore-see not what impedimentsDrag backe our expedition: certaine HorseOf my Cousin Vernons are not yet come vp,Your Vnckle Worcesters Horse came but to day,And now their pride and mettall is asleepe,Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,That not a Horse is halfe the halfe of himselfe. Hotsp. So are the Horses of the EnemieIn generall iourney bated, and brought low:The better part of ours are full of rest. Worc. The number of the King exceedeth ours:For Gods sake, Cousin, stay till all come in. The Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter SirWalter Blunt. Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the King,If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect. Hotsp. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt: And would to God you were of our determination.Some of vs loue you well: and euen those someEnuie your great deseruings, and good name,Because you are not of our qualitie,But stand against vs like an Enemie. Blunt. And Heauen defend, but still I should stand so,So long as out of Limit, and true Rule,You stand against anoynted Maiestie.But to my Charge.The King hath sent to knowThe nature of your Griefes, and whereuponYou coniure from the Brest of Ciuill Peace,Such bold Hostilitie, teaching his dutious LandAudacious Crueltie. If that the KingHaue any way your good Deserts forgot,Which he confesseth to be manifold,He bids you name your Griefes, and with all speedYou shall haue your desires, with interest;And Pardon absolute for your selfe, and these,Herein mis-led, by your suggestion. Hotsp. The King is kinde:And well wee know, the KingKnowes at what time to promise, when to pay.My Father, my Vnckle, and my selfe,Did giue him that same Royaltie he weares:And when he was not sixe and twentie strong,Sicke in the Worlds regard, wretched, and low,A poore vnminded Out-law, sneaking home,My Father gaue him welcome to the shore:And when he heard him sweare, and vow to God,He came but to be Duke of Lancaster,To sue his Liuerie, and begge his Peace,With teares of Innocencie, and tearmes of Zeale;My Father, in kinde heart and pitty mou'd,Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too.Now, when the Lords and Barons of the RealmePerceiu'd Northumberland did leane to him,The more and lesse came in with Cap and Knee,Met him in Boroughs, Cities, Villages,Attended him on Bridges, stood in Lanes,Layd Gifts before him, proffer'd him their Oathes,Gaue him their Heires, as Pages followed him,Euen at the heeles, in golden multitudes.He presently, as Greatnesse knowes it selfe,Step me a little higher then his VowMade to my Father, while his blood was poore,Vpon the naked shore at Rauenspurgh:And now (forsooth) takes on him to reformeSome certaine Edicts, and some strait Decrees,That lay too heauie on the Common-wealth;Cryes out vpon abuses, seemes to weepeOuer his Countries Wrongs: and by this Face,This seeming Brow of Iustice, did he winneThe hearts of all that hee did angle for.Proceeded further, cut me off the HeadsOf all the Fauorites, that the absent KingIn deputation left behinde him heere,When hee was personall in the Irish Warre. Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. Hotsp. Then to the point.In short time after, hee depos'd the King.Soone after that, depriu'd him of his Life:And in the neck of that, task't the whole State.To make that worse, suffer'd his Kinsman March, Who is, if euery Owner were plac'd,Indeede his King, to be engag'd in Wales,There, without Ransome, to lye forfeited:Disgrac'd me in my happie Victories,Sought to intrap me by intelligence,Rated my Vnckle from the Councell-Boord,In rage dismiss'd my Father from the Court,Broke Oath on Oath, committed Wrong on Wrong,And in conclusion, droue vs to seeke outThis Head of safetie; and withall, to prieInto his Title: the which wee findeToo indirect, for long continuance. Blunt. Shall I returne this answer to the King? Hotsp. Not so, Sir Walter. Wee'le with-draw a while:Goe to the King, and let there be impawn'dSome suretie for a safe returne againe,And in the Morning early shall my VnckleBring him our purpose: and so farewell. Blunt. I would you would accept of Grace and Loue. Hotsp. And't may be, so wee shall. Blunt. Pray Heauen you doe. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter the Arch-Bishop of Yorke, and Sir Michell. Arch. Hie, good Sir Michell, beare this sealed BriefeWith winged haste to the Lord Marshall,This to my Cousin Scroope, and all the restTo whom they are directed.If you knew how much they doe import,You would make haste. Sir Mich. My good Lord, I guesse their tenor. Arch. Like enough you doe.To morrow, good Sir Michell, is a day,Wherein the fortune of ten thousand menMust bide the touch. For Sir, at Shrewsbury,As I am truly giuen to vnderstand,The King, with mightie and quick-raysed Power,Meetes with Lord Harry: and I feare, Sir Michell, What with the sicknesse of Northumberland, Whose Power was in the first proportion;And what with Owen Glendowers absence thence,Who with them was rated firmely too,And comes not in, ouer-rul'd by Prophecies,I feare the Power of Percy is too weake,To wage an instant tryall with the King. Sir Mich. Why, my good Lord, you need not feare,There is Dowglas, and Lord Mortimer. Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. Sir Mic. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, And there is my Lord of Worcester,And a Head of gallant Warriors,Noble Gentlemen. Arch. And so there is, but yet the King hath DrawneThe speciall head of all the Land together:The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster,The Noble Westmerland, and warlike Blunt; And many moe Corriuals, and deare menOf estimation, and command in Armes. Sir M. Doubt not my Lord, he shall be well oppos'd Arch. I hope no lesse? Yet needfull 'tis to feare,And to preuent the worst, Sir Michell speed;For if Lord Percy thriue not, ere the KingDismisse his power, he meanes to visit vs:For he hath heard of our Confederacie,And, 'tis but Wisedome to make strong against him:Therefore make hast, I must go write againeTo other Friends: and so farewell, Sir Michell. Exeunt.
