Software Vault: The Diamond Collection/The Diamond Collection (Software Vault)(Digital Impact).ISO/cdr14/shkspr3.zip/SHKSPR3.TXT

Text File | 1995-03-24 | 1MB | 43,651 lines

AS YOU LIKE IT


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DUKE SENIOR    living in banishment.

DUKE FREDERICK    his brother, an usurper of his dominions.


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


LE BEAU    a courtier attending upon Frederick.

CHARLES    wrestler to Frederick.


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


ADAM    |
    |  servants to Oliver.
DENNIS    |


TOUCHSTONE    a clown.

SIR OLIVER MARTEXT    a vicar.


CORIN    |
    |  shepherds.
SILVIUS    |


WILLIAM    a country fellow in love with Audrey.

    A person representing HYMEN. (HYMEN:)

ROSALIND    daughter to the banished duke.

CELIA    daughter to Frederick.

PHEBE    a shepherdess.

AUDREY    a country wench.

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


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




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE I    Orchard of Oliver's house.


    [Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

ORLANDO    As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
    bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns,
    and, as thou sayest, charged my brother, on his
    blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my
    sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and
    report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part,
    he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more
    properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you
    that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that
    differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses
    are bred better; for, besides that they are fair
    with their feeding, they are taught their manage,
    and to that end riders dearly hired: but I, his
    brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the
    which his animals on his dunghills are as much
    bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so
    plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave
    me his countenance seems to take from me: he lets
    me feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a
    brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my
    gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that
    grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I
    think is within me, begins to mutiny against this
    servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I
    know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

ADAM    Yonder comes my master, your brother.

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

    [Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER    Now, sir! what make you here?

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

OLIVER    What mar you then, sir?

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

OLIVER    Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.

ORLANDO    Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?
    What prodigal portion have I spent, that I should
    come to such penury?

OLIVER    Know you where your are, sir?

ORLANDO    O, sir, very well; here in your orchard.

OLIVER    Know you before whom, sir?

ORLANDO    Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know
    you are my eldest brother; and, in the gentle
    condition of blood, you should so know me. The
    courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that
    you are the first-born; but the same tradition
    takes not away my blood, were there twenty brothers
    betwixt us: I have as much of my father in me as
    you; albeit, I confess, your coming before me is
    nearer to his reverence.

OLIVER    What, boy!

ORLANDO    Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

OLIVER    Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

ORLANDO    I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir
    Rowland de Boys; he was my father, and he is thrice
    a villain that says such a father begot villains.
    Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand
    from thy throat till this other had pulled out thy
    tongue for saying so: thou hast railed on thyself.

ADAM    Sweet masters, be patient: for your father's
    remembrance, be at accord.

OLIVER    Let me go, I say.

ORLANDO    I will not, till I please: you shall hear me. My
    father charged you in his will to give me good
    education: you have trained me like a peasant,
    obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
    qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in
    me, and I will no longer endure it: therefore allow
    me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or
    give me the poor allottery my father left me by
    testament; with that I will go buy my fortunes.

OLIVER    And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is spent?
    Well, sir, get you in: I will not long be troubled
    with you; you shall have some part of your will:
           I pray you, leave me.

ORLANDO    I will no further offend you than becomes me for my good.

OLIVER    Get you with him, you old dog.

ADAM    Is 'old dog' my reward? Most true, I have lost my
    teeth in your service. God be with my old master!
    he would not have spoke such a word.

    [Exeunt ORLANDO and ADAM]

OLIVER    Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I will
    physic your rankness, and yet give no thousand
    crowns neither. Holla, Dennis!

    [Enter DENNIS]

DENNIS    Calls your worship?

OLIVER    Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to speak with me?

DENNIS    So please you, he is here at the door and importunes
    access to you.

OLIVER    Call him in.

    [Exit DENNIS]

    'Twill be a good way; and to-morrow the wrestling is.

    [Enter CHARLES]

CHARLES    Good morrow to your worship.

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

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

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

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

OLIVER    Where will the old duke live?

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

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

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

OLIVER    Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which
    thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I had
    myself notice of my brother's purpose herein and
    have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from
    it, but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles:
    it is the stubbornest young fellow of France, full
    of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's
    good parts, a secret and villanous contriver against
    me his natural brother: therefore use thy
    discretion; I had as lief thou didst break his neck
    as his finger. And thou wert best look to't; for if
    thou dost him any slight disgrace or if he do not
    mightily grace himself on thee, he will practise
    against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
    treacherous device and never leave thee till he
    hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other;
    for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak
    it, there is not one so young and so villanous this
    day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but
    should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must
    blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.

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

OLIVER    Farewell, good Charles.

    [Exit CHARLES]

    Now will I stir this gamester: I hope I shall see
    an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why,
    hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle, never
    schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of
    all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much
    in the heart of the world, and especially of my own
    people, who best know him, that I am altogether
    misprised: but it shall not be so long; this
    wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that
    I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.

    [Exit]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE II    Lawn before the Duke's palace.


    [Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

CELIA    I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

ROSALIND    Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of;
    and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could
    teach me to forget a banished father, you must not
    learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

CELIA    Herein I see thou lovest me not with the full weight
    that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father,
    had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou
    hadst been still with me, I could have taught my
    love to take thy father for mine: so wouldst thou,
    if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously
    tempered as mine is to thee.

ROSALIND    Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
    rejoice in yours.

CELIA    You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is
    like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou shalt
    be his heir, for what he hath taken away from thy
    father perforce, I will render thee again in
    affection; by mine honour, I will; and when I break
    that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my
    sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.

ROSALIND    From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let
    me see; what think you of falling in love?

CELIA    Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal: but
    love no man in good earnest; nor no further in sport
    neither than with safety of a pure blush thou mayst
    in honour come off again.

ROSALIND    What shall be our sport, then?

CELIA    Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from
    her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

ROSALIND    I would we could do so, for her benefits are
    mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman
    doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

CELIA    'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce
    makes honest, and those that she makes honest she
    makes very ill-favouredly.

ROSALIND    Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's office to
    Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world,
    not in the lineaments of Nature.

    [Enter TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA    No? when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she
    not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature
    hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not
    Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?

ROSALIND    Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
    Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of
    Nature's wit.

CELIA    Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
    Nature's; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull
    to reason of such goddesses and hath sent this
    natural for our whetstone; for always the dulness of
    the fool is the whetstone of the wits. How now,
    wit! whither wander you?

TOUCHSTONE    Mistress, you must come away to your father.

CELIA    Were you made the messenger?

TOUCHSTONE    No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.

ROSALIND    Where learned you that oath, fool?

TOUCHSTONE    Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they
    were good pancakes and swore by his honour the
    mustard was naught: now I'll stand to it, the
    pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and
    yet was not the knight forsworn.

CELIA    How prove you that, in the great heap of your
    knowledge?

ROSALIND    Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

TOUCHSTONE    Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and
    swear by your beards that I am a knave.

CELIA    By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

TOUCHSTONE    By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you
    swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no
    more was this knight swearing by his honour, for he
    never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away
    before ever he saw those pancakes or that mustard.

CELIA    Prithee, who is't that thou meanest?

TOUCHSTONE    One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

CELIA    My father's love is enough to honour him: enough!
    speak no more of him; you'll be whipped for taxation
    one of these days.

TOUCHSTONE    The more pity, that fools may not speak wisely what
    wise men do foolishly.

CELIA    By my troth, thou sayest true; for since the little
    wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery
    that wise men have makes a great show. Here comes
    Monsieur Le Beau.

ROSALIND    With his mouth full of news.

CELIA    Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

ROSALIND    Then shall we be news-crammed.

CELIA    All the better; we shall be the more marketable.

    [Enter LE BEAU]

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

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

CELIA    Sport! of what colour?

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

ROSALIND    As wit and fortune will.

TOUCHSTONE    Or as the Destinies decree.

CELIA    Well said: that was laid on with a trowel.

TOUCHSTONE    Nay, if I keep not my rank,--

ROSALIND    Thou losest thy old smell.

LE BEAU    You amaze me, ladies: I would have told you of good
    wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

ROSALIND    You tell us the manner of the wrestling.

LE BEAU    I will tell you the beginning; and, if it please
    your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is
    yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming
    to perform it.

CELIA    Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

LE BEAU    There comes an old man and his three sons,--

CELIA    I could match this beginning with an old tale.

LE BEAU    Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.

ROSALIND    With bills on their necks, 'Be it known unto all men
    by these presents.'

LE BEAU    The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the
    duke's wrestler; which Charles in a moment threw him
    and broke three of his ribs, that there is little
    hope of life in him: so he served the second, and
    so the third. Yonder they lie; the poor old man,
    their father, making such pitiful dole over them
    that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

ROSALIND    Alas!

TOUCHSTONE    But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies
    have lost?

LE BEAU    Why, this that I speak of.

TOUCHSTONE    Thus men may grow wiser every day: it is the first
    time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport
    for ladies.

CELIA    Or I, I promise thee.

ROSALIND    But is there any else longs to see this broken music
    in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon
    rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

LE BEAU    You must, if you stay here; for here is the place
    appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to
    perform it.

CELIA    Yonder, sure, they are coming: let us now stay and see it.

    [Flourish. Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, ORLANDO,
    CHARLES, and Attendants]

DUKE FREDERICK    Come on: since the youth will not be entreated, his
    own peril on his forwardness.

ROSALIND    Is yonder the man?

LE BEAU    Even he, madam.

CELIA    Alas, he is too young! yet he looks successfully.

DUKE FREDERICK    How now, daughter and cousin! are you crept hither
    to see the wrestling?

ROSALIND    Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.

DUKE FREDERICK    You will take little delight in it, I can tell you;
    there is such odds in the man. In pity of the
    challenger's youth I would fain dissuade him, but he
    will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if
    you can move him.

CELIA    Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau.

DUKE FREDERICK    Do so: I'll not be by.

LE BEAU    Monsieur the challenger, the princesses call for you.

ORLANDO    I attend them with all respect and duty.

ROSALIND    Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler?

ORLANDO    No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I
    come but in, as others do, to try with him the
    strength of my youth.

CELIA    Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your
    years. You have seen cruel proof of this man's
    strength: if you saw yourself with your eyes or
    knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your
    adventure would counsel you to a more equal
    enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to
    embrace your own safety and give over this attempt.

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

ORLANDO    I beseech you, punish me not with your hard
    thoughts; wherein I confess me much guilty, to deny
    so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But let
    your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my
    trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
    shamed that was never gracious; if killed, but one
    dead that was willing to be so: I shall do my
    friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me, the
    world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in
    the world I fill up a place, which may be better
    supplied when I have made it empty.

ROSALIND    The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

CELIA    And mine, to eke out hers.

ROSALIND    Fare you well: pray heaven I be deceived in you!

CELIA    Your heart's desires be with you!

CHARLES    Come, where is this young gallant that is so
    desirous to lie with his mother earth?

ORLANDO    Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working.

DUKE FREDERICK    You shall try but one fall.

CHARLES    No, I warrant your grace, you shall not entreat him
    to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him
    from a first.

ORLANDO    An you mean to mock me after, you should not have
    mocked me before: but come your ways.

ROSALIND    Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

CELIA    I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
    fellow by the leg.

    [They wrestle]

ROSALIND    O excellent young man!

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

    [Shout. CHARLES is thrown]

DUKE FREDERICK    No more, no more.

ORLANDO    Yes, I beseech your grace: I am not yet well breathed.

DUKE FREDERICK    How dost thou, Charles?

LE BEAU    He cannot speak, my lord.

DUKE FREDERICK    Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

ORLANDO    Orlando, my liege; the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

DUKE FREDERICK    I would thou hadst been son to some man else:
    The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
    But I did find him still mine enemy:
    Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed,
    Hadst thou descended from another house.
    But fare thee well; thou art a gallant youth:
    I would thou hadst told me of another father.

    [Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK, train, and LE BEAU]

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

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

ROSALIND    My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul,
    And all the world was of my father's mind:
    Had I before known this young man his son,
    I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
    Ere he should thus have ventured.

CELIA    Gentle cousin,
    Let us go thank him and encourage him:
    My father's rough and envious disposition
    Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved:
    If you do keep your promises in love
    But justly, as you have exceeded all promise,
    Your mistress shall be happy.

ROSALIND    Gentleman,

    [Giving him a chain from her neck]

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

CELIA                      Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman.

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

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

CELIA    Will you go, coz?

ROSALIND    Have with you. Fare you well.

    [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

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

    [Re-enter LE BEAU]

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

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

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

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

    [Exit LE BEAU]

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

    [Exit]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT I



SCENE III    A room in the palace.


    [Enter CELIA and ROSALIND]

CELIA    Why, cousin! why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! not a word?

ROSALIND    Not one to throw at a dog.

CELIA    No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon
    curs; throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

ROSALIND    Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one
    should be lamed with reasons and the other mad
    without any.

CELIA    But is all this for your father?

ROSALIND    No, some of it is for my child's father. O, how
    full of briers is this working-day world!

CELIA    They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in
    holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden
    paths our very petticoats will catch them.

ROSALIND    I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.

CELIA    Hem them away.

ROSALIND    I would try, if I could cry 'hem' and have him.

CELIA    Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

ROSALIND    O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!

CELIA    O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in
    despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of
    service, let us talk in good earnest: is it
    possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so
    strong a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son?

ROSALIND    The duke my father loved his father dearly.

CELIA    Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son
    dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him,
    for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate
    not Orlando.

ROSALIND    No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.

CELIA    Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

ROSALIND    Let me love him for that, and do you love him
    because I do. Look, here comes the duke.

CELIA    With his eyes full of anger.

    [Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK    Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste
    And get you from our court.

ROSALIND    Me, uncle?

DUKE FREDERICK    You, cousin
    Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
    So near our public court as twenty miles,
    Thou diest for it.

ROSALIND                      I do beseech your grace,
    Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:
    If with myself I hold intelligence
    Or have acquaintance with mine own desires,
    If that I do not dream or be not frantic,--
    As I do trust I am not--then, dear uncle,
    Never so much as in a thought unborn
    Did I offend your highness.

DUKE FREDERICK    Thus do all traitors:
    If their purgation did consist in words,
    They are as innocent as grace itself:
    Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not.

ROSALIND    Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor:
    Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.

DUKE FREDERICK    Thou art thy father's daughter; there's enough.

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

CELIA    Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

DUKE FREDERICK    Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake,
    Else had she with her father ranged along.

CELIA    I did not then entreat to have her stay;
    It was your pleasure and your own remorse:
    I was too young that time to value her;
    But now I know her: if she be a traitor,
    Why so am I; we still have slept together,
    Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together,
    And wheresoever we went, like Juno's swans,
    Still we went coupled and inseparable.

DUKE FREDERICK    She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,
    Her very silence and her patience
    Speak to the people, and they pity her.
    Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name;
    And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous
    When she is gone. Then open not thy lips:
    Firm and irrevocable is my doom
    Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd.

CELIA    Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege:
    I cannot live out of her company.

DUKE FREDERICK    You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself:
    If you outstay the time, upon mine honour,
    And in the greatness of my word, you die.

    [Exeunt DUKE FREDERICK and Lords]

CELIA    O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go?
    Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
    I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am.

ROSALIND    I have more cause.

CELIA                      Thou hast not, cousin;
    Prithee be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke
    Hath banish'd me, his daughter?

ROSALIND    That he hath not.

CELIA    No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love
    Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one:
    Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
    No: let my father seek another heir.
    Therefore devise with me how we may fly,
    Whither to go and what to bear with us;
    And do not seek to take your change upon you,
    To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out;
    For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,
    Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.

ROSALIND    Why, whither shall we go?

CELIA    To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.

ROSALIND    Alas, what danger will it be to us,
    Maids as we are, to travel forth so far!
    Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.

CELIA    I'll put myself in poor and mean attire
    And with a kind of umber smirch my face;
    The like do you: so shall we pass along
    And never stir assailants.

ROSALIND    Were it not better,
    Because that I am more than common tall,
    That I did suit me all points like a man?
    A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,
    A boar-spear in my hand; and--in my heart
    Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will--
    We'll have a swashing and a martial outside,
    As many other mannish cowards have
    That do outface it with their semblances.

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

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

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

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

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

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE I    The Forest of Arden.


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

DUKE SENIOR    Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
    Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
    Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
    More free from peril than the envious court?
    Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
    The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
    And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
    Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
    Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
    'This is no flattery: these are counsellors
    That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
    Sweet are the uses of adversity,
    Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
    Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
    And this our life exempt from public haunt
    Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
    Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
    I would not change it.

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

DUKE SENIOR    Come, shall we go and kill us venison?
    And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools,
    Being native burghers of this desert city,
    Should in their own confines with forked heads
    Have their round haunches gored.

First Lord    Indeed, my lord,
    The melancholy Jaques grieves at that,
    And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
    Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
    To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself
    Did steal behind him as he lay along
    Under an oak whose antique root peeps out
    Upon the brook that brawls along this wood:
    To the which place a poor sequester'd stag,
    That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt,
    Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord,
    The wretched animal heaved forth such groans
    That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
    Almost to bursting, and the big round tears
    Coursed one another down his innocent nose
    In piteous chase; and thus the hairy fool
    Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
    Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,
    Augmenting it with tears.

DUKE SENIOR    But what said Jaques?
    Did he not moralize this spectacle?

First Lord    O, yes, into a thousand similes.
    First, for his weeping into the needless stream;
    'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou makest a testament
    As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
    To that which had too much:' then, being there alone,
    Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends,
    ''Tis right:' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
    The flux of company:' anon a careless herd,
    Full of the pasture, jumps along by him
    And never stays to greet him; 'Ay' quoth Jaques,
    'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;
    'Tis just the fashion: wherefore do you look
    Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?'
    Thus most invectively he pierceth through
    The body of the country, city, court,
    Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we
    Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse,
    To fright the animals and to kill them up
    In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.

DUKE SENIOR    And did you leave him in this contemplation?

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

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

First Lord    I'll bring you to him straight.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE II    A room in the palace.


    [Enter DUKE FREDERICK, with Lords]

DUKE FREDERICK    Can it be possible that no man saw them?
    It cannot be: some villains of my court
    Are of consent and sufferance in this.

First Lord    I cannot hear of any that did see her.
    The ladies, her attendants of her chamber,
    Saw her abed, and in the morning early
    They found the bed untreasured of their mistress.

Second Lord    My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft
    Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing.
    Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman,
    Confesses that she secretly o'erheard
    Your daughter and her cousin much commend
    The parts and graces of the wrestler
    That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles;
    And she believes, wherever they are gone,
    That youth is surely in their company.