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster,Earle of Westmerland, Sir Walter Blunt,and Falstaffe. King. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peereAboue yon busky hill: the day lookes paleAt his distemperature Prin. The Southerne windeDoth play the Trumpet to his purposes,And by his hollow whistling in the Leaues,Fortels a Tempest, and a blust'ring day. King. Then with the losers let it sympathize,For nothing can seeme foule to those that win. The Trumpet sounds. Enter Worcester. King. How now my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not wellThat you and I should meet vpon such tearmes,As now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our trust,And made vs doffe our easie Robes of Peace,To crush our old limbes in vngentle Steele:This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.What say you to it? Will you againe vnknitThis churlish knot of all-abhorred Warre?And moue in the obedient Orbe againe,Where you did giue a faire and naturall light,And be no more an exhall'd Meteor,A prodigie of Feare, and a PortentOf broached Mischeefe, to the vnborne Times? Wor. Heare me, my Liege:For mine owne part, I could be well contentTo entertaine the Lagge-end of my lifeWith quiet houres: For I do protest,I haue not sought the day of this dislike. King. You haue not sought it: how comes it then? Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. Prin. Peace, Chewet, peace. Wor. It pleas'd your Maiesty, to turne your lookesOf Fauour, from my Selfe, and all our House;And yet I must remember you my Lord,We were the first, and dearest of your Friends:For you, my staffe of Office did I breakeIn Richards time, and poasted day and nightTo meete you on the way, and kisse your hand,When yet you were in place, and in accountNothing so strong and fortunate, as I;It was my Selfe, my Brother, and his Sonne,That brought you home, and boldly did out-dareThe danger of the time. You swore to vs,And you did sweare that Oath at Doncaster,That you did nothing of purpose 'gainst the State,Nor claime no further, then your new-falne right,The seate of Gaunt, Dukedome of Lancaster,To this, we sware our aide: But in short space,It rain'd downe Fortune showring on your head,And such a floud of Greatnesse fell on you,What with our helpe, what with the absent King.What with the iniuries of wanton time,The seeming sufferances that you had borne,And the contrarious Windes that held the KingSo long in the vnlucky Irish Warres,That all in England did repute him dead:And from this swarme of faire aduantages,You tooke occasion to be quickly woo'd,To gripe the generall sway into your hand,Forgot your Oath to vs at Doncaster,And being fed by vs, you vs'd vs so,As that vngentle gull the Cuckowes Bird,Vseth the Sparrow, did oppresse our NestGrew by our Feeding, to so great a builke,That euen our Loue durst not come neere your sightFor feare of swallowing: But with nimble wingWe were infor'd for safety sake, to flyeOut of your sight, and raise this present Head,Whereby we stand opposed by such meanesAs you your selfe, haue forg'd against your selfe,By vnkinde vsage, dangerous countenance,And violation of all faith and trothSworne to vs in yonger enterprize. Kin. These things indeed you haue articulated,Proclaim'd at Market Crosses, read in Churches,To face the Garment of RebellionWith some fine colour, that may please the eyeOf fickle Changelings, and poore Discontents,Which gape, and rub the Elbow at the newesOf hurly burly Innouation:And neuer yet did Insurrection wantSuch water-colours, to impaint his cause:Nor moody Beggars, staruing for a timeOf pell-mell hauocke, and confusion. Prin. In both our Armies, there is many a souleShall pay full dearely for this encounter,If once they ioyne in triall. Tell your Nephew,The Prince of Wales doth ioyne with all the worldIn praise of Henry Percie: By my Hopes,This present enterprize set off his head,I do not thinke a brauer Gentleman,More actiue, valiant, or more valiant yong,More daring, or more bold, is now aliue,To grace this latter Age with Noble deeds.For my part, I may speake it to my shame,I haue a Truant beene to Chiualry,And so I heare, he doth account me too:Yet this before my Fathers Maiesty,I am content that he shall take the oddesOf his great name and estimation,And will, to saue the blood on either side,Try fortune with him, in a Single Fight. King. And Prince of Wales, so dare we venter thee,Albeit, considerations infinite Do make against it: No good Worster, no,We loue our people well; euen those we loueThat are misled vpon your Cousins part:And will they take the offer of our Grace:Both he, and they, and you; yea euery manShall be my Friend againe, and Ile be his.So tell your Cousin, and bring me word,What he will do. But if he will not yeeld,Rebuke and dread correction waite on vs,And they shall do their Office. So bee gone,We will not now be troubled with reply,We offer faire, take it aduisedly. Exit Worcester. Prin. It will not be accepted, on my life,The Dowglas and the Hotspurre both together,Are confident against the world in Armes. King. Hence therefore, euery Leader to his charge,For on their answer will we set on them;And God befriend vs, as our cause is iust. Exeunt. Manet Prince and Falstaffe. Fal. Hal, if thou see me downe in the battell,And bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship. Prin. Nothing but a Colossus can do thee that frendshipSay thy prayers, and farewell. Fal. I would it were bed time Hal, and all well. Prin. Why, thou ow'st heauen a death. Falst. 'Tis not due yet: I would bee loath to pay himbefore his day. What neede I bee so forward with him,that call's not on me? Well, 'tis no matter, Honor prickesme on. But how if Honour pricke me off when I comeon? How then? Can Honour set too a legge? No: or anarme? No: Or take away the greefe of a wound? No.Honour hath no skill in Surgerie, then? No. What is Ho-nour A word. What is that word Honour? Ayre: Atrim reckoning. Who hath it? He that dy'de a Wednes-day. Doth he feele it? No. Doth hee heare it? No. Is itinsensible then? yea, to the dead. But wil it not liue withthe liuing? No. Why? Detraction wil not suffer it, ther-fore Ile none of it. Honour is a meere Scutcheon, and soends my Catechisme. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Worcester, and Sir Richard Vernon. Wor. O no, my Nephew must not know, Sir Richard, The liberall kinde offer of the King. Ver. 'Twere best he did. Wor. Then we are all vndone.It is not possible, it cannot be,The King would keepe his word in louing vs,He will suspect vs still, and finde a timeTo punish this offence in others faults:Supposition, all our liues, shall be stucke full of eyes;For Treason is but trusted like the Foxe,Who ne're so tame, so cherisht, and lock'd vp,Will haue a wilde tricke of his Ancestors:Looke how he can, or sad or merrily,Interpretation will misquote our lookes,And we shall feede like Oxen at a stall,The better cherisht, still the nearer death.My Nephewes Trespasse may be well forgot,It hath the excuse of youth, and heate of blood,And an adopted name of Priuiledge,A haire-brain'd Hotspurre, gouern'd by a Spleene:All his offences liue vpon my head,And on his Fathers. We did traine him on,And his corruption being tane from vs,We as the Spring of all, shall pay for all:Therefore good Cousin, let not Harry knowIn any case, the offer of the King. Ver. Deliuer what you will, Ile say 'tis so.Heere comes your Cosin. Enter Hotspurre. Hot. My Vnkle is return'd,Deliuer vp my Lord of Westmerland.Vnkle, what newes? Wor. The King will bid you battell presently. Dow. Defie him by the Lord of Westmerland Hot. Lord Dowglas: Go you and tell him so. Dow. Marry and shall, and verie willingly. Exit Dowglas. Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the King. Hot. Did you begge any? God forbid. Wor. I told him gently of our greeuances,Of his Oath-breaking: which he mended thus,By now forswearing that he is forsworne,He cals vs Rebels, Traitors, and will scourgeWith haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs. Enter Dowglas. Dow. Arme Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrownA braue defiance in King Henries teeth:And Westmerland that was ingag'd did beare it,Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. Wor. The Prince of Wales stept forth before the king,And Nephew, challeng'd you to single fight. Hot. O, would the quarrell lay vpon our heads,And that no man might draw short breath to day,But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell me, tell mee,How shew'd his Talking? Seem'd it in contempt? Ver. No, by my Soule: I neuer in my lifeDid heare a Challenge vrg'd more modestly,Vnlesse a Brother should a Brother dareTo gentle exercise, and proofe of Armes.He gaue you all the Duties of a Man,Trimm'd vp your praises with a Princely tongue,Spoke your deseruings like a Chronicle,Making you euer better then his praise,By still dispraising praise, valew'd with you:And which became him like a Prince indeed,He made a blushing citall of himselfe,And chid his Trewant youth with such a Grace,As if he mastred there a double spiritOf teaching, and of learning instantly:There did he pause. But let me tell the World,If he out-liue the enuie of this day,England did neuer owe so sweet a hope,So much misconstrued in his Wantonnesse, Hot. Cousin, I thinke thou art enamoredOn his Follies: neuer did I heareOf any Prince so wilde at Liberty.But be he as he will, yet once ere night,I will imbrace him with a Souldiers arme,That he shall shrinke vnder my curtesie.Arme, arme with speed. And Fellow's, Soldiers, Friends,Better consider what you haue to do,That I that haue not well the gift of Tongue, Can lift your blood vp with perswasion. Enter a Messenger. Mes. My Lord, heere are Letters for you. Hot. I cannot reade them now.O Gentlemen, the time of life is short;To spend that shortnesse basely, were too long.If life did ride vpon a Dials point,Still ending at the arriuall of an houre, And if we liue, we liue to treade on Kings:If dye; braue death, when Princes dye with vs.Now for our Consciences, the Armes is faire,When the intent for bearing them is iust. Enter another Messenger. Mes. My Lord prepare, the King comes on apace. Hot. I thanke him, that he cuts me from my tale:For I professe not talking: Onely this,Let each man do his best. And heere I draw a Sword,Whose worthy temper I intend to staineWith the best blood that I can meete withall,In the aduenture of this perillous day.Now Esperance Percy, and set on:Sound all the lofty Instruments of Warre,And by that Musicke, let vs all imbrace:For heauen to earth, some of vs neuer shall,A second time do such a curtesie. They embrace, the trumpets sound, the King enterethwith his power, alarum vnto the battell. Then enterDowglas, and Sir Walter Blunt. Blu. What is thy name, that in battel thus thou crossest me?What honor dost thou seeke vpon my head? Dow. Know then my name is Dowglas, And I do haunt thee in the Battell thus,Because some tell me, that thou art a King. Blunt. They tell thee true. Dow. The Lord of Stafford deere to day hath boughtThy likenesse: for insted of thee King Harry, This Sword hath ended him, so shall it thee,Vnlesse thou yeeld thee as a Prisoner. Blu. I was not borne to yeeld, thou haughty Scot,And thou shalt finde a King that will reuengeLords Staffords death. Fight, Blunt is slaine, then enters Hotspur. Hot. O Dowglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thusI neuer had triumphed o're a Scot. Dow. All's done, all's won, here breathles lies the king Hot. Where? Dow. Heere. Hot. This Dowglas? No, I know this face full well:A gallant Knight he was, his name was Blunt, Semblably furnish'd like the King himselfe. Dow. Ah foole: go with thy soule whether it goes,A borrowed Title hast thou bought too deere.Why didst thou tell me, that thou wer't a King? Hot. The King hath many marching in his Coats. Dow. Now by my Sword, I will kill all his Coates,Ile murder all his Wardrobe peece by peece,Vntill I meet the King. Hot. Vp, and away,Our Souldiers stand full fairely for the day. Exeunt Alarum, and enter Falstaffe solus. Fal. Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fearthe shot heere: here's no scoring, but vpon the pate. Softwho are you? Sir Walter Blunt, there's Honour for you:here's no vanity, I am as hot as molten Lead, and as hea-uy too; heauen keepe Lead out of mee, I neede no moreweight then mine owne Bowelles. I haue led my rag ofMuffins where they are pepper'd: there's not three of my150. left aliue, and they for the Townes end, to beg du-ring life. But who comes heere? Enter the Prince. Pri. What, stand'st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword,Many a Nobleman lies starke and stiffeVnder the hooues of vaunting enemies,Whose deaths are vnreueng'd. Prethy lend me thy sword Fal. O Hal, I prethee giue me leaue to breath awhile:Turke Gregory neuer did such deeds in Armes, as I hauedone this day. I haue paid Percy, I haue made him sure. Prin. He is indeed, and liuing to kill thee:I prethee lend me thy sword. Falst. Nay Hal, is Percy bee aliue, thou getst not mySword; but take my Pistoll if thou wilt. Prin. Giue it me: What, is it in the case? Fal. I Hal, 'tis hot: There's that will Sacke a City. The Prince drawes out a Bottle of Sacke. Prin. What, is it a time to iest and dally now. Exit. Throwes it at him. Fal. If Percy be aliue, Ile pierce him: if he do come inmy way, so: if he do not, if I come in his (willingly) lethim make a Carbonado of me. I like not such grinninghonour as Sir Walter hath: Giue mee life, which if I cansaue, so: if not, honour comes vnlook'd for, and ther's anend. Exit
Scena Tertia. Alarum, excursions, enter the King, the Prince,Lord Iohn of Lancaster, and Earleof Westmerland. King. I prethee Harry withdraw thy selfe, thou blee-dest too much: Lord Iohn of Lancaster, go you with him. P.Ioh. Not I, My Lord, vnlesse I did bleed too. Prin. I beseech your Maiesty make vp,Least your retirement do amaze your friends. King. I will do so:My Lord of Westmerland leade him to his Tent. West. Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent. Prin. Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe;And heauen forbid a shallow scratch should driueThe Prince of Wales from such a field as this,Where stain'd Nobility lyes troden on,And Rebels Armes triumph in massacres. Ioh. We breath too long: Come cosin Westmerland,Our duty this way lies, for heauens sake come. Prin. By heauen thou hast deceiu'd me Lancaster,I did not thinke thee Lord of such a spirit:Before, I lou'd thee as a Brother, Iohn; But now, I do respect thee as my Soule. King. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point,With lustier maintenance then I did looke forOf such an vngrowne Warriour. Prin. O this Boy, lends mettall to vs all. Exit. Enter Dowglas. Dow. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads:I am the Dowglas, fatall to all thoseThat weare those colours on them. What art thouThat counterfeit'st the person of a King? King. The King himselfe: who Dowglas grieues at hart So many of his shadowes thou hast met,And not the very King. I haue two BoyesSeeke Percy and thy selfe about the Field:But seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,I will assay thee: so defend thy selfe. Dow. I feare thou art another counterfeit:And yet infaith thou bear'st thee like a King:But mine I am sure thou art, whoere thou be,And thus I win thee. They fight, the K[ing]. being in danger,Enter Prince. Prin. Hold vp thy head vile Scot, or thou art likeNeuer to hold it vp againe: the SpiritsOf valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes;it is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee,Who neuer promiseth, but he meanes to pay. They Fight, Dowglas flyeth. Cheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace?Sir Nicolas Gawsey hath for succour sent,And so hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton straight. King. Stay, and breath awhile.Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion,And shew'd thou mak'st some tender of my lifeIn this faire rescue thou hast brought to mee. Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury,That euer said I hearkned to your death.If it were so, I might haue let aloneThe insulting hand of Dowglas ouer you,Which would haue bene as speedy in your end,As all the poysonous Potions in the world,And sau'd the Treacherous labour of your Sonne. K. Make vp to Clifton, Ile to Sir Nicholas Gausey. Exit Enter Hotspur. Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. Prin. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. Hot. My name is Harrie Percie. Prin. Why then I see a very valiant rebel of that name.I am the Prince of Wales, and thinke not Percy, To share with me in glory any more:Two Starres keepe not their motion in one Sphere,Nor can one England brooke a double reigne,Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales. Hot. Nor shall it Harry, for the houre is comeTo end the one of vs; and would to heauen,Thy name in Armes, were now as great as mine. Prin. Ile make it greater, ere I part from thee,And all the budding Honors on thy Crest,Ile crop, to make a Garland for my head. Hot. I can no longer brooke thy Vanities. Fight. Enter Falstaffe. Fal. Well said Hal, to it Hal. Nay you shall finde noBoyes play heere, I can tell you. Enter Dowglas, he fights with Falstaffe, who fals downas if he were dead. The Prince killeth Percie. Hot. Oh Harry, thou hast rob'd me of my youth:I better brooke the losse of brittle life,Then those proud Titles thou hast wonne of me,They wound my thoghts worse, then the sword my flesh:But thought's the slaue of Life, and Life, Times foole;And Time, that takes suruey of all the world,Must haue a stop. O, I could Prophesie,But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death,Lyes on my Tongue: No Percy, thou art dustAnd food for—— Prin. For Wormes, braue Percy. Farewell great heart:Ill-weau'd Ambition, how much art thou shrunke?When that this bodie did containe a spirit,A Kingdome for it was too small a bound:But now two paces of the vilest EarthIs roome enough. This Earth that beares the dead,Beares not aliue so stout a Gentleman.If thou wer't sensible of curtesie,I should not make so great a shew of Zeale.But let my fauours hide thy mangled face,And euen in thy behalfe, Ile thanke my selfeFor doing these fayre Rites of Tendernesse.Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heauen,Thy ignomy sleepe with thee in the graue,But not remembred in thy Epitaph.What? Old Acquaintance? Could not all this fleshKeepe in a little life? Poore Iacke, farewell:I could haue better spar'd a better man.O, I should haue a heauy misse of thee,If I were much in loue with Vanity.Death hath not strucke so fat a Deere to day,Though many dearer in this bloody Fray:Imbowell'd will I see thee by and by,Till then, in blood, by Noble Percie lye. Exit. Falstaffe riseth vp. Falst. Imbowell'd? If thou imbowell mee to day, Ilegiue you leaue to powder me, and eat me too to morow.'Twas time to counterfet, or that hotte Termagant Scot,had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I am no coun-terfeit; to dye, is to be a counterfeit, for hee is but thecounterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a man: Butto counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liueth, is to beno counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life in-deede. The better part of Valour, is Discretion; in thewhich better part, I haue saued my life. I am affraide ofthis Gun-powder Percy though he be dead. How if heeshould counterfeit too, and rise? I am afraid hee wouldproue the better counterfeit: therefore Ile make him sure:yea, and Ile sweare I kill'd him. Why may not hee rise aswell as I: Nothing confutes me but eyes, and no-bodiesees me. Therefore sirra, with a new wound in your thighcome you along me. Takes Hotspurre on his backe. Enter Prince and Iohn of Lancaster. Prin. Come Brother Iohn, full brauely hast thou fleshtthy Maiden sword. Iohn. But soft, who haue we heere?Did you not tell me this Fat man was dead? Prin. I did, I saw him dead,Breathlesse, and bleeding on the ground: Art thou aliue?Or is it fantasie that playes vpon our eye-sight?I prethee speake, we will not trust our eyesWithout our eares. Thou art not what thou seem'st. Fal. No, that's certaine: I am not a double man: butif I be not Iacke Falstaffe, then am I a Iacke: There is Per-cy, if your Father will do me any Honor, so: if not, let himkill the next Percie himselfe. I looke to be either Earle orDuke, I can assure you. Prin. Why, Percy I kill'd my selfe, and saw thee dead. Fal. Did'st thou? Lord, Lord, how the world is giuento Lying? I graunt you I was downe, and out of breath,and so was he, but we rose both at an instant, and foughta long houre by Shrewsburie clocke. If I may bee belee-ued, so: if not, let them that should reward Valour, bearethe sinne vpon their owne heads. Ile take't on my deathI gaue him this wound in the Thigh: if the man were a-liue, and would deny it, I would make him eate a peeceof my sword. Iohn. This is the strangest Tale that e're I heard. Prin. This is the strangest Fellow, Brother Iohn. Come bring your luggage Nobly on your backe:For my part, if a lye may do thee grace,Ile gil'd it with the happiest tearmes I haue. A Retreat is sounded. The Trumpets sound Retreat, the day is ours:Come Brother, let's to the highest of the field,To see what Friends are liuing, who are dead. Exeunt Fal. Ile follow as they say, for Reward. Hee that re-wards me, heauen reward him. If I do grow great again,Ile grow lesse? For Ile purge, and leaue Sacke, and liuecleanly, as a Nobleman should do. Exit
Scaena Quarta. The Trumpets sound. Enter the King, Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster,Earle of Westmerland, with Worcester &Vernon Prisoners. King. Thus euer did Rebellion finde Rebuke.Ill-spirited Worcester, did we not send Grace,Pardon, and tearmes of Loue to all of you?And would'st thou turne our offers contrary?Misuse the tenor of thy Kinsmans trust?Three Knights vpon our party slaine to day,A Noble Earle, and many a creature else,Had beene aliue this houre,If like a Christian thou had'st truly borneBetwixt our Armies, true Intelligence. Wor. What I haue done, my safety vrg'd me to,And I embrace this fortune patiently,Since not to be auoyded, it fals on mee. King. Beare Worcester to death, and Vernon too:Other offenders we will pause vpon. Exit Worcester and Vernon. How goes the Field? Prin. The Noble Scot Lord Dowglas, when hee sawThe fortune of the day quite turn'd from him,The Noble Percy slaine, and all his men,Vpon the foot of feare, fled with the rest;And falling from a hill, he was so bruiz'dThat the pursuers tooke him. At my TentThe Dowglas is, and I beseech your Grace,I may dispose of him. King. With all my heart. Prin. Then Brother Iohn of Lancaster,To you this honourable bounty shall belong:Go to the Dowglas, and deliuer himVp to his pleasure, ransomlesse and free:His Valour shewne vpon our Crests to day,Hath taught vs how to cherish such high deeds,Euen in the bosome of our Aduersaries. King. Then this remaines: that we diuide our Power.You Sonne Iohn, and my Cousin WestmerlandTowards Yorke shall bend you, with your deerest speedTo meet Northumberland, and the Prelate Scroope, Who (as we heare) are busily in Armes.My Selfe, and you Sonne Harry will towards Wales,To fight with Glendower, and the Earle of March.Rebellion in this Land shall lose his way,Meeting the Checke of such another day:And since this Businesse so faire is done,Let vs not leaue till all our owne be wonne. Exeunt.