DUKE FREDERICK    Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither;
    If he be absent, bring his brother to me;
    I'll make him find him: do this suddenly,
    And let not search and inquisition quail
    To bring again these foolish runaways.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE III    Before OLIVER'S house.


    [Enter ORLANDO and ADAM, meeting]

ORLANDO    Who's there?

ADAM    What, my young master? O, my gentle master!
    O my sweet master! O you memory
    Of old Sir Rowland! why, what make you here?
    Why are you virtuous? why do people love you?
    And wherefore are you gentle, strong and valiant?
    Why would you be so fond to overcome
    The bonny priser of the humorous duke?
    Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
    Know you not, master, to some kind of men
    Their graces serve them but as enemies?
    No more do yours: your virtues, gentle master,
    Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
    O, what a world is this, when what is comely
    Envenoms him that bears it!

ORLANDO    Why, what's the matter?

ADAM    O unhappy youth!
    Come not within these doors; within this roof
    The enemy of all your graces lives:
    Your brother--no, no brother; yet the son--
    Yet not the son, I will not call him son
    Of him I was about to call his father--
    Hath heard your praises, and this night he means
    To burn the lodging where you use to lie
    And you within it: if he fail of that,
    He will have other means to cut you off.
    I overheard him and his practises.
    This is no place; this house is but a butchery:
    Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.

ORLANDO    Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go?

ADAM    No matter whither, so you come not here.

ORLANDO    What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food?
    Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce
    A thievish living on the common road?
    This I must do, or know not what to do:
    Yet this I will not do, do how I can;
    I rather will subject me to the malice
    Of a diverted blood and bloody brother.

ADAM    But do not so. I have five hundred crowns,
    The thrifty hire I saved under your father,
    Which I did store to be my foster-nurse
    When service should in my old limbs lie lame
    And unregarded age in corners thrown:
    Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed,
    Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
    Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold;
    And all this I give you. Let me be your servant:
    Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
    For in my youth I never did apply
    Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood,
    Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
    The means of weakness and debility;
    Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
    Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you;
    I'll do the service of a younger man
    In all your business and necessities.

ORLANDO    O good old man, how well in thee appears
    The constant service of the antique world,
    When service sweat for duty, not for meed!
    Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
    Where none will sweat but for promotion,
    And having that, do choke their service up
    Even with the having: it is not so with thee.
    But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
    That cannot so much as a blossom yield
    In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry
    But come thy ways; well go along together,
    And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
    We'll light upon some settled low content.

ADAM    Master, go on, and I will follow thee,
    To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty.
    From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
    Here lived I, but now live here no more.
    At seventeen years many their fortunes seek;
    But at fourscore it is too late a week:
    Yet fortune cannot recompense me better
    Than to die well and not my master's debtor.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE IV    The Forest of Arden.


    [Enter ROSALIND for Ganymede, CELIA for Aliena,
    and TOUCHSTONE]

ROSALIND    O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!

TOUCHSTONE    I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary.

ROSALIND    I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's
    apparel and to cry like a woman; but I must comfort
    the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show
    itself courageous to petticoat: therefore courage,
    good Aliena!

CELIA    I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further.

TOUCHSTONE    For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear
    you; yet I should bear no cross if I did bear you,
    for I think you have no money in your purse.

ROSALIND    Well, this is the forest of Arden.

TOUCHSTONE    Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I; when I was
    at home, I was in a better place: but travellers
    must be content.

ROSALIND    Ay, be so, good Touchstone.

    [Enter CORIN and SILVIUS]

    Look you, who comes here; a young man and an old in
    solemn talk.

CORIN    That is the way to make her scorn you still.

SILVIUS    O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her!

CORIN    I partly guess; for I have loved ere now.

SILVIUS    No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess,
    Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
    As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:
    But if thy love were ever like to mine--
    As sure I think did never man love so--
    How many actions most ridiculous
    Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

CORIN    Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

SILVIUS    O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily!
    If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
    That ever love did make thee run into,
    Thou hast not loved:
    Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
    Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
    Thou hast not loved:
    Or if thou hast not broke from company
    Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
    Thou hast not loved.
    O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

    [Exit]

ROSALIND    Alas, poor shepherd! searching of thy wound,
    I have by hard adventure found mine own.

TOUCHSTONE    And I mine. I remember, when I was in love I broke
    my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for
    coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember the
    kissing of her batlet and the cow's dugs that her
    pretty chopt hands had milked; and I remember the
    wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I took
    two cods and, giving her them again, said with
    weeping tears 'Wear these for my sake.' We that are
    true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is
    mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly.

ROSALIND    Thou speakest wiser than thou art ware of.

TOUCHSTONE    Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of mine own wit till I
    break my shins against it.

ROSALIND    Jove, Jove! this shepherd's passion
    Is much upon my fashion.

TOUCHSTONE    And mine; but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA    I pray you, one of you question yond man
    If he for gold will give us any food:
    I faint almost to death.

TOUCHSTONE    Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND    Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.

CORIN    Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE    Your betters, sir.

CORIN                      Else are they very wretched.

ROSALIND    Peace, I say. Good even to you, friend.

CORIN    And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND    I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold
    Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
    Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed:
    Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd
    And faints for succor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE V    The Forest.


    [Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others]

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

JAQUES    More, more, I prithee, more.

AMIENS    It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.

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

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

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

AMIENS    What you will, Monsieur Jaques.

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

AMIENS    More at your request than to please myself.

JAQUES    Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you;
    but that they call compliment is like the encounter
    of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily,
    methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me
    the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will
    not, hold your tongues.

AMIENS    Well, I'll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; the
    duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all
    this day to look you.

JAQUES    And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is
    too disputable for my company: I think of as many
    matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and make no
    boast of them. Come, warble, come.

    SONG.
    Who doth ambition shun

    [All together here]

    And loves to live i' the sun,
    Seeking the food he eats
    And pleased with what he gets,
    Come hither, come hither, come hither:
    Here shall he see No enemy
    But winter and rough weather.

JAQUES    I'll give you a verse to this note that I made
    yesterday in despite of my invention.

AMIENS    And I'll sing it.

JAQUES    Thus it goes:--

    If it do come to pass
    That any man turn ass,
    Leaving his wealth and ease,
    A stubborn will to please,
    Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame:
    Here shall he see
    Gross fools as he,
    An if he will come to me.

AMIENS    What's that 'ducdame'?

JAQUES    'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a
    circle. I'll go sleep, if I can; if I cannot, I'll
    rail against all the first-born of Egypt.

AMIENS    And I'll go seek the duke: his banquet is prepared.

    [Exeunt severally]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VI    The forest.


    [Enter ORLANDO and ADAM]

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

ORLANDO    Why, how now, Adam! no greater heart in thee? Live
    a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little.
    If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I
    will either be food for it or bring it for food to
    thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers.
    For my sake be comfortable; hold death awhile at
    the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently;
    and if I bring thee not something to eat, I will
    give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I
    come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well said!
    thou lookest cheerly, and I'll be with thee quickly.
    Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear
    thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for
    lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in this
    desert. Cheerly, good Adam!

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT II



SCENE VII    The forest.


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

DUKE SENIOR    I think he be transform'd into a beast;
    For I can no where find him like a man.

First Lord    My lord, he is but even now gone hence:
    Here was he merry, hearing of a song.

DUKE SENIOR    If he, compact of jars, grow musical,
    We shall have shortly discord in the spheres.
    Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.

    [Enter JAQUES]

First Lord    He saves my labour by his own approach.

DUKE SENIOR    Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,
    That your poor friends must woo your company?
    What, you look merrily!

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

DUKE SENIOR    What fool is this?

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

DUKE SENIOR    Thou shalt have one.

JAQUES    It is my only suit;
    Provided that you weed your better judgments
    Of all opinion that grows rank in them
    That I am wise. I must have liberty
    Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
    To blow on whom I please; for so fools have;
    And they that are most galled with my folly,
    They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so?
    The 'why' is plain as way to parish church:
    He that a fool doth very wisely hit
    Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
    Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
    The wise man's folly is anatomized
    Even by the squandering glances of the fool.
    Invest me in my motley; give me leave
    To speak my mind, and I will through and through
    Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
    If they will patiently receive my medicine.

DUKE SENIOR    Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do.

JAQUES    What, for a counter, would I do but good?

DUKE SENIOR    Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin:
    For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
    As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
    And all the embossed sores and headed evils,
    That thou with licence of free foot hast caught,
    Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.

JAQUES    Why, who cries out on pride,
    That can therein tax any private party?
    Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
    Till that the weary very means do ebb?
    What woman in the city do I name,
    When that I say the city-woman bears
    The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders?
    Who can come in and say that I mean her,
    When such a one as she such is her neighbour?
    Or what is he of basest function
    That says his bravery is not of my cost,
    Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits
    His folly to the mettle of my speech?
    There then; how then? what then? Let me see wherein
    My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
    Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
    Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies,
    Unclaim'd of any man. But who comes here?

    [Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn]

ORLANDO    Forbear, and eat no more.

JAQUES    Why, I have eat none yet.

ORLANDO    Nor shalt not, till necessity be served.

JAQUES    Of what kind should this cock come of?

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

ORLANDO    You touch'd my vein at first: the thorny point
    Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
    Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred
    And know some nurture. But forbear, I say:
    He dies that touches any of this fruit
    Till I and my affairs are answered.

JAQUES    An you will not be answered with reason, I must die.

DUKE SENIOR    What would you have? Your gentleness shall force
    More than your force move us to gentleness.

ORLANDO    I almost die for food; and let me have it.

DUKE SENIOR    Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

ORLANDO    Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you:
    I thought that all things had been savage here;
    And therefore put I on the countenance
    Of stern commandment. But whate'er you are
    That in this desert inaccessible,
    Under the shade of melancholy boughs,
    Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time
    If ever you have look'd on better days,
    If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church,
    If ever sat at any good man's feast,
    If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear
    And know what 'tis to pity and be pitied,
    Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:
    In the which hope I blush, and hide my sword.

DUKE SENIOR    True is it that we have seen better days,
    And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church
    And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our eyes
    Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
    And therefore sit you down in gentleness
    And take upon command what help we have
    That to your wanting may be minister'd.

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

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

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

    [Exit]

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

JAQUES    All the world's a stage,
    And all the men and women merely players:
    They have their exits and their entrances;
    And one man in his time plays many parts,
    His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
    Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
    And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
    And shining morning face, creeping like snail
    Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
    Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
    Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
    Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
    Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
    Seeking the bubble reputation
    Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
    In fair round belly with good capon lined,
    With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
    Full of wise saws and modern instances;
    And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
    Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
    With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
    His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
    For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
    Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
    And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
    That ends this strange eventful history,
    Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
    Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

    [Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM]

DUKE SENIOR    Welcome. Set down your venerable burthen,
    And let him feed.

ORLANDO    I thank you most for him.

ADAM    So had you need:
    I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.

DUKE SENIOR    Welcome; fall to: I will not trouble you
    As yet, to question you about your fortunes.
    Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

    SONG.
AMIENS    Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
    Thou art not so unkind
    As man's ingratitude;
    Thy tooth is not so keen,
    Because thou art not seen,
    Although thy breath be rude.
    Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
    Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
    Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
    This life is most jolly.
    Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
    That dost not bite so nigh
    As benefits forgot:
    Though thou the waters warp,
    Thy sting is not so sharp
    As friend remember'd not.
    Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

DUKE SENIOR    If that you were the good Sir Rowland's son,
    As you have whisper'd faithfully you were,
    And as mine eye doth his effigies witness
    Most truly limn'd and living in your face,
    Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke
    That loved your father: the residue of your fortune,
    Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man,
    Thou art right welcome as thy master is.
    Support him by the arm. Give me your hand,
    And let me all your fortunes understand.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE I    A room in the palace.


    [Enter DUKE FREDERICK, Lords, and OLIVER]

DUKE FREDERICK    Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
    But were I not the better part made mercy,
    I should not seek an absent argument
    Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it:
    Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is;
    Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living
    Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
    To seek a living in our territory.
    Thy lands and all things that thou dost call thine
    Worth seizure do we seize into our hands,
    Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth
    Of what we think against thee.

OLIVER    O that your highness knew my heart in this!
    I never loved my brother in my life.

DUKE FREDERICK    More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors;
    And let my officers of such a nature
    Make an extent upon his house and lands:
    Do this expediently and turn him going.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE II    The forest.


    [Enter ORLANDO, with a paper]

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

    [Exit]

    [Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

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

TOUCHSTONE    Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
    life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
    it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
    like it very well; but in respect that it is
    private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it
    is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
    respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As
    is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
    but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
    against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

CORIN    No more but that I know the more one sickens the
    worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
    means and content is without three good friends;
    that the property of rain is to wet and fire to
    burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a
    great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that
    he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
    complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

TOUCHSTONE    Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
    court, shepherd?

CORIN    No, truly.

TOUCHSTONE    Then thou art damned.

CORIN    Nay, I hope.

TOUCHSTONE    Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
    on one side.

CORIN    For not being at court? Your reason.

TOUCHSTONE    Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
    good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
    then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
    sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
    state, shepherd.

CORIN    Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
    at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the
    behavior of the country is most mockable at the
    court. You told me you salute not at the court, but
    you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be
    uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

TOUCHSTONE    Instance, briefly; come, instance.

CORIN    Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
    fells, you know, are greasy.

TOUCHSTONE    Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
    the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
    a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

CORIN    Besides, our hands are hard.

TOUCHSTONE    Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
    A more sounder instance, come.

CORIN    And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
    our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
    courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

TOUCHSTONE    Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
    good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
    perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
    very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

CORIN    You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

TOUCHSTONE    Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
    God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

CORIN    Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
    that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
    happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my
    harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
    graze and my lambs suck.

TOUCHSTONE    That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
    and the rams together and to offer to get your
    living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
    bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a
    twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
    out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not
    damned for this, the devil himself will have no
    shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst
    'scape.

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

    [Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading]

ROSALIND         From the east to western Ind,
    No jewel is like Rosalind.
    Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
    Through all the world bears Rosalind.
    All the pictures fairest lined
    Are but black to Rosalind.
    Let no fair be kept in mind
    But the fair of Rosalind.

TOUCHSTONE    I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and
    suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the
    right butter-women's rank to market.

ROSALIND    Out, fool!

TOUCHSTONE    For a taste:
    If a hart do lack a hind,
    Let him seek out Rosalind.
    If the cat will after kind,
    So be sure will Rosalind.
    Winter garments must be lined,
    So must slender Rosalind.
    They that reap must sheaf and bind;
    Then to cart with Rosalind.
    Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
    Such a nut is Rosalind.
    He that sweetest rose will find
    Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
    This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you
    infect yourself with them?

ROSALIND    Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE    Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

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

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

    [Enter CELIA, with a writing]

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

CELIA    [Reads]

    Why should this a desert be?
    For it is unpeopled? No:
    Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
    That shall civil sayings show:
    Some, how brief the life of man
    Runs his erring pilgrimage,
    That the stretching of a span
    Buckles in his sum of age;
    Some, of violated vows
    'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
    But upon the fairest boughs,
    Or at every sentence end,
    Will I Rosalinda write,
    Teaching all that read to know
    The quintessence of every sprite
    Heaven would in little show.
    Therefore Heaven Nature charged
    That one body should be fill'd
    With all graces wide-enlarged:
    Nature presently distill'd
    Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
    Cleopatra's majesty,
    Atalanta's better part,
    Sad Lucretia's modesty.
    Thus Rosalind of many parts
    By heavenly synod was devised,
    Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
    To have the touches dearest prized.
    Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
    And I to live and die her slave.

ROSALIND    O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
    have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
    cried 'Have patience, good people!'

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

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

    [Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE]

CELIA    Didst thou hear these verses?

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

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

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

CELIA    But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
    should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

ROSALIND    I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
    before you came; for look here what I found on a
    palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since
    Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
    can hardly remember.

CELIA    Trow you who hath done this?

ROSALIND    Is it a man?

CELIA    And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
    Change you colour?

ROSALIND    I prithee, who?

CELIA    O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
    meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
    and so encounter.

ROSALIND    Nay, but who is it?

CELIA    Is it possible?

ROSALIND    Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
    tell me who it is.

CELIA    O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
    wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
    out of all hooping!

ROSALIND    Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
    caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
    my disposition? One inch of delay more is a
    South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
    quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst
    stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man
    out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
    mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
    all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
    may drink thy tidings.

CELIA    So you may put a man in your belly.

ROSALIND    Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
    head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

CELIA    Nay, he hath but a little beard.

ROSALIND    Why, God will send more, if the man will be
    thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if
    thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

CELIA    It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
    heels and your heart both in an instant.

ROSALIND    Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
    true maid.

CELIA    I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

ROSALIND    Orlando?

CELIA    Orlando.

ROSALIND    Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
    hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
    he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
    him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
    How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see
    him again? Answer me in one word.

CELIA    You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
    word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To
    say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
    answer in a catechism.

ROSALIND    But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
    man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
    day he wrestled?

CELIA    It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
    propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my
    finding him, and relish it with good observance.
    I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

ROSALIND    It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
    forth such fruit.

CELIA    Give me audience, good madam.

ROSALIND    Proceed.

CELIA    There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

ROSALIND    Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
    becomes the ground.

CELIA    Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
    unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

ROSALIND    O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

CELIA    I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
    me out of tune.

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

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

    [Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES]

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

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

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

JAQUES    God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.

ORLANDO    I do desire we may be better strangers.

JAQUES    I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
    love-songs in their barks.

ORLANDO    I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
    them ill-favouredly.

JAQUES    Rosalind is your love's name?

ORLANDO    Yes, just.

JAQUES    I do not like her name.

ORLANDO    There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
    christened.

JAQUES    What stature is she of?

ORLANDO    Just as high as my heart.

JAQUES    You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
    acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
    out of rings?

ORLANDO    Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
    whence you have studied your questions.

JAQUES    You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
    Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and
    we two will rail against our mistress the world and
    all our misery.

ORLANDO    I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
    against whom I know most faults.

JAQUES    The worst fault you have is to be in love.

ORLANDO    'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
    I am weary of you.

JAQUES    By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found
    you.

ORLANDO    He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
    shall see him.

JAQUES    There I shall see mine own figure.

ORLANDO    Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

JAQUES    I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
    Signior Love.

ORLANDO    I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
    Melancholy.

    [Exit JAQUES]

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

ORLANDO    Very well: what would you?

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

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

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

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

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

ORLANDO    I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

ROSALIND    Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
    contract of her marriage and the day it is
    solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight,
    Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of
    seven year.

ORLANDO    Who ambles Time withal?