FINIS. The Second Part of Henry the Fourth,Containing his Death: and the Coronationof King Henry the Fift.
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
INDVCTION. Enter Rumour. Open your Eares: For which of you will stopThe vent of Hearing, when loud Rumor speakes?I, from the Orient, to the drooping West(Making the winde my Post-horse) still vnfoldThe Acts commenced on this Ball of Earth.Vpon my Tongue, continuall Slanders ride,The which, in euery Language, I pronounce,Stuffing the Eares of them with false Reports:I speake of Peace, while couert Enmitie(Vnder the smile of Safety) wounds the World:And who but Rumour, who but onely IMake fearfull Musters, and prepar'd Defence,Whil'st the bigge yeare, swolne with some other griefes,Is thought with childe, by the sterne Tyrant, Warre,And no such matter? Rumour, is a PipeBlowne by Surmises, Ielousies, Coniectures;And of so easie, and so plaine a stop,That the blunt Monster, with vncounted heads,The still discordant, wauering Multitude,Can play vpon it. But what neede I thusMy well-knowne Body to AnathomizeAmong my houshold? Why is Rumour heere?I run before King Harries victory,Who in a bloodie field by ShrewsburieHath beaten downe yong Hotspurre, and his Troopes,Quenching the flame of bold Rebellion,Euen with the Rebels blood. But what meane ITo speake so true at first? My Office isTo noyse abroad, that Harry Monmouth fellVnder the Wrath of Noble Hotspurres Sword:And that the King, before the Dowglas RageStoop'd his Annointed head, as low as death.This haue I rumour'd through the peasant-Townes,Betweene the Royall Field of Shrewsburie,And this Worme-eaten-Hole of ragged Stone,Where Hotspurres Father, old Northumberland,Lyes crafty sicke. The Postes come tyring on,And not a man of them brings other newesThen they haue learn'd of Me. From Rumours Tongues,They bring smooth-Comforts-false, worse then True-wrongs. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Enter Lord Bardolfe, and the Porter. L.Bar. Who keepes the Gate heere hoa?Where is the Earle? Por. What shall I say you are? Bar. Tell thou the EarleThat the Lord Bardolfe doth attend him heere. Por. His Lordship is walk'd forth into the Orchard,Please it your Honor, knocke but at the Gate,And he himselfe will answer. Enter Northumberland. L.Bar. Heere comes the Earle. Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe? Eu'ry minute nowShould be the Father of some Stratagem;The Times are wilde: Contention (like a HorseFull of high Feeding) madly hath broke loose,And beares downe all before him. L.Bar. Noble Earle,I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury. Nor. Good, and heauen will. L.Bar. As good as heart can wish:The King is almost wounded to the death:And in the Fortune of my Lord your Sonne,Prince Harrie slaine out-right: and both the Blunts Kill'd by the hand of Dowglas. Yong Prince Iohn, And Westmerland, and Stafford, fled the Field.And Harrie Monmouth's Brawne (the Hulke Sir Iohn)Is prisoner to your Sonne. O, such a Day,(So fought, so follow'd, and so fairely wonne)Came not, till now, to dignifie the TimesSince Caesars Fortunes. Nor. How is this deriu'd?Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury? L.Bar. I spake with one (my L[ord].) that came fro[m] thence,A Gentleman well bred, and of good name,That freely render'd me these newes for true. Nor. Heere comes my Seruant Trauers, whom I sentOn Tuesday last, to listen after Newes. Enter Trauers. L.Bar. My Lord, I ouer-rod him on the way,And he is furnish'd with no certainties,More then he (haply) may retaile from me. Nor. Now Trauers, what good tidings comes fro[m] you? Tra. My Lord, Sir Iohn Vmfreuill turn'd me backeWith ioyfull tydings; and (being better hors'd)Out-rod me. After him, came spurring headA Gentleman (almost fore-spent with speed)That stopp'd by me, to breath his bloodied horse.He ask'd the way to Chester: And of himI did demand what Newes from Shrewsbury:He told me, that Rebellion had ill lucke,And that yong Harry Percies Spurre was cold.With that he gaue his able Horse the head,And bending forwards strooke his able heelesAgainst the panting sides of his poore IadeVp to the Rowell head, and starting so,He seem'd in running, to deuoure the way,Staying no longer question. North. Ha? Againe:Said he yong Harrie Percyes Spurre was cold?(Of Hot-Spurre, cold-Spurre?) that Rebellion,Had met ill lucke? L.Bar. My Lord: Ile tell you what,If my yong Lord your Sonne, haue not the day,Vpon mine Honor, for a silken pointIle giue my Barony. Neuer talke of it. Nor. Why should the Gentleman that rode by Trauers Giue then such instances of Losse? L.Bar. Who, he?He was some hielding Fellow, that had stolneThe Horse he rode-on: and vpon my lifeSpeake at aduenture. Looke, here comes more Newes. Enter Morton. Nor. Yea, this mans brow, like to a Title-leafe,Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume:So lookes the Strond, when the Imperious FloodHath left a witnest Vsurpation.Say Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury? Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord)Where hatefull death put on his vgliest MaskeTo fright our party. North. How doth my Sonne, and Brother?Thou trembl'st; and the whitenesse in thy CheekeIs apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand.Euen such a man, so faint, so spiritlesse,So dull, so dead in looke, so woe-be-gone,Drew Priams Curtaine, in the dead of night,And would haue told him, Halfe his Troy was burn'd.But Priam found the Fire, ere he his Tongue:And I, my Percies death, ere thou report'st it.This, thou would'st say: Your Sonne did thus, and thus:Your Brother, thus. So fought the Noble Dowglas, Stopping my greedy eare, with their bold deeds.But in the end (to stop mine Eare indeed)Thou hast a Sigh, to blow away this Praise,Ending with Brother, Sonne, and all are dead. Mor. Dowglas is liuing, and your Brother, yet:But for my Lord, your Sonne. North. Why, he is dead.See what a ready tongue Suspition hath:He that but feares the thing, he would not know,Hath by Instinct, knowledge from others Eyes,That what he feard, is chanc'd. Yet speake (Morton)Tell thou thy Earle, his Diuination Lies,And I will take it, as a sweet Disgrace,And make thee rich, for doing me such wrong. Mor. You are too great, to be (by me) gainsaid:Your Spirit is too true, your Feares too certaine. North. Yet for all this, say not that Percies dead.I see a strange Confession in thine Eye:Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it Feare, or Sinne,To speake a truth. If he be slaine, say so:The Tongue offends not, that reports his death:And he doth sinne that doth belye the dead:Not he, which sayes the dead is not aliue:Yet the first bringer of vnwelcome NewesHath but a loosing Office: and his Tongue,Sounds euer after as a sullen BellRemembred, knolling a departing Friend. L.Bar. I cannot thinke (my Lord) your son is dead. Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to beleeueThat, which I would to heauen, I had not seene.But these mine eyes, saw him in bloody state,Rend'ring faint quittance (wearied, and out-breath'd)To Henrie Monmouth, whose swift wrath beate downeThe neuer-daunted Percie to the earth,From whence (with life) he neuer more sprung vp.In few; his death (whose spirit lent a fire,Euen to the dullest Peazant in his Campe)Being bruited once, tooke fire and heate awayFrom the best temper'd Courage in his Troopes.For from his Mettle, was his Party steel'd;Which once, in him abated, all the restTurn'd on themselues, like dull and heauy Lead:And as the Thing, that's heauy in it selfe,Vpon enforcement, flyes with greatest speede,So did our Men, heauy in Hotspurres losse,Lend to this weight, such lightnesse with their Feare,That Arrowes fled not swifter toward their ayme,Then did our Soldiers (ayming at their safety)Fly from the field. Then was that Noble WorcesterToo soone ta'ne prisoner: and that furious Scot,(The bloody Dowglas) whose well-labouring swordHad three times slaine th' appearance of the King,Gan vaile his stomacke, and did grace the shameOf those that turn'd their backes: and in his flight,Stumbling in Feare, was tooke. The summe of all,Is, that the King hath wonne: and hath sent outA speedy power, to encounter you my Lord,Vnder the Conduct of yong LancasterAnd Westmerland. This is the Newes at full. North. For this, I shall haue time enough to mourne.In Poyson, there is Physicke: and this newes(Hauing beene well) that would haue made me sicke,Being sicke, haue in some measure, made me well.And as the Wretch, whose Feauer-weakned ioynts,Like strengthlesse Hindges, buckle vnder life,Impatient of his Fit, breakes like a fireOut of his keepers armes: Euen so, my Limbes(Weak'ned with greefe) being now inrag'd with greefe,Are thrice themselues. Hence therefore thou nice crutch,A scalie Gauntlet now, with ioynts of SteeleMust gloue this hand. And hence thou sickly Quoife,Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,Which Princes, flesh'd with Conquest, ayme to hit.Now binde my Browes with Iron and approachThe ragged'st houre, that Time and Spight dare bringTo frowne vpon th' enrag'd Northumberland.Let Heauen kisse Earth: now let not Natures handKeepe the wilde Flood confin'd: Let Order dye,And let the world no longer be a stageTo feede Contention in a ling'ring Act:But let one spirit of the First-borne Caine Reigne in all bosomes, that each heart being setOn bloody Courses, the rude Scene may end,And darknesse be the burier of the dead. L.Bar. Sweet Earle, diuorce not wisedom from your Honor. Mor. The liues of all your louing ComplicesLeane-on your health, the which if you giue-o'reTo stormy Passion, must perforce decay.You cast th' euent of Warre (my Noble Lord)And summ'd the accompt of Chance, before you saidLet vs make head: It was your presurmize,That in the dole of blowes, your Son might drop.You knew he walk'd o're perils, on an edgeMore likely to fall in, then to get o're:You were aduis'd his flesh was capeableOf Wounds, and Scarres; and that his forward SpiritWould lift him, where most trade of danger rang'd,Yet did you say go forth: and none of this(Though strongly apprehended) could restraineThe stiffe-borne Action: What hath then befalne?Or what hath this bold enterprize bring forth,More then that Being, which was like to be? L.Bar. We all that are engaged to this losse,Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous Seas,That if we wrought out life, was ten to one:And yet we ventur'd for the gaine propos'd,Choak'd the respect of likely perill fear'd,And since we are o're-set, venture againe.Come, we will all put forth; Body, and Goods, Mor. 'Tis more then time: And (my most Noble Lord)I heare for certaine, and do speake the truth:The gentle Arch-bishop of Yorke is vpWith well appointed Powres: he is a manWho with a double Surety bindes his Followers.My Lord (your Sonne) had onely but the Corpes,But shadowes, and the shewes of men to fight.For that same word (Rebellion) did diuideThe action of their bodies, from their soules,And they did fight with queasinesse, constrain'dAs men drinke Potions; that their Weapons onlySeem'd on our side: but for their Spirits and Soules,This word (Rebellion) it had froze them vp,As Fish are in a Pond. But now the BishopTurnes Insurrection to Religion,Suppos'd sincere, and holy in his Thoughts:He's follow'd both with Body, and with Minde:And doth enlarge his Rising, with the bloodOf faire King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones,Deriues from heauen, his Quarrell, and his Cause:Tels them, he doth bestride a bleeding Land,Gasping for life, vnder great Bullingbrooke, And more, and lesse, do flocke to follow him. North. I knew of this before. But to speake truth,This present greefe had wip'd it from my minde.Go in with me, and councell euery manThe aptest way for safety, and reuenge:Get Posts, and Letters, and make Friends with speed,Neuer so few, nor neuer yet more need. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter Falstaffe, and Page. Fal. Sirra, you giant, what saies the Doct[or]. to my water? Pag. He said sir, the water it selfe was a good healthywater: but for the party that ow'd it, he might haue morediseases then he knew for. Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at mee: thebraine of this foolish compounded Clay-man, is not ableto inuent any thing that tends to laughter, more then Iinuent, or is inuented on me. I am not onely witty in myselfe, but the cause that wit is in other men. I doe heerewalke before thee, like a Sow, that hath o'rewhelm'd allher Litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my Ser-uice for any other reason, then to set mee off, why then Ihaue no iudgement. Thou horson Mandrake, thou artfitter to be worne in my cap, then to wait at my heeles. Iwas neuer mann'd with an Agot till now: but I will setteyou neyther in Gold, nor Siluer, but in vilde apparell, andsend you backe againe to your Master, for a Iewell. The Iuuenall (the Prince your Master) whose Chin is not yetfledg'd, I will sooner haue a beard grow in the Palme ofmy hand, then he shall get one on his cheeke: yet he willnot sticke to say, his Face is a Face-Royall. Heauen mayfinish it when he will, it is not a haire amisse yet: he maykeepe it still at a Face-Royall, for a Barber shall neuerearne six pence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as ifhe had writ man euer since his Father was a Batchellour.He may keepe his owne Grace, but he is almost out ofmine, I can assure him. What said M[aster]. Dombledon, aboutthe Satten for my short Cloake, and Slops? Pag. He said sir, you should procure him better Assu-rance, then Bardolfe: he wold not take his Bond & yours,he lik'd not the Security. Fal. Let him bee damn'd like the Glutton, may hisTongue be hotter, a horson Achitophel; a Rascally-yea-forsooth-knaue,to beare a Gentleman in hand, and thenstand vpon Security? The horson smooth-pates doe nowweare nothing but high shoes, and bunches of Keyes attheir girdles: and if a man is through with them in ho-nest Taking-vp, then they must stand vpon Securitie: Ihad as liefe they would put Rats-bane in my mouth, asoffer to stoppe it with Security. I look'd hee should hauesent me two and twenty yards of Satten (as I am trueKnight) and he sends me Security. Well, he may sleep inSecurity, for he hath the horne of Abundance: and thelightnesse of his Wife shines through it, and yet cannothe see, though he haue his owne Lanthorne to light him.Where's Bardolfe? Pag. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worshipa horse. Fal. I bought him in Paules, and hee'l buy mee a horsein Smithfield. If I could get mee a wife in the Stewes, Iwere Mann'd, Hors'd, and Wiu'd. Enter Chiefe Iustice, and Seruant. Pag. Sir, heere comes the Nobleman that committedthe Prince for striking him, about Bardolfe. Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. Ch.Iust. What's he that goes there? Ser. Falstaffe, and't please your Lordship. Iust. He that was in question for the Robbery? Ser. He my Lord, but he hath since done good seruiceat Shrewsbury: and (as I heare) is now going with someCharge, to the Lord Iohn of Lancaster. Iust. What to Yorke? Call him backe againe. Ser. Sir Iohn Falstaffe. Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deafe. Pag. You must speake lowder, my Master is deafe. Iust. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good.Go plucke him by the Elbow, I must speake with him. Ser. Sir Iohn. Fal. What? a yong knaue and beg? Is there not wars? Isthere not imployment? Doth not the K[ing]. lack subiects? Donot the Rebels want Soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to begge, then tobe on the worst side, were it worse then the name of Re-bellion can tell how to make it. Ser. You mistake me Sir. Fal. Why sir? Did I say you were an honest man? Set-ting my Knight-hood, and my Souldiership aside, I hadlyed in my throat, if I had said so. Ser. I pray you (Sir) then set your Knighthood andyour Souldier-ship aside, and giue mee leaue to tell you,you lye in your throat, if you say I am any other then anhonest man. Fal. I giue thee leaue to tell me so? I lay a-side thatwhich growes to me? If thou get'st any leaue of me, hangme: if thou tak'st leaue, thou wer't better be hang'd: youHunt-counter, hence: Auant. Ser. Sir, my Lord would speake with you. Iust. Sir Iohn Falstaffe, a word with you. Fal. My good Lord: giue your Lordship good time ofthe day. I am glad to see your Lordship abroad: I heardsay your Lordship was sicke. I hope your Lordship goesabroad by aduise. Your Lordship (though not clean pastyour youth) hath yet some smack of age in you: some rel-lish of the saltnesse of Time, and I most humbly beseechyour Lordship, to haue a reuerend care of your health. Iust. Sir Iohn, I sent you before your Expedition, toShrewsburie. Fal. If it please your Lordship, I heare his Maiestie isreturn'd with some discomfort from Wales. Iust. I talke not of his Maiesty: you would not comewhen I sent for you? Fal. And I heare moreouer, his Highnesse is falne intothis same whorson Apoplexie. Iust. Well, heauen mend him. I pray let me speak with you. Fal. This Apoplexie is (as I take it) a kind of Lethar-gie, a sleeping of the blood, a horson Tingling. Iust. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. Fal. It hath it originall from much greefe; from studyand perturbation of the braine. I haue read the cause ofhis effects in Galen. It is a kinde of deafenesse. Iust. I thinke you are falne into the disease: For youheare not what I say to you. Fal. Very well (my Lord) very well: rather an't pleaseyou) it is the disease of not Listning, the malady of notMarking, that I am troubled withall. Iust. To punish you by the heeles, would amend theattention of your eares, & I care not if I be your Physitian Fal. I am as poore as Iob, my Lord; but not so Patient:your Lordship may minister the Potion of imprisonmentto me, in respect of Pouertie: but how I should bee yourPatient, to follow your prescriptions, the wise may makesome dram of a scruple, or indeede, a scruple it selfe. Iust. I sent for you (when there were matters againstyou for your life) to come speake with me. Fal. As I was then aduised by my learned Councel, inthe lawes of this Land-seruice, I did not come. Iust. Wel, the truth is (sir Iohn) you liue in great infamy Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, ca[n]not liue in lesse. Iust. Your Meanes is very slender, and your wast great. Fal. I would it were otherwise: I would my Meaneswere greater, and my waste slenderer. Iust. You haue misled the youthfull Prince. Fal. The yong Prince hath misled mee. I am the Fel-low with the great belly, and he my Dogge. Iust. Well, I am loth to gall a new-heal'd wound: yourdaies seruice at Shrewsbury, hath a little gilded oueryour Nights exploit on Gads-hill. You may thanke thevnquiet time, for your quiet o're-posting that Action. Fal. My Lord? Iust. But since all is wel, keep it so: wake not a sleeping Wolfe. Fal. To wake a Wolfe, is as bad as to smell a Fox. Iu. What? you are as a candle, the better part burnt out Fal. A Wassell-Candle, my Lord; all Tallow: if I didsay of wax, my growth would approue the truth. Iust. There is not a white haire on your face, but sholdhaue his effect of grauity. Fal. His effect of grauy, grauy, grauy. Iust. You follow the yong Prince vp and downe, likehis euill Angell. Fal. Not so (my Lord) your ill Angell is light: but Ihope, he that lookes vpon mee, will take mee without,weighing: and yet, in some respects I grant, I cannot go:I cannot tell. Vertue is of so little regard in these Costor-mongers, that true valor is turn'd Beare-heard. Pregnan-cie is made a Tapster, and hath his quicke wit wasted ingiuing Recknings: all the other gifts appertinent to man(as the malice of this Age shapes them) are not woorth aGooseberry. You that are old, consider not the capaci-ties of vs that are yong: you measure the heat of our Li-uers, with the bitternes of your gals: & we that are in thevaward of our youth, I must confesse, are wagges too. Iust. Do you set downe your name in the scrowle ofyouth, that are written downe old, with all the Charrac-ters of age? Haue you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yel-low cheeke? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an incresingbelly? Is not your voice broken? your winde short? yourwit single? and euery part about you blasted with Anti-quity? and wil you cal your selfe yong? Fy, fy, fy, sir Iohn. Fal. My Lord, I was borne with a white head, & som-thing a round belly. For my voice, I haue lost it with hal-lowing and singing of Anthemes. To approue my youthfarther, I will not: the truth is, I am onely olde in iudge-ment and vnderstanding: and he that will caper with meefor a thousand Markes, let him lend me the mony, & haueat him. For the boxe of th' eare that the Prince gaue you,he gaue it like a rude Prince, and you tooke it like a sensi-ble Lord. I haue checkt him for it, and the yong Lion re-pents: Marry not in ashes and sacke-cloath, but in newSilke, and old Sacke. Iust. Wel, heauen send the Prince a better companion. Fal. Heauen send the Companion a better Prince: Icannot rid my hands of him. Iust. Well, the King hath seuer'd you and Prince Har-ry, I heare you are going with Lord Iohn of Lancaster, a-gainst the Archbishop, and the Earle of Northumberland Fal. Yes, I thanke your pretty sweet wit for it: butlooke you pray, (all you that kisse my Ladie Peace, athome) that our Armies ioyn not in a hot day: for if I takebut two shirts out with me, and I meane not to sweat ex-traordinarily: if it bee a hot day, if I brandish any thingbut my Bottle, would I might neuer spit white againe:There is not a daungerous Action can peepe out his head,but I am thrust vpon it. Well, I cannot last euer. Iust. Well, be honest, be honest, and heauen blesse yourExpedition. Fal. Will your Lordship lend mee a thousand pound,to furnish me forth? Iust. Not a peny, not a peny: you are too impatientto beare crosses. Fare you well. Commend mee to myCosin Westmerland. Fal. If I do, fillop me with a three-man-Beetle. A mancan no more separate Age and Couetousnesse, then he canpart yong limbes and letchery: but the Gowt galles the one, and the pox pinches the other; and so both the De-grees preuent my curses. Boy? Page. Sir. Fal. What money is in my purse? Page. Seuen groats, and two pence. Fal. I can get no remedy against this Consumption ofthe purse. Borrowing onely lingers, and lingers it out,but the disease is incureable. Go beare this letter to myLord of Lancaster, this to the Prince, this to the Earle ofWestmerland, and this to old Mistris Vrsula, whome Ihaue weekly sworne to marry, since I perceiu'd the firstwhite haire on my chin. About it: you know where tofinde me. A pox of this Gowt, or a Gowt of this Poxe:for the one or th' other playes the rogue with my greattoe: It is no matter, if I do halt, I haue the warres for mycolour, and my Pension shall seeme the more reasonable.A good wit will make vse of any thing: I will turne dis-eases to commodity. Exeunt
Scena Quarta. Enter Archbishop, Hastings, Mowbray, andLord Bardolfe. Ar. Thus haue you heard our causes, & kno our Means:And my most noble Friends, I pray you allSpeake plainly your opinions of our hopes,And first (Lord Marshall) what say you to it? Mow. I well allow the occasion of our Armes,But gladly would be better satisfied,How (in our Meanes) we should aduance our seluesTo looke with forhead bold and big enoughVpon the Power and puisance of the King. Hast. Our present Musters grow vpon the FileTo fiue and twenty thousand men of choice:And our Supplies, liue largely in the hopeOf great Northumberland, whose bosome burnesWith an incensed Fire of Iniuries. L.Bar. The question then (Lord Hastings) standeth thusWhether our present fiue and twenty thousandMay hold-vp-head, without Northumberland: Hast. With him, we may. L.Bar. I marry, there's the point:But if without him we be thought to feeble,My iudgement is, we should not step too farreTill we had his Assistance by the hand.For in a Theame so bloody fac'd, as this,Coniecture, Expectation, and SurmiseOf Aydes incertaine, should not be admitted. Arch. 'Tis very true Lord Bardolfe, for indeedIt was yong Hotspurres case, at Shrewsbury. L.Bar. It was (my Lord) who lin'd himself with hope,Eating the ayre, on promise of Supply,Flatt'ring himselfe with Proiect of a power,Much smaller, then the smallest of his Thoughts,And so with great imagination(Proper to mad men) led his Powers to death,And (winking) leap'd into destruction. Hast. But (by your leaue) it neuer yet did hurt,To lay downe likely-hoods, and formes of hope. L.Bar. Yes, if this present quality of warre,Indeed the instant action: a cause on foot,Liues so in hope: As in an early Spring,We see th' appearing buds, which to proue fruite,Hope giues not so much warrant, as DispaireThat Frosts will bite them. When we meane to build,We first suruey the Plot, then draw the Modell,And when we see the figure of the house,Then must we rate the cost of the Erection,Which if we finde out-weighes Ability,What do we then, but draw a-new the ModellIn fewer offices? Or at least, desistTo builde at all? Much more, in this great worke,(Which is (almost) to plucke a Kingdome downe,And set another vp) should we surueyThe plot of Situation, and the Modell;Consent vpon a sure Foundation:Question Surueyors, know our owne estate,How able such a Worke to vndergo,To weigh against his Opposite? Or else,We fortifie in Paper, and in Figures,Vsing the Names of men, instead of men:Like one, that drawes the Modell of a houseBeyond his power to builde it; who (halfe through)Giues o're, and leaues his part-created CostA naked subiect to the Weeping Clouds,And waste, for churlish Winters tyranny. Hast. Grant that our hopes (yet likely of faire byrth)Should be still-borne: and that we now possestThe vtmost man of expectation:I thinke we are a Body strong enough(Euen as we are) to equall with the King. L.Bar. What is the King but fiue & twenty thousand? Hast. To vs no more: nay not so much Lord Bardolf. For0his diuisions (as the Times do braul)Are in three Heads: one Power against the French,And one against Glendower: Perforce a thirdMust take vp vs: So is the vnfirme KingIn three diuided: and his Coffers soundWith hollow Pouerty, and Emptinesse. Ar. That he should draw his seuerall strengths togitherAnd come against vs in full puissanceNeed not be dreaded. Hast. If he should do so,He leaues his backe vnarm'd, the French, and WelchBaying him at the heeles: neuer feare that.