ROSALIND    With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that
    hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because
    he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because
    he feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean
    and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden
    of heavy tedious penury; these Time ambles withal.

ORLANDO    Who doth he gallop withal?

ROSALIND    With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as
    softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

ORLANDO    Who stays it still withal?

ROSALIND    With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between
    term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves.

ORLANDO    Where dwell you, pretty youth?

ROSALIND    With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
    skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

ORLANDO    Are you native of this place?

ROSALIND    As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.

ORLANDO    Your accent is something finer than you could
    purchase in so removed a dwelling.

ROSALIND    I have been told so of many: but indeed an old
    religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was
    in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship
    too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard
    him read many lectures against it, and I thank God
    I am not a woman, to be touched with so many
    giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their
    whole sex withal.

ORLANDO    Can you remember any of the principal evils that he
    laid to the charge of women?

ROSALIND    There were none principal; they were all like one
    another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming
    monstrous till his fellow fault came to match it.

ORLANDO    I prithee, recount some of them.

ROSALIND    No, I will not cast away my physic but on those that
    are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that
    abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on
    their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies
    on brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of
    Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would
    give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the
    quotidian of love upon him.

ORLANDO    I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you tell me
    your remedy.

ROSALIND    There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he
    taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage
    of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

ORLANDO    What were his marks?

ROSALIND    A lean cheek, which you have not, a blue eye and
    sunken, which you have not, an unquestionable
    spirit, which you have not, a beard neglected,
    which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for
    simply your having in beard is a younger brother's
    revenue: then your hose should be ungartered, your
    bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe
    untied and every thing about you demonstrating a
    careless desolation; but you are no such man; you
    are rather point-device in your accoutrements as
    loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

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

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

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

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

ORLANDO    Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

ROSALIND    Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves
    as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and
    the reason why they are not so punished and cured
    is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
    are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

ORLANDO    Did you ever cure any so?

ROSALIND    Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me
    his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to
    woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish
    youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing
    and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
    inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles, for every
    passion something and for no passion truly any
    thing, as boys and women are for the most part
    cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loathe
    him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep
    for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor
    from his mad humour of love to a living humour of
    madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of
    the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic.
    And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon
    me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's
    heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

ORLANDO    I would not be cured, youth.

ROSALIND    I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind
    and come every day to my cote and woo me.

ORLANDO    Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me
    where it is.

ROSALIND    Go with me to it and I'll show it you and by the way
    you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
    Will you go?

ORLANDO    With all my heart, good youth.

ROSALIND    Nay you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE III    The forest.


    [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind]

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

AUDREY    Your features! Lord warrant us! what features!

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

JAQUES    [Aside]  O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove
    in a thatched house!

TOUCHSTONE    When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a
    man's good wit seconded with the forward child
    Understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a
    great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would
    the gods had made thee poetical.

AUDREY    I do not know what 'poetical' is: is it honest in
    deed and word? is it a true thing?

TOUCHSTONE    No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most
    feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, and what
    they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign.

AUDREY    Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical?

TOUCHSTONE    I do, truly; for thou swearest to me thou art
    honest: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some
    hope thou didst feign.

AUDREY    Would you not have me honest?

TOUCHSTONE    No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for
    honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

JAQUES    [Aside]  A material fool!

AUDREY     Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods
    make me honest.

TOUCHSTONE    Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut
    were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

AUDREY    I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

TOUCHSTONE    Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness!
    sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may
    be, I will marry thee, and to that end I have been
    with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next
    village, who hath promised to meet me in this place
    of the forest and to couple us.

JAQUES    [Aside]  I would fain see this meeting.

AUDREY    Well, the gods give us joy!

TOUCHSTONE    Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart,
    stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple
    but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what
    though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are
    necessary. It is said, 'many a man knows no end of
    his goods:' right; many a man has good horns, and
    knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of
    his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns?
    Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer
    hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
    therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more
    worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a
    married man more honourable than the bare brow of a
    bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
    skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to
    want. Here comes Sir Oliver.

    [Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT]

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

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

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

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

JAQUES    [Advancing]

    Proceed, proceed    I'll give her.

TOUCHSTONE    Good even, good Master What-ye-call't: how do you,
    sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your
    last company: I am very glad to see you: even a
    toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.

JAQUES    Will you be married, motley?

TOUCHSTONE    As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and
    the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and
    as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

JAQUES    And will you, being a man of your breeding, be
    married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to
    church, and have a good priest that can tell you
    what marriage is: this fellow will but join you
    together as they join wainscot; then one of you will
    prove a shrunk panel and, like green timber, warp, warp.

TOUCHSTONE    [Aside]  I am not in the mind but I were better to be
    married of him than of another: for he is not like
    to marry me well; and not being well married, it
    will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

JAQUES    Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

TOUCHSTONE    'Come, sweet Audrey:
    We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
    Farewell, good Master Oliver: not,--
    O sweet Oliver,
    O brave Oliver,
    Leave me not behind thee: but,--
    Wind away,
    Begone, I say,
    I will not to wedding with thee.

    [Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

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

    [Exit]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE IV    The forest.


    [Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

ROSALIND    Never talk to me; I will weep.

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

ROSALIND    But have I not cause to weep?

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

ROSALIND    His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND    Do you think so?

CELIA    Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a
    horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, I do
    think him as concave as a covered goblet or a
    worm-eaten nut.

ROSALIND    Not true in love?

CELIA    Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

ROSALIND    You have heard him swear downright he was.

CELIA    'Was' is not 'is:' besides, the oath of a lover is
    no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are
    both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends
    here in the forest on the duke your father.

ROSALIND    I met the duke yesterday and had much question with
    him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told
    him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go.
    But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a
    man as Orlando?

CELIA    O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses,
    speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks
    them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of
    his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse
    but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble
    goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly
    guides. Who comes here?

    [Enter CORIN]

CORIN    Mistress and master, you have oft inquired
    After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
    Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
    Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
    That was his mistress.

CELIA    Well, and what of him?

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

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

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT III



SCENE V    Another part of the forest.


    [Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

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

    [Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, behind]

PHEBE    I would not be thy executioner:
    I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
    Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
    'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
    That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
    Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
    Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers!
    Now I do frown on thee with all my heart;
    And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
    Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
    Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
    Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!
    Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
    Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
    Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush,
    The cicatrice and capable impressure
    Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
    Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not,
    Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
    That can do hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

PHEBE    For no ill will I bear you.

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

    [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA and CORIN]

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

SILVIUS    Sweet Phebe,--

PHEBE                      Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius?

SILVIUS    Sweet Phebe, pity me.

PHEBE    Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.

SILVIUS    Wherever sorrow is, relief would be:
    If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
    By giving love your sorrow and my grief
    Were both extermined.

PHEBE    Thou hast my love: is not that neighbourly?

SILVIUS    I would have you.

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

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

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

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

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

SILVIUS    Phebe, with all my heart.

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

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE I    The forest.


    [Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES]

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

ROSALIND    They say you are a melancholy fellow.

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

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND    A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to
    be sad: I fear you have sold your own lands to see
    other men's; then, to have seen much and to have
    nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

JAQUES    Yes, I have gained my experience.

ROSALIND    And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have
    a fool to make me merry than experience to make me
    sad; and to travel for it too!

    [Enter ORLANDO]

ORLANDO    Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind!

JAQUES    Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse.

    [Exit]

ROSALIND    Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp and
    wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your
    own country, be out of love with your nativity and
    almost chide God for making you that countenance you
    are, or I will scarce think you have swam in a
    gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been
    all this while? You a lover! An you serve me such
    another trick, never come in my sight more.

ORLANDO    My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

ROSALIND    Break an hour's promise in love! He that will
    divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but
    a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the
    affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid
    hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant
    him heart-whole.

ORLANDO    Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

ROSALIND    Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I
    had as lief be wooed of a snail.

ORLANDO    Of a snail?

ROSALIND    Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he
    carries his house on his head; a better jointure,
    I think, than you make a woman: besides he brings
    his destiny with him.

ORLANDO    What's that?

ROSALIND    Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be
    beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in
    his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.

ORLANDO    Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

ROSALIND    And I am your Rosalind.

CELIA    It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
    Rosalind of a better leer than you.

ROSALIND    Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday
    humour and like enough to consent. What would you
    say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?

ORLANDO    I would kiss before I spoke.

ROSALIND    Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were
    gravelled for lack of matter, you might take
    occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are
    out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking--God
    warn us!--matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

ORLANDO    How if the kiss be denied?

ROSALIND    Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

ORLANDO    Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

ROSALIND    Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or
    I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

ORLANDO    What, of my suit?

ROSALIND    Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit.
    Am not I your Rosalind?

ORLANDO    I take some joy to say you are, because I would be
    talking of her.

ROSALIND    Well in her person I say I will not have you.

ORLANDO    Then in mine own person I die.

ROSALIND    No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is
    almost six thousand years old, and in all this time
    there was not any man died in his own person,
    videlicit, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains
    dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he
    could to die before, and he is one of the patterns
    of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair
    year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been
    for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went
    but forth to wash him in the Hellespont and being
    taken with the cramp was drowned and the foolish
    coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.'
    But these are all lies: men have died from time to
    time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

ORLANDO    I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind,
    for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

ROSALIND    By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now
    I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on
    disposition, and ask me what you will. I will grant
    it.

ORLANDO    Then love me, Rosalind.

ROSALIND    Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.

ORLANDO    And wilt thou have me?

ROSALIND    Ay, and twenty such.

ORLANDO    What sayest thou?

ROSALIND    Are you not good?

ORLANDO    I hope so.

ROSALIND    Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
    Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us.
    Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?

ORLANDO    Pray thee, marry us.

CELIA    I cannot say the words.

ROSALIND    You must begin, 'Will you, Orlando--'

CELIA    Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?

ORLANDO    I will.

ROSALIND    Ay, but when?

ORLANDO    Why now; as fast as she can marry us.

ROSALIND    Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.'

ORLANDO    I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

ROSALIND    I might ask you for your commission; but I do take
    thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes
    before the priest; and certainly a woman's thought
    runs before her actions.

ORLANDO    So do all thoughts; they are winged.

ROSALIND    Now tell me how long you would have her after you
    have possessed her.

ORLANDO    For ever and a day.

ROSALIND    Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando;
    men are April when they woo, December when they wed:
    maids are May when they are maids, but the sky
    changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous
    of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen,
    more clamorous than a parrot against rain, more
    new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires
    than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana
    in the fountain, and I will do that when you are
    disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and
    that when thou art inclined to sleep.

ORLANDO    But will my Rosalind do so?

ROSALIND    By my life, she will do as I do.

ORLANDO    O, but she is wise.

ROSALIND    Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the
    wiser, the waywarder: make the doors upon a woman's
    wit and it will out at the casement; shut that and
    'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly
    with the smoke out at the chimney.

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

ROSALIND    Nay, you might keep that cheque for it till you met
    your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

ORLANDO    And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

ROSALIND    Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall
    never take her without her answer, unless you take
    her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot
    make her fault her husband's occasion, let her
    never nurse her child herself, for she will breed
    it like a fool!

ORLANDO    For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

ROSALIND    Alas! dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

ORLANDO    I must attend the duke at dinner: by two o'clock I
    will be with thee again.

ROSALIND    Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you
    would prove: my friends told me as much, and I
    thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours
    won me: 'tis but one cast away, and so, come,
    death! Two o'clock is your hour?

ORLANDO    Ay, sweet Rosalind.

ROSALIND    By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend
    me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
    if you break one jot of your promise or come one
    minute behind your hour, I will think you the most
    pathetical break-promise and the most hollow lover
    and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind that
    may be chosen out of the gross band of the
    unfaithful: therefore beware my censure and keep
    your promise.

ORLANDO    With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
    Rosalind: so adieu.

ROSALIND    Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such
    offenders, and let Time try: adieu.

    [Exit ORLANDO]

CELIA    You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate:
    we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your
    head, and show the world what the bird hath done to
    her own nest.

ROSALIND    O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou
    didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But
    it cannot be sounded: my affection hath an unknown
    bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

CELIA    Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour
    affection in, it runs out.

ROSALIND    No, that same wicked bastard of Venus that was begot
    of thought, conceived of spleen and born of madness,
    that blind rascally boy that abuses every one's eyes
    because his own are out, let him be judge how deep I
    am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out
    of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow and
    sigh till he come.

CELIA    And I'll sleep.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE II    The forest.


    [Enter JAQUES, Lords, and Foresters]

JAQUES    Which is he that killed the deer?

A Lord    Sir, it was I.

JAQUES    Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman
    conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's
    horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have
    you no song, forester, for this purpose?

Forester    Yes, sir.

JAQUES    Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it
    make noise enough.

    SONG.
Forester    What shall he have that kill'd the deer?
    His leather skin and horns to wear.
    Then sing him home;

    [The rest shall bear this burden]

    Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
    It was a crest ere thou wast born:
    Thy father's father wore it,
    And thy father bore it:
    The horn, the horn, the lusty horn
    Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT IV



SCENE III    The forest.


    [Enter ROSALIND and CELIA]

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

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

    [Enter SILVIUS]

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

ROSALIND    Patience herself would startle at this letter
    And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all:
    She says I am not fair, that I lack manners;
    She calls me proud, and that she could not love me,
    Were man as rare as phoenix. 'Od's my will!
    Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
    Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well,
    This is a letter of your own device.

SILVIUS    No, I protest, I know not the contents:
    Phebe did write it.

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

SILVIUS    Sure, it is hers.

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

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

ROSALIND    She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes.

    [Reads]

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

SILVIUS    Call you this railing?

ROSALIND    [Reads]

    Why, thy godhead laid apart,
    Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
    Did you ever hear such railing?
    Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
    That could do no vengeance to me.
    Meaning me a beast.
    If the scorn of your bright eyne
    Have power to raise such love in mine,
    Alack, in me what strange effect
    Would they work in mild aspect!
    Whiles you chid me, I did love;
    How then might your prayers move!
    He that brings this love to thee
    Little knows this love in me:
    And by him seal up thy mind;
    Whether that thy youth and kind
    Will the faithful offer take
    Of me and all that I can make;
    Or else by him my love deny,
    And then I'll study how to die.

SILVIUS    Call you this chiding?

CELIA    Alas, poor shepherd!

ROSALIND    Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity. Wilt
    thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an
    instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to
    be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see
    love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to
    her: that if she love me, I charge her to love
    thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless
    thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover,
    hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

    [Exit SILVIUS]

    [Enter OLIVER]

OLIVER    Good morrow, fair ones: pray you, if you know,
    Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
    A sheep-cote fenced about with olive trees?

CELIA    West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom:
    The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
    Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
    But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
    There's none within.

OLIVER    If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
    Then should I know you by description;
    Such garments and such years: 'The boy is fair,
    Of female favour, and bestows himself
    Like a ripe sister: the woman low
    And browner than her brother.' Are not you
    The owner of the house I did inquire for?

CELIA    It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.

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

ROSALIND    I am: what must we understand by this?

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

CELIA    I pray you, tell it.

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

CELIA    O, I have heard him speak of that same brother;
    And he did render him the most unnatural
    That lived amongst men.

OLIVER    And well he might so do,
    For well I know he was unnatural.

ROSALIND    But, to Orlando: did he leave him there,
    Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

OLIVER    Twice did he turn his back and purposed so;
    But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,
    And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
    Made him give battle to the lioness,
    Who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling
    From miserable slumber I awaked.

CELIA    Are you his brother?

ROSALIND    Wast you he rescued?

CELIA    Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?

OLIVER    'Twas I; but 'tis not I    I do not shame
    To tell you what I was, since my conversion
    So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

ROSALIND    But, for the bloody napkin?

OLIVER    By and by.
    When from the first to last betwixt us two
    Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed,
    As how I came into that desert place:--
    In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
    Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
    Committing me unto my brother's love;
    Who led me instantly unto his cave,
    There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
    The lioness had torn some flesh away,
    Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted
    And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
    Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound;
    And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
    He sent me hither, stranger as I am,
    To tell this story, that you might excuse
    His broken promise, and to give this napkin
    Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth
    That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

    [ROSALIND swoons]

CELIA    Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede!

OLIVER    Many will swoon when they do look on blood.

CELIA    There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede!

OLIVER    Look, he recovers.

ROSALIND    I would I were at home.

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

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

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

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

ROSALIND    Counterfeit, I assure you.

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

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

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

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

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

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE I    The forest.


    [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

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

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

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

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

TOUCHSTONE    It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: by my
    troth, we that have good wits have much to answer
    for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

    [Enter WILLIAM]

WILLIAM    Good even, Audrey.

AUDREY    God ye good even, William.

WILLIAM    And good even to you, sir.

TOUCHSTONE    Good even, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy
    head; nay, prithee, be covered. How old are you, friend?

WILLIAM    Five and twenty, sir.

TOUCHSTONE    A ripe age. Is thy name William?

WILLIAM    William, sir.

TOUCHSTONE    A fair name. Wast born i' the forest here?

WILLIAM    Ay, sir, I thank God.

TOUCHSTONE    'Thank God;' a good answer. Art rich?

WILLIAM    Faith, sir, so so.

TOUCHSTONE    'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and
    yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?

WILLIAM    Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

TOUCHSTONE    Why, thou sayest well. I do now remember a saying,
    'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man
    knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen
    philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape,
    would open his lips when he put it into his mouth;
    meaning thereby that grapes were made to eat and
    lips to open. You do love this maid?

WILLIAM    I do, sir.

TOUCHSTONE    Give me your hand. Art thou learned?

WILLIAM    No, sir.

TOUCHSTONE    Then learn this of me: to have, is to have; for it
    is a figure in rhetoric that drink, being poured out
    of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty
    the other; for all your writers do consent that ipse
    is he: now, you are not ipse, for I am he.

WILLIAM    Which he, sir?

TOUCHSTONE    He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you
    clown, abandon,--which is in the vulgar leave,--the
    society,--which in the boorish is company,--of this
    female,--which in the common is woman; which
    together is, abandon the society of this female, or,
    clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better
    understanding, diest; or, to wit I kill thee, make
    thee away, translate thy life into death, thy
    liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with
    thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy
    with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with
    policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways:
    therefore tremble and depart.

AUDREY    Do, good William.

WILLIAM    God rest you merry, sir.

    [Exit]

    [Enter CORIN]

CORIN    Our master and mistress seeks you; come, away, away!

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

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE II    The forest.


    [Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER]

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

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

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

    [Enter ROSALIND]

ROSALIND    God save you, brother.

OLIVER    And you, fair sister.

    [Exit]

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

ORLANDO    It is my arm.

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

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

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

ORLANDO    Ay, and greater wonders than that.

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

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

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

ORLANDO    I can live no longer by thinking.

ROSALIND    I will weary you then no longer with idle talking.
    Know of me then, for now I speak to some purpose,
    that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I
    speak not this that you should bear a good opinion
    of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are;
    neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in
    some little measure draw a belief from you, to do
    yourself good and not to grace me. Believe then, if
    you please, that I can do strange things: I have,
    since I was three year old, conversed with a
    magician, most profound in his art and yet not
    damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart
    as your gesture cries it out, when your brother
    marries Aliena, shall you marry her: I know into
    what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is
    not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient
    to you, to set her before your eyes tomorrow human
    as she is and without any danger.

ORLANDO    Speakest thou in sober meanings?

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

    [Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE]

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

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

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

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

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

PHEBE    And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO    And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND    And I for no woman.

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

PHEBE    And I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO    And I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND    And I for no woman.

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

PHEBE    And so am I for Ganymede.

ORLANDO    And so am I for Rosalind.

ROSALIND    And so am I for no woman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    [To SILVIUS]

    I will help you, if I can:

    [To PHEBE]

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

    [To PHEBE]

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

    [To ORLANDO]

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

    [To SILVIUS]

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

    [To ORLANDO]

    As you love Rosalind, meet:

    [To SILVIUS]

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

SILVIUS    I'll not fail, if I live.

PHEBE    Nor I.

ORLANDO    Nor I.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE III    The forest.


    [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

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

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

    [Enter two Pages]

First Page    Well met, honest gentleman.

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

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

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

Second Page    I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two
    gipsies on a horse.

    SONG.
    It was a lover and his lass,
    With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
    That o'er the green corn-field did pass
    In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
    When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding:
    Sweet lovers love the spring.

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

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

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

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

First Page    You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time.

TOUCHSTONE    By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear
    such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend
    your voices! Come, Audrey.

    [Exeunt]




    AS YOU LIKE IT


ACT V



SCENE IV    The forest.


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

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

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

    [Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PHEBE    So is the bargain.

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

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

ROSALIND    I have promised to make all this matter even.
    Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter;
    You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter:
    Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me,
    Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd:
    Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
    If she refuse me: and from hence I go,
    To make these doubts all even.

    [Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA]

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

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

    [Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY]

JAQUES    There is, sure, another flood toward, and these
    couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of
    very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

TOUCHSTONE    Salutation and greeting to you all!

JAQUES    Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the
    motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in
    the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

TOUCHSTONE    If any man doubt that, let him put me to my
    purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered
    a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth
    with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have
    had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

JAQUES    And how was that ta'en up?

TOUCHSTONE    Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the
    seventh cause.

JAQUES    How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

DUKE SENIOR    I like him very well.

TOUCHSTONE    God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I
    press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country
    copulatives, to swear and to forswear: according as
    marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin,
    sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor
    humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else
    will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a
    poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.

DUKE SENIOR    By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

TOUCHSTONE    According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases.

JAQUES    But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the
    quarrel on the seventh cause?

TOUCHSTONE    Upon a lie seven times removed:--bear your body more
    seeming, Audrey:--as thus, sir. I did dislike the
    cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word,
    if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the
    mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous.
    If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he
    would send me word, he cut it to please himself:
    this is called the Quip Modest. If again 'it was
    not well cut,' he disabled my judgment: this is
    called the Reply Churlish. If again 'it was not
    well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this
    is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not
    well cut,' he would say I lied: this is called the
    Counter-cheque Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie
    Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.

JAQUES    And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

TOUCHSTONE    I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial,
    nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we
    measured swords and parted.

JAQUES    Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

TOUCHSTONE    O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have
    books for good manners: I will name you the degrees.
    The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the
    Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the
    fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the
    Countercheque Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with
    Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All
    these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may
    avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven
    justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the
    parties were met themselves, one of them thought but
    of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and
    they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the
    only peacemaker; much virtue in If.

JAQUES    Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at
    any thing and yet a fool.

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

    [Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA]

    [Still Music]

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

ROSALIND    [To DUKE SENIOR]  To you I give myself, for I am yours.

    [To ORLANDO]

    To you I give myself, for I am yours.

DUKE SENIOR    If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

ORLANDO    If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind.

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

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

HYMEN            Peace, ho! I bar confusion:
    'Tis I must make conclusion
    Of these most strange events:
    Here's eight that must take hands
    To join in Hymen's bands,
    If truth holds true contents.
    You and you no cross shall part:
    You and you are heart in heart
    You to his love must accord,
    Or have a woman to your lord:
    You and you are sure together,
    As the winter to foul weather.
    Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
    Feed yourselves with questioning;
    That reason wonder may diminish,
    How thus we met, and these things finish.

    SONG.
    Wedding is great Juno's crown:
    O blessed bond of board and bed!
    'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
    High wedlock then be honoured:
    Honour, high honour and renown,
    To Hymen, god of every town!

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

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

    [Enter JAQUES DE BOYS]

JAQUES DE BOYS    Let me have audience for a word or two:
    I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
    That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
    Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
    Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
    Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
    In his own conduct, purposely to take
    His brother here and put him to the sword:
    And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
    Where meeting with an old religious man,
    After some question with him, was converted
    Both from his enterprise and from the world,
    His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
    And all their lands restored to them again
    That were with him exiled. This to be true,
    I do engage my life.

DUKE SENIOR    Welcome, young man;
    Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
    To one his lands withheld, and to the other
    A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
    First, in this forest, let us do those ends
    That here were well begun and well begot:
    And after, every of this happy number
    That have endured shrewd days and nights with us
    Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
    According to the measure of their states.
    Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity
    And fall into our rustic revelry.
    Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
    With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.

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

JAQUES DE BOYS    He hath.

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

    [To DUKE SENIOR]

    You to your former honour I bequeath;
    Your patience and your virtue well deserves it:

    [To ORLANDO]

    You to a love that your true faith doth merit:

    [To OLIVER]

    You to your land and love and great allies:

    [To SILVIUS]

    You to a long and well-deserved bed:

    [To TOUCHSTONE]

    And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage
    Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures:
    I am for other than for dancing measures.

DUKE SENIOR    Stay, Jaques, stay.

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

    [Exit]

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

    [A dance]




    AS YOU LIKE IT

    EPILOGUE


ROSALIND    It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue;
    but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord
    the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs
    no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no
    epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes,
    and good plays prove the better by the help of good
    epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am
    neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with
    you in the behalf of a good play! I am not
    furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not
    become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin
    with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love
    you bear to men, to like as much of this play as
    please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love
    you bear to women--as I perceive by your simpering,
    none of you hates them--that between you and the
    women the play may please. If I were a woman I
    would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased
    me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I
    defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good
    beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my
    kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ORSINO    Duke of Illyria. (DUKE ORSINO:)

SEBASTIAN    brother to Viola.

ANTONIO    a sea captain, friend to Sebastian.

    A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. (Captain:)


VALENTINE    |
    |  gentlemen attending on the Duke.
CURIO    |


SIR TOBY BELCH    uncle to Olivia.

SIR ANDREW
AGUECHEEK    (SIR ANDREW:)

MALVOLIO    steward to Olivia.


FABIAN        |
        |  servants to Olivia.
FESTE    a Clown  (Clown:)    |


OLIVIA:

VIOLA:

MARIA    Olivia's woman.

    Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians,
    and other Attendants.
    (Priest:)
    (First Officer:)
    (Second Officer:)
    (Servant:)


SCENE    A city in Illyria, and the sea-coast near it.




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE I    DUKE ORSINO's palace.


    [Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and other Lords;
    Musicians attending]

DUKE ORSINO    If music be the food of love, play on;
    Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
    The appetite may sicken, and so die.
    That strain again! it had a dying fall:
    O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
    That breathes upon a bank of violets,
    Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
    'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
    O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
    That, notwithstanding thy capacity
    Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
    Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
    But falls into abatement and low price,
    Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
    That it alone is high fantastical.

CURIO    Will you go hunt, my lord?

DUKE ORSINO    What, Curio?

CURIO    The hart.

DUKE ORSINO            Why, so I do, the noblest that I have:
    O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
    Methought she purged the air of pestilence!
    That instant was I turn'd into a hart;
    And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
    E'er since pursue me.

    [Enter VALENTINE]

        How now! what news from her?

VALENTINE    So please my lord, I might not be admitted;
    But from her handmaid do return this answer:
    The element itself, till seven years' heat,
    Shall not behold her face at ample view;
    But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk
    And water once a day her chamber round
    With eye-offending brine: all this to season
    A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh
    And lasting in her sad remembrance.

DUKE ORSINO    O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame
    To pay this debt of love but to a brother,
    How will she love, when the rich golden shaft
    Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
    That live in her; when liver, brain and heart,
    These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
    Her sweet perfections with one self king!
    Away before me to sweet beds of flowers:
    Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE II    The sea-coast.


    [Enter VIOLA, a Captain, and Sailors]

VIOLA    What country, friends, is this?

Captain    This is Illyria, lady.

VIOLA    And what should I do in Illyria?
    My brother he is in Elysium.
    Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailors?

Captain    It is perchance that you yourself were saved.

VIOLA    O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be.

Captain    True, madam: and, to comfort you with chance,
    Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
    When you and those poor number saved with you
    Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
    Most provident in peril, bind himself,
    Courage and hope both teaching him the practise,
    To a strong mast that lived upon the sea;
    Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
    I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves
    So long as I could see.

VIOLA    For saying so, there's gold:
    Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
    Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
    The like of him. Know'st thou this country?

Captain    Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born
    Not three hours' travel from this very place.

VIOLA    Who governs here?

Captain    A noble duke, in nature as in name.

VIOLA    What is the name?

Captain    Orsino.

VIOLA    Orsino! I have heard my father name him:
    He was a bachelor then.

Captain    And so is now, or was so very late;
    For but a month ago I went from hence,
    And then 'twas fresh in murmur,--as, you know,
    What great ones do the less will prattle of,--
    That he did seek the love of fair Olivia.

VIOLA    What's she?

Captain    A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
    That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her
    In the protection of his son, her brother,
    Who shortly also died: for whose dear love,
    They say, she hath abjured the company
    And sight of men.

VIOLA                      O that I served that lady
    And might not be delivered to the world,
    Till I had made mine own occasion mellow,
    What my estate is!

Captain    That were hard to compass;
    Because she will admit no kind of suit,
    No, not the duke's.

VIOLA    There is a fair behavior in thee, captain;
    And though that nature with a beauteous wall
    Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
    I will believe thou hast a mind that suits
    With this thy fair and outward character.
    I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
    Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
    For such disguise as haply shall become
    The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
    Thou shall present me as an eunuch to him:
    It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing
    And speak to him in many sorts of music
    That will allow me very worth his service.
    What else may hap to time I will commit;
    Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.

Captain    Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be:
    When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.

VIOLA    I thank thee: lead me on.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE III    OLIVIA'S house.


    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH    What a plague means my niece, to take the death of
    her brother thus? I am sure care's an enemy to life.

MARIA    By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o'
    nights: your cousin, my lady, takes great
    exceptions to your ill hours.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Why, let her except, before excepted.

MARIA    Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest
    limits of order.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am:
    these clothes are good enough to drink in; and so be
    these boots too: an they be not, let them hang
    themselves in their own straps.

MARIA    That quaffing and drinking will undo you: I heard
    my lady talk of it yesterday; and of a foolish
    knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek?

MARIA    Ay, he.

SIR TOBY BELCH    He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.

MARIA    What's that to the purpose?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.

MARIA    Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats:
    he's a very fool and a prodigal.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Fie, that you'll say so! he plays o' the
    viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or four languages
    word for word without book, and hath all the good
    gifts of nature.

MARIA    He hath indeed, almost natural: for besides that
    he's a fool, he's a great quarreller: and but that
    he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he
    hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent
    he would quickly have the gift of a grave.

SIR TOBY BELCH    By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors
    that say so of him. Who are they?

MARIA    They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company.

SIR TOBY BELCH    With drinking healths to my niece: I'll drink to
    her as long as there is a passage in my throat and
    drink in Illyria: he's a coward and a coystrill
    that will not drink to my niece till his brains turn
    o' the toe like a parish-top. What, wench!
    Castiliano vulgo! for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.

    [Enter SIR ANDREW]

SIR ANDREW    Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby Belch!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Sweet Sir Andrew!

SIR ANDREW    Bless you, fair shrew.

MARIA    And you too, sir.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.

SIR ANDREW    What's that?

SIR TOBY BELCH    My niece's chambermaid.

SIR ANDREW    Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance.

MARIA    My name is Mary, sir.

SIR ANDREW    Good Mistress Mary Accost,--

SIR TOBY BELCH    You mistake, knight; 'accost' is front her, board
    her, woo her, assail her.

SIR ANDREW    By my troth, I would not undertake her in this
    company. Is that the meaning of 'accost'?

MARIA    Fare you well, gentlemen.

SIR TOBY BELCH    An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst
    never draw sword again.

SIR ANDREW    An you part so, mistress, I would I might never
    draw sword again. Fair lady, do you think you have
    fools in hand?

MARIA    Sir, I have not you by the hand.

SIR ANDREW    Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand.

MARIA    Now, sir, 'thought is free:' I pray you, bring
    your hand to the buttery-bar and let it drink.

SIR ANDREW    Wherefore, sweet-heart? what's your metaphor?

MARIA    It's dry, sir.

SIR ANDREW    Why, I think so: I am not such an ass but I can
    keep my hand dry. But what's your jest?

MARIA    A dry jest, sir.

SIR ANDREW    Are you full of them?

MARIA    Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends: marry,
    now I let go your hand, I am barren.

    [Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH    O knight thou lackest a cup of canary: when did I
    see thee so put down?

SIR ANDREW    Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary
    put me down. Methinks sometimes I have no more wit
    than a Christian or an ordinary man has: but I am a
    great eater of beef and I believe that does harm to my wit.

SIR TOBY BELCH    No question.

SIR ANDREW    An I thought that, I'ld forswear it. I'll ride home
    to-morrow, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Pourquoi, my dear knight?

SIR ANDREW    What is 'Pourquoi'? do or not do? I would I had
    bestowed that time in the tongues that I have in
    fencing, dancing and bear-baiting: O, had I but
    followed the arts!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair.

SIR ANDREW    Why, would that have mended my hair?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature.

SIR ANDREW    But it becomes me well enough, does't not?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff; and I
    hope to see a housewife take thee between her legs
    and spin it off.

SIR ANDREW    Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: your niece
    will not be seen; or if she be, it's four to one
    she'll none of me: the count himself here hard by woos her.

SIR TOBY BELCH    She'll none o' the count: she'll not match above
    her degree, neither in estate, years, nor wit; I
    have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't,
    man.

SIR ANDREW    I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' the
    strangest mind i' the world; I delight in masques
    and revels sometimes altogether.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?

SIR ANDREW    As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the
    degree of my betters; and yet I will not compare
    with an old man.

SIR TOBY BELCH    What is thy excellence in a galliard, knight?

SIR ANDREW    Faith, I can cut a caper.

SIR TOBY BELCH    And I can cut the mutton to't.

SIR ANDREW    And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong
    as any man in Illyria.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Wherefore are these things hid? wherefore have
    these gifts a curtain before 'em? are they like to
    take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? why dost
    thou not go to church in a galliard and come home in
    a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would not
    so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What
    dost thou mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in?
    I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy
    leg, it was formed under the star of a galliard.

SIR ANDREW    Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in a
    flame-coloured stock. Shall we set about some revels?

SIR TOBY BELCH    What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus?

SIR ANDREW    Taurus! That's sides and heart.

SIR TOBY BELCH    No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the
    caper; ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE IV    DUKE ORSINO's palace.


    [Enter VALENTINE and VIOLA in man's attire]

VALENTINE    If the duke continue these favours towards you,
    Cesario, you are like to be much advanced: he hath
    known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.

VIOLA    You either fear his humour or my negligence, that
    you call in question the continuance of his love:
    is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?

VALENTINE    No, believe me.

VIOLA    I thank you. Here comes the count.

    [Enter DUKE ORSINO, CURIO, and Attendants]

DUKE ORSINO    Who saw Cesario, ho?

VIOLA    On your attendance, my lord; here.

DUKE ORSINO    Stand you a while aloof, Cesario,
    Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd
    To thee the book even of my secret soul:
    Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her;
    Be not denied access, stand at her doors,
    And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
    Till thou have audience.

VIOLA    Sure, my noble lord,
    If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
    As it is spoke, she never will admit me.

DUKE ORSINO    Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
    Rather than make unprofited return.

VIOLA    Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then?

DUKE ORSINO    O, then unfold the passion of my love,
    Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith:
    It shall become thee well to act my woes;
    She will attend it better in thy youth
    Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect.

VIOLA    I think not so, my lord.

DUKE ORSINO    Dear lad, believe it;
    For they shall yet belie thy happy years,
    That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
    Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
    Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
    And all is semblative a woman's part.
    I know thy constellation is right apt
    For this affair. Some four or five attend him;
    All, if you will; for I myself am best
    When least in company. Prosper well in this,
    And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord,
    To call his fortunes thine.

VIOLA    I'll do my best
    To woo your lady:

    [Aside]

    yet, a barful strife!
    Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT I



SCENE V    OLIVIA'S house.


    [Enter MARIA and Clown]

MARIA    Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will
    not open my lips so wide as a bristle may enter in
    way of thy excuse: my lady will hang thee for thy absence.

Clown    Let her hang me: he that is well hanged in this
    world needs to fear no colours.

MARIA    Make that good.

Clown    He shall see none to fear.

MARIA    A good lenten answer: I can tell thee where that
    saying was born, of 'I fear no colours.'

Clown    Where, good Mistress Mary?

MARIA    In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.

Clown    Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those
    that are fools, let them use their talents.

MARIA    Yet you will be hanged for being so long absent; or,
    to be turned away, is not that as good as a hanging to you?

Clown    Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and,
    for turning away, let summer bear it out.

MARIA    You are resolute, then?

Clown    Not so, neither; but I am resolved on two points.

MARIA    That if one break, the other will hold; or, if both
    break, your gaskins fall.

Clown    Apt, in good faith; very apt. Well, go thy way; if
    Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert as witty a
    piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.

MARIA    Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my
    lady: make your excuse wisely, you were best.

    [Exit]

Clown    Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling!
    Those wits, that think they have thee, do very oft
    prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack thee, may
    pass for a wise man: for what says Quinapalus?
    'Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.'

    [Enter OLIVIA with MALVOLIO]

    God bless thee, lady!

OLIVIA    Take the fool away.

Clown    Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.

OLIVIA    Go to, you're a dry fool; I'll no more of you:
    besides, you grow dishonest.

Clown    Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel
    will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is
    the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man mend
    himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if
    he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing
    that's mended is but patched: virtue that
    transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that
    amends is but patched with virtue. If that this
    simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not,
    what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but
    calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade take
    away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.

OLIVIA    Sir, I bade them take away you.

Clown    Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, cucullus non
    facit monachum; that's as much to say as I wear not
    motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to
    prove you a fool.

OLIVIA    Can you do it?

Clown    Dexterously, good madonna.

OLIVIA    Make your proof.

Clown    I must catechise you for it, madonna: good my mouse
    of virtue, answer me.

OLIVIA    Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.

Clown    Good madonna, why mournest thou?

OLIVIA    Good fool, for my brother's death.

Clown    I think his soul is in hell, madonna.

OLIVIA    I know his soul is in heaven, fool.

Clown    The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's
    soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.

OLIVIA    What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth he not mend?

MALVOLIO    Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death shake him:
    infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever make the
    better fool.

Clown    God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for the
    better increasing your folly! Sir Toby will be
    sworn that I am no fox; but he will not pass his
    word for two pence that you are no fool.

OLIVIA    How say you to that, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO    I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a
    barren rascal: I saw him put down the other day
    with an ordinary fool that has no more brain
    than a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard
    already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to
    him, he is gagged. I protest, I take these wise men,
    that crow so at these set kind of fools, no better
    than the fools' zanies.

OLIVIA    Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste
    with a distempered appetite. To be generous,
    guiltless and of free disposition, is to take those
    things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon-bullets:
    there is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do
    nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known discreet
    man, though he do nothing but reprove.

Clown    Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou
    speakest well of fools!

    [Re-enter MARIA]

MARIA    Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much
    desires to speak with you.

OLIVIA    From the Count Orsino, is it?

MARIA    I know not, madam: 'tis a fair young man, and well attended.

OLIVIA    Who of my people hold him in delay?

MARIA    Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.

OLIVIA    Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but
    madman: fie on him!

    [Exit MARIA]

    Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the count, I
    am sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it.

    [Exit MALVOLIO]

    Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and
    people dislike it.

Clown    Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest
    son should be a fool; whose skull Jove cram with
    brains! for,--here he comes,--one of thy kin has a
    most weak pia mater.

    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH]

OLIVIA    By mine honour, half drunk. What is he at the gate, cousin?

SIR TOBY BELCH    A gentleman.

OLIVIA    A gentleman! what gentleman?

SIR TOBY BELCH    'Tis a gentle man here--a plague o' these
    pickle-herring! How now, sot!

Clown    Good Sir Toby!

OLIVIA    Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate.

OLIVIA    Ay, marry, what is he?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Let him be the devil, an he will, I care not: give
    me faith, say I. Well, it's all one.

    [Exit]

OLIVIA    What's a drunken man like, fool?

Clown    Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man: one
    draught above heat makes him a fool; the second mads
    him; and a third drowns him.

OLIVIA    Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my
    coz; for he's in the third degree of drink, he's
    drowned: go, look after him.

Clown    He is but mad yet, madonna; and the fool shall look
    to the madman.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO    Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with
    you. I told him you were sick; he takes on him to
    understand so much, and therefore comes to speak
    with you. I told him you were asleep; he seems to
    have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore
    comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him,
    lady? he's fortified against any denial.

OLIVIA    Tell him he shall not speak with me.

MALVOLIO    Has been told so; and he says, he'll stand at your
    door like a sheriff's post, and be the supporter to
    a bench, but he'll speak with you.

OLIVIA    What kind o' man is he?

MALVOLIO    Why, of mankind.

OLIVIA    What manner of man?

MALVOLIO    Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no.

OLIVIA    Of what personage and years is he?

MALVOLIO    Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for
    a boy; as a squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a
    cooling when 'tis almost an apple: 'tis with him
    in standing water, between boy and man. He is very
    well-favoured and he speaks very shrewishly; one
    would think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.

OLIVIA    Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman.

MALVOLIO    Gentlewoman, my lady calls.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter MARIA]

OLIVIA    Give me my veil: come, throw it o'er my face.
    We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.

    [Enter VIOLA, and Attendants]

VIOLA    The honourable lady of the house, which is she?

OLIVIA    Speak to me; I shall answer for her.
    Your will?

VIOLA    Most radiant, exquisite and unmatchable beauty,--I
    pray you, tell me if this be the lady of the house,
    for I never saw her: I would be loath to cast away
    my speech, for besides that it is excellently well
    penned, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
    beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very
    comptible, even to the least sinister usage.

OLIVIA    Whence came you, sir?

VIOLA    I can say little more than I have studied, and that
    question's out of my part. Good gentle one, give me
    modest assurance if you be the lady of the house,
    that I may proceed in my speech.

OLIVIA    Are you a comedian?

VIOLA    No, my profound heart: and yet, by the very fangs
    of malice I swear, I am not that I play. Are you
    the lady of the house?

OLIVIA    If I do not usurp myself, I am.

VIOLA    Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp
    yourself; for what is yours to bestow is not yours
    to reserve. But this is from my commission: I will
    on with my speech in your praise, and then show you
    the heart of my message.

OLIVIA    Come to what is important in't: I forgive you the praise.

VIOLA    Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical.

OLIVIA    It is the more like to be feigned: I pray you,
    keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates,
    and allowed your approach rather to wonder at you
    than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if
    you have reason, be brief: 'tis not that time of
    moon with me to make one in so skipping a dialogue.

MARIA    Will you hoist sail, sir? here lies your way.

VIOLA    No, good swabber; I am to hull here a little
    longer. Some mollification for your giant, sweet
    lady. Tell me your mind: I am a messenger.

OLIVIA    Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when
    the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak your office.

VIOLA    It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of
    war, no taxation of homage: I hold the olive in my
    hand; my words are as fun of peace as matter.

OLIVIA    Yet you began rudely. What are you? what would you?

VIOLA    The rudeness that hath appeared in me have I
    learned from my entertainment. What I am, and what I
    would, are as secret as maidenhead; to your ears,
    divinity, to any other's, profanation.

OLIVIA    Give us the place alone: we will hear this divinity.

    [Exeunt MARIA and Attendants]

    Now, sir, what is your text?

VIOLA    Most sweet lady,--

OLIVIA    A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
    Where lies your text?

VIOLA    In Orsino's bosom.

OLIVIA    In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?

VIOLA    To answer by the method, in the first of his heart.

OLIVIA    O, I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no more to say?

VIOLA    Good madam, let me see your face.

OLIVIA    Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate
    with my face? You are now out of your text: but
    we will draw the curtain and show you the picture.
    Look you, sir, such a one I was this present: is't
    not well done?

    [Unveiling]

VIOLA    Excellently done, if God did all.

OLIVIA    'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather.

VIOLA    'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
    Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
    Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
    If you will lead these graces to the grave
    And leave the world no copy.

OLIVIA    O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give
    out divers schedules of my beauty: it shall be
    inventoried, and every particle and utensil
    labelled to my will: as, item, two lips,
    indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to
    them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were
    you sent hither to praise me?

VIOLA    I see you what you are, you are too proud;
    But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
    My lord and master loves you: O, such love
    Could be but recompensed, though you were crown'd
    The nonpareil of beauty!

OLIVIA    How does he love me?

VIOLA    With adorations, fertile tears,
    With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.

OLIVIA    Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him:
    Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
    Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
    In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and valiant;
    And in dimension and the shape of nature
    A gracious person: but yet I cannot love him;
    He might have took his answer long ago.

VIOLA    If I did love you in my master's flame,
    With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
    In your denial I would find no sense;
    I would not understand it.

OLIVIA    Why, what would you?

VIOLA    Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
    And call upon my soul within the house;
    Write loyal cantons of contemned love
    And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
    Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
    And make the babbling gossip of the air
    Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest
    Between the elements of air and earth,
    But you should pity me!

OLIVIA    You might do much.
    What is your parentage?

VIOLA    Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
    I am a gentleman.

OLIVIA                      Get you to your lord;
    I cannot love him: let him send no more;
    Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
    To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well:
    I thank you for your pains: spend this for me.

VIOLA    I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse:
    My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
    Love make his heart of flint that you shall love;
    And let your fervor, like my master's, be
    Placed in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty.

    [Exit]

OLIVIA    'What is your parentage?'
    'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
    I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art;
    Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit,
    Do give thee five-fold blazon: not too fast:
    soft, soft!
    Unless the master were the man. How now!
    Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
    Methinks I feel this youth's perfections
    With an invisible and subtle stealth
    To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
    What ho, Malvolio!

    [Re-enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO                      Here, madam, at your service.

OLIVIA    Run after that same peevish messenger,
    The county's man: he left this ring behind him,
    Would I or not: tell him I'll none of it.
    Desire him not to flatter with his lord,
    Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him:
    If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
    I'll give him reasons for't: hie thee, Malvolio.

MALVOLIO    Madam, I will.

    [Exit]

OLIVIA    I do I know not what, and fear to find
    Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
    Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe;
    What is decreed must be, and be this so.

    [Exit]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE I    The sea-coast.


    [Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN]

ANTONIO    Will you stay no longer? nor will you not that I go with you?

SEBASTIAN    By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over
    me: the malignancy of my fate might perhaps
    distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your
    leave that I may bear my evils alone: it were a bad
    recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you.

ANTONIO: Let me yet know of you whither you are bound.

SEBASTIAN    No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is mere
    extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a
    touch of modesty, that you will not extort from me
    what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges
    me in manners the rather to express myself. You
    must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian,
    which I called Roderigo. My father was that
    Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you have heard
    of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both
    born in an hour: if the heavens had been pleased,
    would we had so ended! but you, sir, altered that;
    for some hour before you took me from the breach of
    the sea was my sister drowned.

ANTONIO    Alas the day!

SEBASTIAN    A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled
    me, was yet of many accounted beautiful: but,
    though I could not with such estimable wonder
    overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly
    publish her; she bore a mind that envy could not but
    call fair. She is drowned already, sir, with salt
    water, though I seem to drown her remembrance again with more.

ANTONIO    Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.

SEBASTIAN    O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.

ANTONIO    If you will not murder me for my love, let me be
    your servant.

SEBASTIAN    If you will not undo what you have done, that is,
    kill him whom you have recovered, desire it not.
    Fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of kindness,
    and I am yet so near the manners of my mother, that
    upon the least occasion more mine eyes will tell
    tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court: farewell.

    [Exit]

ANTONIO    The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
    I have many enemies in Orsino's court,
    Else would I very shortly see thee there.
    But, come what may, I do adore thee so,
    That danger shall seem sport, and I will go.

    [Exit]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE II    A street.


    [Enter VIOLA, MALVOLIO following]

MALVOLIO    Were not you even now with the Countess Olivia?

VIOLA    Even now, sir; on a moderate pace I have since
    arrived but hither.

MALVOLIO    She returns this ring to you, sir: you might have
    saved me my pains, to have taken it away yourself.
    She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord
    into a desperate assurance she will none of him:
    and one thing more, that you be never so hardy to
    come again in his affairs, unless it be to report
    your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.

VIOLA    She took the ring of me: I'll none of it.

MALVOLIO    Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her
    will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth
    stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be
    it his that finds it.

    [Exit]

VIOLA    I left no ring with her: what means this lady?
    Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
    She made good view of me; indeed, so much,
    That sure methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
    For she did speak in starts distractedly.
    She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion
    Invites me in this churlish messenger.
    None of my lord's ring! why, he sent her none.
    I am the man: if it be so, as 'tis,
    Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
    Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness,
    Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
    How easy is it for the proper-false
    In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
    Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!
    For such as we are made of, such we be.
    How will this fadge? my master loves her dearly;
    And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
    And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
    What will become of this? As I am man,
    My state is desperate for my master's love;
    As I am woman,--now alas the day!--
    What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
    O time! thou must untangle this, not I;
    It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

    [Exit]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE III    OLIVIA's house.


    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and SIR ANDREW]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be abed after
    midnight is to be up betimes; and 'diluculo
    surgere,' thou know'st,--

SIR ANDREW    Nay, my troth, I know not: but I know, to be up
    late is to be up late.

SIR TOBY BELCH    A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled can.
    To be up after midnight and to go to bed then, is
    early: so that to go to bed after midnight is to go
    to bed betimes. Does not our life consist of the
    four elements?

SIR ANDREW    Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists
    of eating and drinking.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.
    Marian, I say! a stoup of wine!

    [Enter Clown]

SIR ANDREW    Here comes the fool, i' faith.

Clown    How now, my hearts! did you never see the picture
    of 'we three'?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch.

SIR ANDREW    By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I
    had rather than forty shillings I had such a leg,
    and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In
    sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last
    night, when thou spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the
    Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus: 'twas
    very good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy
    leman: hadst it?

Clown    I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio's nose
    is no whipstock: my lady has a white hand, and the
    Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses.

SIR ANDREW    Excellent! why, this is the best fooling, when all
    is done. Now, a song.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come on; there is sixpence for you: let's have a song.

SIR ANDREW    There's a testril of me too: if one knight give a--

Clown    Would you have a love-song, or a song of good life?

SIR TOBY BELCH    A love-song, a love-song.

SIR ANDREW    Ay, ay: I care not for good life.

Clown    [Sings]

    O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
    O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
    That can sing both high and low:
    Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
    Journeys end in lovers meeting,
    Every wise man's son doth know.

SIR ANDREW    Excellent good, i' faith.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Good, good.

Clown    [Sings]

    What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
    Present mirth hath present laughter;
    What's to come is still unsure:
    In delay there lies no plenty;
    Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
    Youth's a stuff will not endure.

SIR ANDREW    A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.

SIR TOBY BELCH    A contagious breath.

SIR ANDREW    Very sweet and contagious, i' faith.

SIR TOBY BELCH    To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion.
    But shall we make the welkin dance indeed? shall we
    rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three
    souls out of one weaver? shall we do that?

SIR ANDREW    An you love me, let's do't: I am dog at a catch.

Clown    By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.

SIR ANDREW    Most certain. Let our catch be, 'Thou knave.'

Clown    'Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight? I shall be
    constrained in't to call thee knave, knight.

SIR ANDREW    'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to
    call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 'Hold thy peace.'

Clown    I shall never begin if I hold my peace.

SIR ANDREW    Good, i' faith. Come, begin.

    [Catch sung]

    [Enter MARIA]

MARIA    What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady
    have not called up her steward Malvolio and bid him
    turn you out of doors, never trust me.

SIR TOBY BELCH    My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's
    a Peg-a-Ramsey, and 'Three merry men be we.' Am not
    I consanguineous? am I not of her blood?
    Tillyvally. Lady!

    [Sings]

    'There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady!'

Clown    Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.

SIR ANDREW    Ay, he does well enough if he be disposed, and so do
    I too: he does it with a better grace, but I do it
    more natural.

SIR TOBY BELCH    [Sings]  'O, the twelfth day of December,'--

MARIA    For the love o' God, peace!

    [Enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO    My masters, are you mad? or what are you? Have ye
    no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like
    tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an
    alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak out your
    coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse
    of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor
    time in you?

SIR TOBY BELCH    We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up!

MALVOLIO    Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My lady bade me
    tell you, that, though she harbours you as her
    kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. If
    you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, you
    are welcome to the house; if not, an it would please
    you to take leave of her, she is very willing to bid
    you farewell.

SIR TOBY BELCH    'Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone.'

MARIA    Nay, good Sir Toby.

Clown    'His eyes do show his days are almost done.'

MALVOLIO    Is't even so?

SIR TOBY BELCH    'But I will never die.'

Clown    Sir Toby, there you lie.

MALVOLIO    This is much credit to you.

SIR TOBY BELCH    'Shall I bid him go?'

Clown    'What an if you do?'

SIR TOBY BELCH    'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?'

Clown    'O no, no, no, no, you dare not.'

SIR TOBY BELCH    Out o' tune, sir: ye lie. Art any more than a
    steward? Dost thou think, because thou art
    virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Clown    Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i' the
    mouth too.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub your chain with
    crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria!

MALVOLIO    Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's favour at any
    thing more than contempt, you would not give means
    for this uncivil rule: she shall know of it, by this hand.

    [Exit]

MARIA    Go shake your ears.

SIR ANDREW    'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's
    a-hungry, to challenge him the field, and then to
    break promise with him and make a fool of him.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Do't, knight: I'll write thee a challenge: or I'll
    deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth.

MARIA    Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight: since the
    youth of the count's was today with thy lady, she is
    much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me
    alone with him: if I do not gull him into a
    nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not
    think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed:
    I know I can do it.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him.

MARIA    Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of puritan.

SIR ANDREW    O, if I thought that I'ld beat him like a dog!

SIR TOBY BELCH    What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite reason,
    dear knight?

SIR ANDREW    I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason
    good enough.

MARIA    The devil a puritan that he is, or any thing
    constantly, but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass,
    that cons state without book and utters it by great
    swarths: the best persuaded of himself, so
    crammed, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is
    his grounds of faith that all that look on him love
    him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find
    notable cause to work.

SIR TOBY BELCH    What wilt thou do?

MARIA    I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of
    love; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the shape
    of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure
    of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find
    himself most feelingly personated. I can write very
    like my lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we
    can hardly make distinction of our hands.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Excellent! I smell a device.

SIR ANDREW    I have't in my nose too.

SIR TOBY BELCH    He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop,
    that they come from my niece, and that she's in
    love with him.

MARIA    My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.

SIR ANDREW    And your horse now would make him an ass.

MARIA    Ass, I doubt not.

SIR ANDREW    O, 'twill be admirable!

MARIA    Sport royal, I warrant you: I know my physic will
    work with him. I will plant you two, and let the
    fool make a third, where he shall find the letter:
    observe his construction of it. For this night, to
    bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.

    [Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Good night, Penthesilea.

SIR ANDREW    Before me, she's a good wench.

SIR TOBY BELCH    She's a beagle, true-bred, and one that adores me:
    what o' that?

SIR ANDREW    I was adored once too.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for
    more money.

SIR ANDREW    If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Send for money, knight: if thou hast her not i'
    the end, call me cut.

SIR ANDREW    If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come, come, I'll go burn some sack; 'tis too late
    to go to bed now: come, knight; come, knight.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE IV    DUKE ORSINO's palace.


    [Enter DUKE ORSINO, VIOLA, CURIO, and others]

DUKE ORSINO    Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.
    Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
    That old and antique song we heard last night:
    Methought it did relieve my passion much,
    More than light airs and recollected terms
    Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times:
    Come, but one verse.

CURIO    He is not here, so please your lordship that should sing it.

DUKE ORSINO    Who was it?

CURIO    Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the lady
    Olivia's father took much delight in. He is about the house.

DUKE ORSINO    Seek him out, and play the tune the while.

    [Exit CURIO. Music plays]

    Come hither, boy: if ever thou shalt love,
    In the sweet pangs of it remember me;
    For such as I am all true lovers are,
    Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
    Save in the constant image of the creature
    That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune?

VIOLA    It gives a very echo to the seat
    Where Love is throned.

DUKE ORSINO    Thou dost speak masterly:
    My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
    Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves:
    Hath it not, boy?

VIOLA                      A little, by your favour.

DUKE ORSINO    What kind of woman is't?

VIOLA    Of your complexion.

DUKE ORSINO    She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith?

VIOLA    About your years, my lord.

DUKE ORSINO    Too old by heaven: let still the woman take
    An elder than herself: so wears she to him,
    So sways she level in her husband's heart:
    For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
    Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
    More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,
    Than women's are.

VIOLA                      I think it well, my lord.

DUKE ORSINO    Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
    Or thy affection cannot hold the bent;
    For women are as roses, whose fair flower
    Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.

VIOLA    And so they are: alas, that they are so;
    To die, even when they to perfection grow!

    [Re-enter CURIO and Clown]

DUKE ORSINO    O, fellow, come, the song we had last night.
    Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;
    The spinsters and the knitters in the sun
    And the free maids that weave their thread with bones
    Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth,
    And dallies with the innocence of love,
    Like the old age.

Clown    Are you ready, sir?

DUKE ORSINO    Ay; prithee, sing.

    [Music]

    SONG.
Clown    Come away, come away, death,
    And in sad cypress let me be laid;
    Fly away, fly away breath;
    I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
    My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
    O, prepare it!
    My part of death, no one so true
    Did share it.
    Not a flower, not a flower sweet
    On my black coffin let there be strown;
    Not a friend, not a friend greet
    My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
    A thousand thousand sighs to save,
    Lay me, O, where
    Sad true lover never find my grave,
    To weep there!

DUKE ORSINO    There's for thy pains.

Clown    No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir.

DUKE ORSINO    I'll pay thy pleasure then.

Clown    Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

DUKE ORSINO    Give me now leave to leave thee.

Clown    Now, the melancholy god protect thee; and the
    tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for
    thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such
    constancy put to sea, that their business might be
    every thing and their intent every where; for that's
    it that always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell.

    [Exit]

DUKE ORSINO    Let all the rest give place.

    [CURIO and Attendants retire]

               Once more, Cesario,
    Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty:
    Tell her, my love, more noble than the world,
    Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
    The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
    Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune;
    But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems
    That nature pranks her in attracts my soul.

VIOLA    But if she cannot love you, sir?

DUKE ORSINO    I cannot be so answer'd.

VIOLA    Sooth, but you must.
    Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,
    Hath for your love a great a pang of heart
    As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her;
    You tell her so; must she not then be answer'd?

DUKE ORSINO    There is no woman's sides
    Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
    As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
    So big, to hold so much; they lack retention
    Alas, their love may be call'd appetite,
    No motion of the liver, but the palate,
    That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt;
    But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
    And can digest as much: make no compare
    Between that love a woman can bear me
    And that I owe Olivia.

VIOLA    Ay, but I know--

DUKE ORSINO    What dost thou know?

VIOLA    Too well what love women to men may owe:
    In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
    My father had a daughter loved a man,
    As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
    I should your lordship.

DUKE ORSINO    And what's her history?

VIOLA    A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
    But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
    Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
    And with a green and yellow melancholy
    She sat like patience on a monument,
    Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
    We men may say more, swear more: but indeed
    Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
    Much in our vows, but little in our love.

DUKE ORSINO    But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

VIOLA    I am all the daughters of my father's house,
    And all the brothers too: and yet I know not.
    Sir, shall I to this lady?

DUKE ORSINO    Ay, that's the theme.
    To her in haste; give her this jewel; say,
    My love can give no place, bide no denay.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT II



SCENE V    OLIVIA's garden.


    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.

FABIAN    Nay, I'll come: if I lose a scruple of this sport,
    let me be boiled to death with melancholy.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly
    rascally sheep-biter come by some notable shame?

FABIAN    I would exult, man: you know, he brought me out o'
    favour with my lady about a bear-baiting here.

SIR TOBY BELCH    To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will
    fool him black and blue: shall we not, Sir Andrew?

SIR ANDREW    An we do not, it is pity of our lives.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Here comes the little villain.

    [Enter MARIA]

    How now, my metal of India!

MARIA    Get ye all three into the box-tree: Malvolio's
    coming down this walk: he has been yonder i' the
    sun practising behavior to his own shadow this half
    hour: observe him, for the love of mockery; for I
    know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of
    him. Close, in the name of jesting! Lie thou there,

    [Throws down a letter]

    for here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.

    [Exit]

    [Enter MALVOLIO]

MALVOLIO    'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told
    me she did affect me: and I have heard herself come
    thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one
    of my complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more
    exalted respect than any one else that follows her.
    What should I think on't?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Here's an overweening rogue!

FABIAN    O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock
    of him: how he jets under his advanced plumes!

SIR ANDREW    'Slight, I could so beat the rogue!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Peace, I say.

MALVOLIO    To be Count Malvolio!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Ah, rogue!

SIR ANDREW    Pistol him, pistol him.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Peace, peace!

MALVOLIO    There is example for't; the lady of the Strachy
    married the yeoman of the wardrobe.

SIR ANDREW    Fie on him, Jezebel!

FABIAN    O, peace! now he's deeply in: look how
    imagination blows him.

MALVOLIO    Having been three months married to her, sitting in
    my state,--

SIR TOBY BELCH    O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye!

MALVOLIO    Calling my officers about me, in my branched velvet
    gown; having come from a day-bed, where I have left
    Olivia sleeping,--

SIR TOBY BELCH    Fire and brimstone!

FABIAN    O, peace, peace!

MALVOLIO    And then to have the humour of state; and after a
    demure travel of regard, telling them I know my
    place as I would they should do theirs, to for my
    kinsman Toby,--

SIR TOBY BELCH    Bolts and shackles!

FABIAN    O peace, peace, peace! now, now.

MALVOLIO    Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make
    out for him: I frown the while; and perchance wind
    up watch, or play with my--some rich jewel. Toby
    approaches; courtesies there to me,--

SIR TOBY BELCH    Shall this fellow live?

FABIAN    Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace.

MALVOLIO    I extend my hand to him thus, quenching my familiar
    smile with an austere regard of control,--

SIR TOBY BELCH    And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then?

MALVOLIO    Saying, 'Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast me on
    your niece give me this prerogative of speech,'--

SIR TOBY BELCH    What, what?

MALVOLIO    'You must amend your drunkenness.'

SIR TOBY BELCH    Out, scab!

FABIAN    Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot.

MALVOLIO    'Besides, you waste the treasure of your time with
    a foolish knight,'--

SIR ANDREW    That's me, I warrant you.

MALVOLIO    'One Sir Andrew,'--

SIR ANDREW    I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool.

MALVOLIO    What employment have we here?

    [Taking up the letter]

FABIAN    Now is the woodcock near the gin.

SIR TOBY BELCH    O, peace! and the spirit of humour intimate reading
    aloud to him!

MALVOLIO    By my life, this is my lady's hand these be her
    very C's, her U's and her T's and thus makes she her
    great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand.

SIR ANDREW    Her C's, her U's and her T's: why that?

MALVOLIO    [Reads]  'To the unknown beloved, this, and my good
    wishes:'--her very phrases! By your leave, wax.
    Soft! and the impressure her Lucrece, with which she
    uses to seal: 'tis my lady. To whom should this be?

FABIAN    This wins him, liver and all.

MALVOLIO    [Reads]

    Jove knows I love: But who?
    Lips, do not move;
    No man must know.
    'No man must know.' What follows? the numbers
    altered! 'No man must know:' if this should be
    thee, Malvolio?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Marry, hang thee, brock!

MALVOLIO    [Reads]
    I may command where I adore;
    But silence, like a Lucrece knife,
    With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore:
    M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.

FABIAN    A fustian riddle!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Excellent wench, say I.

MALVOLIO    'M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, but first, let
    me see, let me see, let me see.

FABIAN    What dish o' poison has she dressed him!

SIR TOBY BELCH    And with what wing the staniel cheques at it!

MALVOLIO    'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command
    me: I serve her; she is my lady. Why, this is
    evident to any formal capacity; there is no
    obstruction in this: and the end,--what should
    that alphabetical position portend? If I could make
    that resemble something in me,--Softly! M, O, A,
    I,--

SIR TOBY BELCH    O, ay, make up that: he is now at a cold scent.

FABIAN    Sowter will cry upon't for all this, though it be as
    rank as a fox.

MALVOLIO    M,--Malvolio; M,--why, that begins my name.

FABIAN    Did not I say he would work it out? the cur is
    excellent at faults.

MALVOLIO    M,--but then there is no consonancy in the sequel;
    that suffers under probation A should follow but O does.

FABIAN    And O shall end, I hope.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry O!

MALVOLIO    And then I comes behind.

FABIAN    Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see
    more detraction at your heels than fortunes before
    you.

MALVOLIO    M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the former: and
    yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for
    every one of these letters are in my name. Soft!
    here follows prose.

    [Reads]

    'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I
    am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some
    are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
    have greatness thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open
    their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them;
    and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
    cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be
    opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let
    thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into
    the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee
    that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy
    yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever
    cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art
    made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see
    thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and
    not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell.
    She that would alter services with thee,
                 THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.'
    Daylight and champaign discovers not more: this is
    open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors,
    I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross
    acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man.
    I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade
    me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady
    loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of
    late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered;
    and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
    with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits
    of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will
    be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
    cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting
    on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a
    postscript.

    [Reads]

    'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
    entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling;
    thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my
    presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.'
    Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do
    everything that thou wilt have me.

    [Exit]

FABIAN    I will not give my part of this sport for a pension
    of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I could marry this wench for this device.

SIR ANDREW    So could I too.

SIR TOBY BELCH    And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.

SIR ANDREW    Nor I neither.

FABIAN    Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

    [Re-enter MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?

SIR ANDREW    Or o' mine either?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Shall I play my freedom at traytrip, and become thy
    bond-slave?

SIR ANDREW    I' faith, or I either?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when
    the image of it leaves him he must run mad.

MARIA    Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Like aqua-vitae with a midwife.

MARIA    If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark
    his first approach before my lady: he will come to
    her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she
    abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests;
    and he will smile upon her, which will now be so
    unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a
    melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him
    into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow
    me.

SIR TOBY BELCH    To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit!

SIR ANDREW    I'll make one too.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE I    OLIVIA's garden.


    [Enter VIOLA, and Clown with a tabour]

VIOLA    Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by
    thy tabour?

Clown    No, sir, I live by the church.

VIOLA    Art thou a churchman?

Clown    No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for
    I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by
    the church.

VIOLA    So thou mayst say, the king lies by a beggar, if a
    beggar dwell near him; or, the church stands by thy
    tabour, if thy tabour stand by the church.

Clown    You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is
    but a cheveril glove to a good wit: how quickly the
    wrong side may be turned outward!

VIOLA    Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with
    words may quickly make them wanton.

Clown    I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.

VIOLA    Why, man?

Clown    Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that
    word might make my sister wanton. But indeed words
    are very rascals since bonds disgraced them.

VIOLA    Thy reason, man?

Clown    Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and
    words are grown so false, I am loath to prove
    reason with them.

VIOLA    I warrant thou art a merry fellow and carest for nothing.

Clown    Not so, sir, I do care for something; but in my
    conscience, sir, I do not care for you: if that be
    to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible.

VIOLA    Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool?

Clown    No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly: she
    will keep no fool, sir, till she be married; and
    fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to
    herrings; the husband's the bigger: I am indeed not
    her fool, but her corrupter of words.

VIOLA    I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's.

Clown    Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun,
    it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, but
    the fool should be as oft with your master as with
    my mistress: I think I saw your wisdom there.

VIOLA    Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee.
    Hold, there's expenses for thee.

Clown    Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!

VIOLA    By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for
    one;

    [Aside]

    though I would not have it grow on my chin. Is thy
    lady within?

Clown    Would not a pair of these have bred, sir?

VIOLA    Yes, being kept together and put to use.

Clown    I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring
    a Cressida to this Troilus.

VIOLA    I understand you, sir; 'tis well begged.

Clown    The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but
    a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. My lady is
    within, sir. I will construe to them whence you
    come; who you are and what you would are out of my
    welkin, I might say 'element,' but the word is over-worn.

    [Exit]

VIOLA    This fellow is wise enough to play the fool;
    And to do that well craves a kind of wit:
    He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
    The quality of persons, and the time,
    And, like the haggard, cheque at every feather
    That comes before his eye. This is a practise
    As full of labour as a wise man's art
    For folly that he wisely shows is fit;
    But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit.

    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, and SIR ANDREW]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Save you, gentleman.

VIOLA    And you, sir.

SIR ANDREW    Dieu vous garde, monsieur.

VIOLA    Et vous aussi; votre serviteur.

SIR ANDREW    I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Will you encounter the house? my niece is desirous
    you should enter, if your trade be to her.

VIOLA    I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the
    list of my voyage.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion.

VIOLA    My legs do better understand me, sir, than I
    understand what you mean by bidding me taste my legs.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I mean, to go, sir, to enter.

VIOLA    I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we
    are prevented.

    [Enter OLIVIA and MARIA]

    Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain
    odours on you!

SIR ANDREW    That youth's a rare courtier: 'Rain odours;' well.

VIOLA    My matter hath no voice, to your own most pregnant
    and vouchsafed ear.

SIR ANDREW    'Odours,' 'pregnant' and 'vouchsafed:' I'll get 'em
    all three all ready.

OLIVIA    Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing.

    [Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and MARIA]

    Give me your hand, sir.

VIOLA    My duty, madam, and most humble service.

OLIVIA    What is your name?

VIOLA    Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.

OLIVIA    My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
    Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment:
    You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth.

VIOLA    And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
    Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.

OLIVIA    For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts,
    Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me!

VIOLA    Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
    On his behalf.

OLIVIA                      O, by your leave, I pray you,
    I bade you never speak again of him:
    But, would you undertake another suit,
    I had rather hear you to solicit that
    Than music from the spheres.

VIOLA    Dear lady,--

OLIVIA    Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
    After the last enchantment you did here,
    A ring in chase of you: so did I abuse
    Myself, my servant and, I fear me, you:
    Under your hard construction must I sit,
    To force that on you, in a shameful cunning,
    Which you knew none of yours: what might you think?
    Have you not set mine honour at the stake
    And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
    That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving
    Enough is shown: a cypress, not a bosom,
    Hideth my heart. So, let me hear you speak.

VIOLA    I pity you.

OLIVIA              That's a degree to love.

VIOLA    No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof,
    That very oft we pity enemies.

OLIVIA    Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.
    O, world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
    If one should be a prey, how much the better
    To fall before the lion than the wolf!

    [Clock strikes]

    The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
    Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you:
    And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
    Your were is alike to reap a proper man:
    There lies your way, due west.

VIOLA    Then westward-ho! Grace and good disposition
    Attend your ladyship!
    You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?

OLIVIA    Stay:
    I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me.

VIOLA    That you do think you are not what you are.

OLIVIA    If I think so, I think the same of you.

VIOLA    Then think you right: I am not what I am.

OLIVIA    I would you were as I would have you be!

VIOLA    Would it be better, madam, than I am?
    I wish it might, for now I am your fool.

OLIVIA    O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
    In the contempt and anger of his lip!
    A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon
    Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
    Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
    By maidhood, honour, truth and every thing,
    I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride,
    Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
    Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,
    For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause,
    But rather reason thus with reason fetter,
    Love sought is good, but given unsought better.

VIOLA    By innocence I swear, and by my youth
    I have one heart, one bosom and one truth,
    And that no woman has; nor never none
    Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
    And so adieu, good madam: never more
    Will I my master's tears to you deplore.

OLIVIA    Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move
    That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE II    OLIVIA's house.


    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN]

SIR ANDREW    No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.

FABIAN    You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW    Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the
    count's serving-man than ever she bestowed upon me;
    I saw't i' the orchard.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell me that.

SIR ANDREW    As plain as I see you now.

FABIAN    This was a great argument of love in her toward you.

SIR ANDREW    'Slight, will you make an ass o' me?

FABIAN    I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of
    judgment and reason.

SIR TOBY BELCH    And they have been grand-jury-men since before Noah
    was a sailor.

FABIAN    She did show favour to the youth in your sight only
    to exasperate you, to awake your dormouse valour, to
    put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver.
    You should then have accosted her; and with some
    excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should
    have banged the youth into dumbness. This was
    looked for at your hand, and this was balked: the
    double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash
    off, and you are now sailed into the north of my
    lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle
    on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by
    some laudable attempt either of valour or policy.

SIR ANDREW    An't be any way, it must be with valour; for policy
    I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a
    politician.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of
    valour. Challenge me the count's youth to fight
    with him; hurt him in eleven places: my niece shall
    take note of it; and assure thyself, there is no
    love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's
    commendation with woman than report of valour.

FABIAN    There is no way but this, Sir Andrew.

SIR ANDREW    Will either of you bear me a challenge to him?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief;
    it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun
    of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink:
    if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be
    amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of
    paper, although the sheet were big enough for the
    bed of Ware in England, set 'em down: go, about it.
    Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou
    write with a goose-pen, no matter: about it.

SIR ANDREW    Where shall I find you?

SIR TOBY BELCH    We'll call thee at the cubiculo: go.

    [Exit SIR ANDREW]

FABIAN    This is a dear manikin to you, Sir Toby.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I have been dear to him, lad, some two thousand
    strong, or so.

FABIAN    We shall have a rare letter from him: but you'll
    not deliver't?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Never trust me, then; and by all means stir on the
    youth to an answer. I think oxen and wainropes
    cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were
    opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as
    will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of
    the anatomy.

FABIAN    And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no
    great presage of cruelty.

    [Enter MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Look, where the youngest wren of nine comes.

MARIA    If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourself
    into stitches, follow me. Yond gull Malvolio is
    turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no
    Christian, that means to be saved by believing
    rightly, can ever believe such impossible passages
    of grossness. He's in yellow stockings.

SIR TOBY BELCH    And cross-gartered?

MARIA    Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps a school
    i' the church. I have dogged him, like his
    murderer. He does obey every point of the letter
    that I dropped to betray him: he does smile his
    face into more lines than is in the new map with the
    augmentation of the Indies: you have not seen such
    a thing as 'tis. I can hardly forbear hurling things
    at him. I know my lady will strike him: if she do,
    he'll smile and take't for a great favour.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come, bring us, bring us where he is.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE III    A street.


    [Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]

SEBASTIAN    I would not by my will have troubled you;
    But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
    I will no further chide you.

ANTONIO    I could not stay behind you: my desire,
    More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
    And not all love to see you, though so much
    As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,
    But jealousy what might befall your travel,
    Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
    Unguided and unfriended, often prove
    Rough and unhospitable: my willing love,
    The rather by these arguments of fear,
    Set forth in your pursuit.

SEBASTIAN    My kind Antonio,
    I can no other answer make but thanks,
    And thanks; and ever [         ] oft good turns
    Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay:
    But, were my worth as is my conscience firm,
    You should find better dealing. What's to do?
    Shall we go see the reliques of this town?

ANTONIO    To-morrow, sir: best first go see your lodging.

SEBASTIAN    I am not weary, and 'tis long to night:
    I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
    With the memorials and the things of fame
    That do renown this city.

ANTONIO    Would you'ld pardon me;
    I do not without danger walk these streets:
    Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his galleys
    I did some service; of such note indeed,
    That were I ta'en here it would scarce be answer'd.

SEBASTIAN    Belike you slew great number of his people.

ANTONIO    The offence is not of such a bloody nature;
    Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
    Might well have given us bloody argument.
    It might have since been answer'd in repaying
    What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake,
    Most of our city did: only myself stood out;
    For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
    I shall pay dear.

SEBASTIAN                      Do not then walk too open.

ANTONIO    It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse.
    In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
    Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet,
    Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge
    With viewing of the town: there shall you have me.

SEBASTIAN    Why I your purse?

ANTONIO    Haply your eye shall light upon some toy
    You have desire to purchase; and your store,
    I think, is not for idle markets, sir.

SEBASTIAN    I'll be your purse-bearer and leave you
    For an hour.

ANTONIO    To the Elephant.

SEBASTIAN                      I do remember.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT III



SCENE IV    OLIVIA's garden.


    [Enter OLIVIA and MARIA]

OLIVIA    I have sent after him: he says he'll come;
    How shall I feast him? what bestow of him?
    For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd.
    I speak too loud.
    Where is Malvolio? he is sad and civil,
    And suits well for a servant with my fortunes:
    Where is Malvolio?

MARIA    He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner. He
    is, sure, possessed, madam.

OLIVIA    Why, what's the matter? does he rave?

MARIA    No. madam, he does nothing but smile: your
    ladyship were best to have some guard about you, if
    he come; for, sure, the man is tainted in's wits.

OLIVIA    Go call him hither.

    [Exit MARIA]

    I am as mad as he,
    If sad and merry madness equal be.

    [Re-enter MARIA, with MALVOLIO]

    How now, Malvolio!

MALVOLIO    Sweet lady, ho, ho.

OLIVIA    Smilest thou?
    I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.

MALVOLIO    Sad, lady! I could be sad: this does make some
    obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but
    what of that? if it please the eye of one, it is
    with me as the very true sonnet is, 'Please one, and
    please all.'

OLIVIA    Why, how dost thou, man? what is the matter with thee?

MALVOLIO    Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It
    did come to his hands, and commands shall be
    executed: I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.

OLIVIA    Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO    To bed! ay, sweet-heart, and I'll come to thee.

OLIVIA    God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so and kiss
    thy hand so oft?

MARIA    How do you, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO    At your request! yes; nightingales answer daws.

MARIA    Why appear you with this ridiculous boldness before my lady?

MALVOLIO    'Be not afraid of greatness:' 'twas well writ.

OLIVIA    What meanest thou by that, Malvolio?

MALVOLIO    'Some are born great,'--

OLIVIA    Ha!

MALVOLIO    'Some achieve greatness,'--

OLIVIA    What sayest thou?

MALVOLIO    'And some have greatness thrust upon them.'

OLIVIA    Heaven restore thee!

MALVOLIO    'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,'--

OLIVIA    Thy yellow stockings!

MALVOLIO    'And wished to see thee cross-gartered.'

OLIVIA    Cross-gartered!

MALVOLIO    'Go to thou art made, if thou desirest to be so;'--

OLIVIA    Am I made?

MALVOLIO    'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'

OLIVIA    Why, this is very midsummer madness.

    [Enter Servant]

Servant    Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is
    returned: I could hardly entreat him back: he
    attends your ladyship's pleasure.

OLIVIA    I'll come to him.

    [Exit Servant]

    Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's
    my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special
    care of him: I would not have him miscarry for the
    half of my dowry.

    [Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA]

MALVOLIO    O, ho! do you come near me now? no worse man than
    Sir Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with
    the letter: she sends him on purpose, that I may
    appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that
    in the letter. 'Cast thy humble slough,' says she;
    'be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants;
    let thy tongue tang with arguments of state; put
    thyself into the trick of singularity;' and
    consequently sets down the manner how; as, a sad
    face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the
    habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have
    limed her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me
    thankful! And when she went away now, 'Let this
    fellow be looked to:' fellow! not Malvolio, nor
    after my degree, but fellow. Why, every thing
    adheres together, that no dram of a scruple, no
    scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous
    or unsafe circumstance--What can be said? Nothing
    that can be can come between me and the full
    prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the
    doer of this, and he is to be thanked.

    [Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY BELCH and FABIAN]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all
    the devils of hell be drawn in little, and Legion
    himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him.

FABIAN    Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir?
    how is't with you, man?

MALVOLIO    Go off; I discard you: let me enjoy my private: go
    off.

MARIA    Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him! did not
    I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a
    care of him.

MALVOLIO    Ah, ha! does she so?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal gently
    with him: let me alone. How do you, Malvolio? how
    is't with you? What, man! defy the devil:
    consider, he's an enemy to mankind.

MALVOLIO    Do you know what you say?

MARIA    La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes
    it at heart! Pray God, he be not bewitched!

FABIAN    Carry his water to the wise woman.

MARIA    Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I
    live. My lady would not lose him for more than I'll say.

MALVOLIO    How now, mistress!

MARIA    O Lord!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Prithee, hold thy peace; this is not the way: do
    you not see you move him? let me alone with him.

FABIAN    No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the fiend is
    rough, and will not be roughly used.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Why, how now, my bawcock! how dost thou, chuck?

MALVOLIO    Sir!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 'tis not for
    gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: hang
    him, foul collier!

MARIA    Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get him to pray.

MALVOLIO    My prayers, minx!

MARIA    No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.

MALVOLIO    Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow
    things: I am not of your element: you shall know
    more hereafter.

    [Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Is't possible?

FABIAN    If this were played upon a stage now, I could
    condemn it as an improbable fiction.

SIR TOBY BELCH    His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.

MARIA    Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint.

FABIAN    Why, we shall make him mad indeed.

MARIA    The house will be the quieter.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My
    niece is already in the belief that he's mad: we
    may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his penance,
    till our very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt
    us to have mercy on him: at which time we will
    bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a
    finder of madmen. But see, but see.

    [Enter SIR ANDREW]

FABIAN    More matter for a May morning.

SIR ANDREW    Here's the challenge, read it: warrant there's
    vinegar and pepper in't.

FABIAN    Is't so saucy?

SIR ANDREW    Ay, is't, I warrant him: do but read.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Give me.

    [Reads]

    'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.'

FABIAN    Good, and valiant.

SIR TOBY BELCH    [Reads]  'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind,
    why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason for't.'

FABIAN    A good note; that keeps you from the blow of the law.

SIR TOBY BELCH    [Reads]  'Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in my
    sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in thy
    throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee for.'

FABIAN    Very brief, and to exceeding good sense--less.

SIR TOBY BELCH    [Reads]  'I will waylay thee going home; where if it
    be thy chance to kill me,'--

FABIAN    Good.

SIR TOBY BELCH    [Reads]  'Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain.'

FABIAN    Still you keep o' the windy side of the law: good.

SIR TOBY BELCH    [Reads]  'Fare thee well; and God have mercy upon
    one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but
    my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy
    friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
                          ANDREW AGUECHEEK.
    If this letter move him not, his legs cannot:
    I'll give't him.

MARIA    You may have very fit occasion for't: he is now in
    some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Go, Sir Andrew: scout me for him at the corner the
    orchard like a bum-baily: so soon as ever thou seest
    him, draw; and, as thou drawest swear horrible; for
    it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a
    swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood
    more approbation than ever proof itself would have
    earned him. Away!

SIR ANDREW    Nay, let me alone for swearing.

    [Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Now will not I deliver his letter: for the behavior
    of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good
    capacity and breeding; his employment between his
    lord and my niece confirms no less: therefore this
    letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no
    terror in the youth: he will find it comes from a
    clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by
    word of mouth; set upon Aguecheek a notable report
    of valour; and drive the gentleman, as I know his
    youth will aptly receive it, into a most hideous
    opinion of his rage, skill, fury and impetuosity.
    This will so fright them both that they will kill
    one another by the look, like cockatrices.

    [Re-enter OLIVIA, with VIOLA]

FABIAN    Here he comes with your niece: give them way till
    he take leave, and presently after him.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I will meditate the while upon some horrid message
    for a challenge.

    [Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH, FABIAN, and MARIA]

OLIVIA    I have said too much unto a heart of stone
    And laid mine honour too unchary out:
    There's something in me that reproves my fault;
    But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
    That it but mocks reproof.

VIOLA    With the same 'havior that your passion bears
    Goes on my master's grief.

OLIVIA    Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture;
    Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you;
    And I beseech you come again to-morrow.
    What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
    That honour saved may upon asking give?

VIOLA    Nothing but this; your true love for my master.

OLIVIA    How with mine honour may I give him that
    Which I have given to you?

VIOLA    I will acquit you.

OLIVIA    Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well:
    A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter SIR TOBY BELCH and FABIAN]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Gentleman, God save thee.

VIOLA    And you, sir.

SIR TOBY BELCH    That defence thou hast, betake thee to't: of what
    nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, I know
    not; but thy intercepter, full of despite, bloody as
    the hunter, attends thee at the orchard-end:
    dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for
    thy assailant is quick, skilful and deadly.

VIOLA    You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel
    to me: my remembrance is very free and clear from
    any image of offence done to any man.

SIR TOBY BELCH    You'll find it otherwise, I assure you: therefore,
    if you hold your life at any price, betake you to
    your guard; for your opposite hath in him what
    youth, strength, skill and wrath can furnish man withal.

VIOLA    I pray you, sir, what is he?

SIR TOBY BELCH    He is knight, dubbed with unhatched rapier and on
    carpet consideration; but he is a devil in private
    brawl: souls and bodies hath he divorced three; and
    his incensement at this moment is so implacable,
    that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death
    and sepulchre. Hob, nob, is his word; give't or take't.

VIOLA    I will return again into the house and desire some
    conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard
    of some kind of men that put quarrels purposely on
    others, to taste their valour: belike this is a man
    of that quirk.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a
    very competent injury: therefore, get you on and
    give him his desire. Back you shall not to the
    house, unless you undertake that with me which with
    as much safety you might answer him: therefore, on,
    or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you
    must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about you.

VIOLA    This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you, do me
    this courteous office, as to know of the knight what
    my offence to him is: it is something of my
    negligence, nothing of my purpose.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this
    gentleman till my return.

    [Exit]

VIOLA    Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter?

FABIAN    I know the knight is incensed against you, even to a
    mortal arbitrement; but nothing of the circumstance more.

VIOLA    I beseech you, what manner of man is he?

FABIAN    Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by
    his form, as you are like to find him in the proof
    of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most skilful,
    bloody and fatal opposite that you could possibly
    have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk
    towards him? I will make your peace with him if I
    can.

VIOLA    I shall be much bound to you for't: I am one that
    had rather go with sir priest than sir knight: I
    care not who knows so much of my mettle.

    [Exeunt]

    [Re-enter SIR TOBY BELCH, with SIR ANDREW]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a
    firago. I had a pass with him, rapier, scabbard and
    all, and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal
    motion, that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he
    pays you as surely as your feet hit the ground they
    step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy.

SIR ANDREW    Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Ay, but he will not now be pacified: Fabian can
    scarce hold him yonder.

SIR ANDREW    Plague on't, an I thought he had been valiant and so
    cunning in fence, I'ld have seen him damned ere I'ld
    have challenged him. Let him let the matter slip,
    and I'll give him my horse, grey Capilet.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I'll make the motion: stand here, make a good show
    on't: this shall end without the perdition of souls.

    [Aside]

    Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you.

    [Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA]

    [To FABIAN]

    I have his horse to take up the quarrel:
    I have persuaded him the youth's a devil.

FABIAN    He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and
    looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.

SIR TOBY BELCH    [To VIOLA]  There's no remedy, sir; he will fight
    with you for's oath sake: marry, he hath better
    bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now
    scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for
    the supportance of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you.

VIOLA    [Aside]  Pray God defend me! A little thing would
    make me tell them how much I lack of a man.

FABIAN    Give ground, if you see him furious.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman
    will, for his honour's sake, have one bout with you;
    he cannot by the duello avoid it: but he has
    promised me, as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he
    will not hurt you. Come on; to't.

SIR ANDREW    Pray God, he keep his oath!

VIOLA    I do assure you, 'tis against my will.

    [They draw]

    [Enter ANTONIO]

ANTONIO    Put up your sword. If this young gentleman
    Have done offence, I take the fault on me:
    If you offend him, I for him defy you.

SIR TOBY BELCH    You, sir! why, what are you?

ANTONIO    One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
    Than you have heard him brag to you he will.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.

    [They draw]

    [Enter Officers]

FABIAN    O good Sir Toby, hold! here come the officers.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I'll be with you anon.

VIOLA    Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.

SIR ANDREW    Marry, will I, sir; and, for that I promised you,
    I'll be as good as my word: he will bear you easily
    and reins well.

First Officer    This is the man; do thy office.

Second Officer    Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count Orsino.

ANTONIO    You do mistake me, sir.

First Officer    No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well,
    Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.
    Take him away: he knows I know him well.

ANTONIO    I must obey.

    [To VIOLA]

    This comes with seeking you:
    But there's no remedy; I shall answer it.
    What will you do, now my necessity
    Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me
    Much more for what I cannot do for you
    Than what befalls myself. You stand amazed;
    But be of comfort.

Second Officer    Come, sir, away.

ANTONIO    I must entreat of you some of that money.

VIOLA    What money, sir?
    For the fair kindness you have show'd me here,
    And, part, being prompted by your present trouble,
    Out of my lean and low ability
    I'll lend you something: my having is not much;
    I'll make division of my present with you:
    Hold, there's half my coffer.

ANTONIO    Will you deny me now?
    Is't possible that my deserts to you
    Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
    Lest that it make me so unsound a man
    As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
    That I have done for you.

VIOLA    I know of none;
    Nor know I you by voice or any feature:
    I hate ingratitude more in a man
    Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
    Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
    Inhabits our frail blood.

ANTONIO    O heavens themselves!

Second Officer    Come, sir, I pray you, go.

ANTONIO    Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here
    I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death,
    Relieved him with such sanctity of love,
    And to his image, which methought did promise
    Most venerable worth, did I devotion.

First Officer    What's that to us? The time goes by: away!

ANTONIO    But O how vile an idol proves this god
    Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
    In nature there's no blemish but the mind;
    None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind:
    Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil
    Are empty trunks o'erflourish'd by the devil.

First Officer    The man grows mad: away with him! Come, come, sir.

ANTONIO    Lead me on.

    [Exit with Officers]

VIOLA    Methinks his words do from such passion fly,
    That he believes himself: so do not I.
    Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
    That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian: we'll
    whisper o'er a couplet or two of most sage saws.

VIOLA    He named Sebastian: I my brother know
    Yet living in my glass; even such and so
    In favour was my brother, and he went
    Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
    For him I imitate: O, if it prove,
    Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love.

    [Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH    A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a coward than
    a hare: his dishonesty appears in leaving his
    friend here in necessity and denying him; and for
    his cowardship, ask Fabian.

FABIAN    A coward, a most devout coward, religious in it.

SIR ANDREW    'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword.

SIR ANDREW    An I do not,--

FABIAN    Come, let's see the event.

SIR TOBY BELCH    I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet.

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT IV



SCENE I    Before OLIVIA's house.


    [Enter SEBASTIAN and Clown]

Clown    Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?

SEBASTIAN    Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow:
    Let me be clear of thee.

Clown    Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor
    I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come
    speak with her; nor your name is not Master Cesario;
    nor this is not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so.

SEBASTIAN    I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else: Thou
    know'st not me.

Clown    Vent my folly! he has heard that word of some
    great man and now applies it to a fool. Vent my
    folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the world,
    will prove a cockney. I prithee now, ungird thy
    strangeness and tell me what I shall vent to my
    lady: shall I vent to her that thou art coming?

SEBASTIAN    I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me: There's
    money for thee: if you tarry longer, I shall give
    worse payment.

Clown    By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men
    that give fools money get themselves a good
    report--after fourteen years' purchase.

    [Enter SIR ANDREW, SIR TOBY BELCH, and FABIAN]

SIR ANDREW    Now, sir, have I met you again? there's for you.

SEBASTIAN    Why, there's for thee, and there, and there. Are all
    the people mad?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.

Clown    This will I tell my lady straight: I would not be
    in some of your coats for two pence.

    [Exit]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come on, sir; hold.

SIR ANDREW    Nay, let him alone: I'll go another way to work
    with him; I'll have an action of battery against
    him, if there be any law in Illyria: though I
    struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.

SEBASTIAN    Let go thy hand.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young
    soldier, put up your iron: you are well fleshed; come on.

SEBASTIAN    I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? If
    thou darest tempt me further, draw thy sword.

SIR TOBY BELCH    What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or two
    of this malapert blood from you.

    [Enter OLIVIA]

OLIVIA    Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, hold!

SIR TOBY BELCH    Madam!

OLIVIA    Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
    Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
    Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight!
    Be not offended, dear Cesario.
    Rudesby, be gone!

    [Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN]

    I prithee, gentle friend,
    Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
    In this uncivil and thou unjust extent
    Against thy peace. Go with me to my house,
    And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
    This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
    Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose but go:
    Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me,
    He started one poor heart of mine in thee.

SEBASTIAN    What relish is in this? how runs the stream?
    Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:
    Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
    If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!

OLIVIA    Nay, come, I prithee; would thou'ldst be ruled by me!

SEBASTIAN    Madam, I will.

OLIVIA                      O, say so, and so be!

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT IV



SCENE II    OLIVIA's house.


    [Enter MARIA and Clown]

MARIA    Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard;
    make him believe thou art Sir Topas the curate: do
    it quickly; I'll call Sir Toby the whilst.

    [Exit]

Clown    Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble myself
    in't; and I would I were the first that ever
    dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to
    become the function well, nor lean enough to be
    thought a good student; but to be said an honest man
    and a good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a
    careful man and a great scholar. The competitors enter.

    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]

SIR TOBY BELCH    Jove bless thee, master Parson.

Clown    Bonos dies, Sir Toby: for, as the old hermit of
    Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily
    said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 'That that is is;'
    so I, being Master Parson, am Master Parson; for,
    what is 'that' but 'that,' and 'is' but 'is'?

SIR TOBY BELCH    To him, Sir Topas.

Clown    What, ho, I say! peace in this prison!

SIR TOBY BELCH    The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.

MALVOLIO    [Within]  Who calls there?

Clown    Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio
    the lunatic.

MALVOLIO    Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady.

Clown    Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this man!
    talkest thou nothing but of ladies?

SIR TOBY BELCH    Well said, Master Parson.

MALVOLIO    Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: good Sir
    Topas, do not think I am mad: they have laid me
    here in hideous darkness.

Clown    Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee by the most
    modest terms; for I am one of those gentle ones
    that will use the devil himself with courtesy:
    sayest thou that house is dark?

MALVOLIO    As hell, Sir Topas.

Clown    Why it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes,
    and the clearstores toward the south north are as
    lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of
    obstruction?

MALVOLIO    I am not mad, Sir Topas: I say to you, this house is dark.

Clown    Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no darkness
    but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than
    the Egyptians in their fog.

MALVOLIO    I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, though
    ignorance were as dark as hell; and I say, there
    was never man thus abused. I am no more mad than you
    are: make the trial of it in any constant question.

Clown    What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl?

MALVOLIO    That the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird.

Clown    What thinkest thou of his opinion?

MALVOLIO    I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.

Clown    Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness:
    thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras ere I will
    allow of thy wits, and fear to kill a woodcock, lest
    thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.

MALVOLIO    Sir Topas, Sir Topas!

SIR TOBY BELCH    My most exquisite Sir Topas!

Clown    Nay, I am for all waters.

MARIA    Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and
    gown: he sees thee not.

SIR TOBY BELCH    To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how
    thou findest him: I would we were well rid of this
    knavery. If he may be conveniently delivered, I
    would he were, for I am now so far in offence with
    my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this
    sport to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.

    [Exeunt SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA]

Clown    [Singing]

    'Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
    Tell me how thy lady does.'

MALVOLIO    Fool!

Clown    'My lady is unkind, perdy.'

MALVOLIO    Fool!

Clown    'Alas, why is she so?'

MALVOLIO    Fool, I say!

Clown    'She loves another'--Who calls, ha?

MALVOLIO    Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my
    hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink and paper:
    as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to
    thee for't.

Clown    Master Malvolio?

MALVOLIO    Ay, good fool.

Clown    Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?

MALVOLIO    Fool, there was never a man so notoriously abused: I
    am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.

Clown    But as well? then you are mad indeed, if you be no
    better in your wits than a fool.

MALVOLIO    They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness,
    send ministers to me, asses, and do all they can to
    face me out of my wits.

Clown    Advise you what you say; the minister is here.
    Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens restore!
    endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain
    bibble babble.

MALVOLIO    Sir Topas!

Clown    Maintain no words with him, good fellow. Who, I,
    sir? not I, sir. God be wi' you, good Sir Topas.
    Merry, amen. I will, sir, I will.

MALVOLIO    Fool, fool, fool, I say!

Clown    Alas, sir, be patient. What say you sir? I am
    shent for speaking to you.

MALVOLIO    Good fool, help me to some light and some paper: I
    tell thee, I am as well in my wits as any man in Illyria.

Clown    Well-a-day that you were, sir

MALVOLIO    By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper and
    light; and convey what I will set down to my lady:
    it shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing
    of letter did.

Clown    I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you
    not mad indeed? or do you but counterfeit?

MALVOLIO    Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true.

Clown    Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his
    brains. I will fetch you light and paper and ink.

MALVOLIO    Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree: I
    prithee, be gone.

Clown    [Singing]

    I am gone, sir,
    And anon, sir,
    I'll be with you again,
    In a trice,
    Like to the old Vice,
    Your need to sustain;
    Who, with dagger of lath,
    In his rage and his wrath,
    Cries, ah, ha! to the devil:
    Like a mad lad,
    Pare thy nails, dad;
    Adieu, good man devil.

    [Exit]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT IV



SCENE III    OLIVIA's garden.


    [Enter SEBASTIAN]

SEBASTIAN    This is the air; that is the glorious sun;
    This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't;
    And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
    Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?
    I could not find him at the Elephant:
    Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
    That he did range the town to seek me out.
    His counsel now might do me golden service;
    For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
    That this may be some error, but no madness,
    Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
    So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
    That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
    And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
    To any other trust but that I am mad
    Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,
    She could not sway her house, command her followers,
    Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
    With such a smooth, discreet and stable bearing
    As I perceive she does: there's something in't
    That is deceiveable. But here the lady comes.

    [Enter OLIVIA and Priest]

OLIVIA    Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well,
    Now go with me and with this holy man
    Into the chantry by: there, before him,
    And underneath that consecrated roof,
    Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
    That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
    May live at peace. He shall conceal it
    Whiles you are willing it shall come to note,
    What time we will our celebration keep
    According to my birth. What do you say?

SEBASTIAN    I'll follow this good man, and go with you;
    And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.

OLIVIA    Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine,
    That they may fairly note this act of mine!

    [Exeunt]




    TWELFTH NIGHT


ACT V



SCENE I    Before OLIVIA's house.


    [Enter Clown and FABIAN]

FABIAN    Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter.

Clown    Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.

FABIAN    Any thing.

Clown    Do not desire to see this letter.

FABIAN    This is, to give a dog, and in recompense desire my
    dog again.

    [Enter DUKE ORSINO, VIOLA, CURIO, and Lords]

DUKE ORSINO    Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?

Clown    Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings.

DUKE ORSINO    I know thee well; how dost thou, my good fellow?

Clown    Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse
    for my friends.

DUKE ORSINO    Just the contrary; the better for thy friends.

Clown    No, sir, the worse.

DUKE ORSINO    How can that be?

Clown    Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me;
    now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass: so that by
    my foes, sir I profit in the knowledge of myself,
    and by my friends, I am abused: so that,
    conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives
    make your two affirmatives why then, the worse for
    my friends and the better for my foes.

DUKE ORSINO    Why, this is excellent.

Clown    By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be
    one of my friends.

DUKE ORSINO    Thou shalt not be the worse for me: there's gold.

Clown    But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would
    you could make it another.

DUKE ORSINO    O, you give me ill counsel.

Clown    Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once,
    and let your flesh and blood obey it.

DUKE ORSINO    Well, I will be so much a sinner, to be a
    double-dealer: there's another.

Clown    Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old
    saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex,
    sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of
    Saint Bennet, sir, may put you in mind; one, two, three.

DUKE ORSINO    You can fool no more money out of me at this throw:
    if you will let your lady know I am here to speak
    with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake
    my bounty further.

Clown    Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come
    again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to think
    that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness:
    but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap, I
    will awake it anon.

    [Exit]

VIOLA    Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.

    [Enter ANTONIO and Officers]

DUKE ORSINO    That face of his I do remember well;
    Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
    As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war:
    A bawbling vessel was he captain of,
    For shallow draught and bulk unprizable;
    With which such scathful grapple did he make
    With the most noble bottom of our fleet,
    That very envy and the tongue of loss
    Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter?

First Officer    Orsino, this is that Antonio
    That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy;
    And this is he that did the Tiger board,
    When your young nephew Titus lost his leg:
    Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
    In private brabble did we apprehend him.

VIOLA    He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side;
    But in conclusion put strange speech upon me:
    I know not what 'twas but distraction.

DUKE ORSINO    Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief!
    What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
    Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
    Hast made thine enemies?

ANTONIO    Orsino, noble sir,
    Be pleased that I shake off these names you give me:
    Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
    Though I confess, on base and ground enough,
    Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither:
    That most ingrateful boy there by your side,
    From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth
    Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was:
    His life I gave him and did thereto add
    My love, without retention or restraint,
    All his in dedication; for his sake
    Did I expose myself, pure for his love,
    Into the danger of this adverse town;
    Drew to defend him when he was beset:
    Where being apprehended, his false cunning,
    Not meaning to partake with me in danger,
    Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
    And grew a twenty years removed thing
    While one would wink; denied me mine own purse,
    Which I had recommended to his use
    Not half an hour before.

VIOLA    How can this be?

DUKE ORSINO    When came he to this town?

ANTONIO    To-day, my lord; and for three months before,
    No interim, not a minute's vacancy,
    Both day and night did we keep company.

    [Enter OLIVIA and Attendants]

DUKE ORSINO    Here comes the countess: now heaven walks on earth.
    But for thee, fellow; fellow, thy words are madness:
    Three months this youth hath tended upon me;
    But more of that anon. Take him aside.

OLIVIA    What would my lord, but that he may not have,
    Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable?
    Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.

VIOLA    Madam!

DUKE ORSINO    Gracious Olivia,--

OLIVIA    What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord,--

VIOLA    My lord would speak; my duty hushes me.

OLIVIA    If it be aught to the old tune, my lord,
    It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear
    As howling after music.

DUKE ORSINO    Still so cruel?

OLIVIA    Still so constant, lord.

DUKE ORSINO    What, to perverseness? you uncivil lady,
    To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
    My soul the faithfull'st offerings hath breathed out
    That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do?

OLIVIA    Even what it please my lord, that shall become him.

DUKE ORSINO    Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
    Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death,
    Kill what I love?--a savage jealousy
    That sometimes savours nobly. But hear me this:
    Since you to non-regardance cast my faith,
    And that I partly know the instrument
    That screws me from my true place in your favour,
    Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still;
    But this your minion, whom I know you love,
    And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly,
    Him will I tear out of that cruel eye,
    Where he sits crowned in his master's spite.
    Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief:
    I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love,
    To spite a raven's heart within a dove.

VIOLA    And I, most jocund, apt and willingly,
    To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.

OLIVIA    Where goes Cesario?

VIOLA    After him I love
    More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
    More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife.
    If I do feign, you witnesses above
    Punish my life for tainting of my love!

OLIVIA    Ay me, detested! how am I beguiled!

VIOLA    Who does beguile you? who does do you wrong?

OLIVIA    Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long?
    Call forth the holy father.

DUKE ORSINO    Come, away!

OLIVIA    Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay.

DUKE ORSINO    Husband!

OLIVIA           Ay, husband: can he that deny?

DUKE ORSINO    Her husband, sirrah!

VIOLA    No, my lord, not I.

OLIVIA    Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
    That makes thee strangle thy propriety:
    Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up;
    Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
    As great as that thou fear'st.

    [Enter Priest]

                 O, welcome, father!
    Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
    Here to unfold, though lately we intended
    To keep in darkness what occasion now
    Reveals before 'tis ripe, what thou dost know
    Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.

Priest    A contract of eternal bond of love,
    Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
    Attested by the holy close of lips,
    Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings;
    And all the ceremony of this compact
    Seal'd in my function, by my testimony:
    Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
    I have travell'd but two hours.

DUKE ORSINO    O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be
    When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
    Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow,
    That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
    Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet
    Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.

VIOLA    My lord, I do protest--

OLIVIA    O, do not swear!
    Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.

    [Enter SIR ANDREW]

SIR ANDREW    For the love of God, a surgeon! Send one presently
    to Sir Toby.

OLIVIA    What's the matter?

SIR ANDREW    He has broke my head across and has given Sir Toby
    a bloody coxcomb too: for the love of God, your
    help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.

OLIVIA    Who has done this, Sir Andrew?

SIR ANDREW    The count's gentleman, one Cesario: we took him for
    a coward, but he's the very devil incardinate.

DUKE ORSINO    My gentleman, Cesario?

SIR ANDREW    'Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for
    nothing; and that that I did, I was set on to do't
    by Sir Toby.

VIOLA    Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you:
    You drew your sword upon me without cause;
    But I bespoke you fair, and hurt you not.

SIR ANDREW    If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me: I
    think you set nothing by a bloody coxcomb.

    [Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and Clown]

    Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more:
    but if he had not been in drink, he would have
    tickled you othergates than he did.

DUKE ORSINO    How now, gentleman! how is't with you?

SIR TOBY BELCH    That's all one: has hurt me, and there's the end
    on't. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, sot?

Clown    O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes
    were set at eight i' the morning.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Then he's a rogue, and a passy measures panyn: I
    hate a drunken rogue.

OLIVIA    Away with him! Who hath made this havoc with them?

SIR ANDREW    I'll help you, Sir Toby, because well be dressed together.

SIR TOBY BELCH    Will you help? an ass-head and a coxcomb and a
    knave, a thin-faced knave, a gull!

OLIVIA    Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.

    [Exeunt Clown, FABIAN, SIR TOBY BELCH, and SIR ANDREW]

    [Enter SEBASTIAN]

SEBASTIAN    I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman:
    But, had it been the brother of my blood,
    I must have done no less with wit and safety.
    You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that
    I do perceive it hath offended you:
    Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
    We made each other but so late ago.

DUKE ORSINO    One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons,
    A natural perspective, that is and is not!

SEBASTIAN    Antonio, O my dear Antonio!
    How have the hours rack'd and tortured me,
    Since I have lost thee!

ANTONIO    Sebastian are you?

SEBASTIAN                      Fear'st thou that, Antonio?

ANTONIO    How have you made division of yourself?
    An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
    Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian?

OLIVIA    Most wonderful!

SEBASTIAN    Do I stand there? I never had a brother;
    Nor can there be that deity in my nature,
    Of here and every where. I had a sister,
    Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd.
    Of charity, what kin are you to me?
    What countryman? what name? what parentage?

VIOLA    Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father;
    Such a Sebastian was my brother too,
    So went he suited to his watery tomb:
    If spirits can assume both form and suit
    You come to fright us.

SEBASTIAN    A spirit I am indeed;
    But am in that dimension grossly clad
    Which from the womb I did participate.
    Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
    I should my tears let fall upon your cheek,
    And say 'Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola!'

VIOLA    My father had a mole upon his brow.

SEBASTIAN    And so had mine.

VIOLA    And died that day when Viola from her birth
    Had number'd thirteen years.

SEBASTIAN    O, that record is lively in my soul!
    He finished indeed his mortal act
    That day that made my sister thirteen years.

VIOLA    If nothing lets to make us happy both
    But this my masculine usurp'd attire,
    Do not embrace me till each circumstance
    Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump
    That I am Viola: which to confirm,
    I'll bring you to a captain in this town,
    Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help
    I was preserved to serve this noble count.
    All the occurrence of my fortune since
    Hath been between this lady and this lord.

SEBASTIAN    [To OLIVIA]  So comes it, lady, you have been mistook:
    But nature to her bias drew in that.
    You would have been contracted to a maid;
    Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived,
    You are betroth'd both to a maid and man.

DUKE ORSINO    Be not amazed; right noble is his blood.
    If this be so, as yet the glass seems true,
    I shall have share in this most happy wreck.

    [To VIOLA]

    Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times
    Thou never shouldst love woman like to me.

VIOLA    And all those sayings will I overswear;
    And those swearings keep as true in soul
    As doth that orbed continent the fire
    That severs day from night.

DUKE ORSINO    Give me thy hand;
    And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.

VIOLA    The captain that did bring me first on shore
    Hath my maid's garments: he upon some action
    Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit,
    A gentleman, and follower of my lady's.

OLIVIA    He shall enlarge him: fetch Malvolio hither:
    And yet, alas, now I remember me,
    They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.

    [Re-enter Clown with a letter, and FABIAN]

    A most extracting frenzy of mine own
    From my remembrance clearly banish'd his.
    How does he, sirrah?

Clown    Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the staves's end as
    well as a man in his case may do: has here writ a
    letter to you; I should have given't you to-day
    morning, but as a madman's epistles are no gospels,
    so it skills not much when they are delivered.

OLIVIA    Open't, and read it.

Clown    Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers
    the madman.

    [Reads]

    'By the Lord, madam,'--

OLIVIA    How now! art thou mad?

Clown    No, madam, I do but read madness: an your ladyship
    will have it as it ought to be, you must allow Vox.

OLIVIA    Prithee, read i' thy right wits.

Clown    So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to
    read thus: therefore perpend, my princess, and give ear.

OLIVIA    Read it you, sirrah.

    [To FABIAN]

FABIAN    [Reads]  'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the
    world shall know it: though you have put me into
    darkness and given your drunken cousin rule over
    me, yet have I the benefit of my senses as well as
    your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced
    me to the semblance I put on; with the which I doubt
    not but to do myself much right, or you much shame.
    Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little
    unthought of and speak out of my injury.
                 THE MADLY-USED MALVOLIO.'

OLIVIA    Did he write this?

Clown    Ay, madam.

DUKE ORSINO    This savours not much of distraction.

OLIVIA    See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.

    [Exit FABIAN]

    My lord so please you, these things further
    thought on,
    To think me as well a sister as a wife,
    One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you,
    Here at my house and at my proper cost.

DUKE ORSINO    Madam, I am most apt to embrace your offer.

    [To VIOLA]

    Your master quits you; and for your service done him,
    So much against the mettle of your sex,
    So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
    And since you call'd me master for so long,
    Here is my hand: you shall from this time be
    Your master's mistress.

OLIVIA    A sister! you are she.

    [Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO]

DUKE ORSINO    Is this the madman?

OLIVIA    Ay, my lord, this same.
    How now, Malvolio!

MALVOLIO                      Madam, you have done me wrong,
    Notorious wrong.

OLIVIA                      Have I, Malvolio? no.

MALVOLIO    Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that letter.
    You must not now deny it is your hand:
    Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase;
    Or say 'tis not your seal, nor your invention:
    You can say none of this: well, grant it then
    And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
    Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
    Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you,
    To put on yellow stockings and to frown
    Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people;
    And, acting this in an obedient hope,
    Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
    Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
    And made the most notorious geck and gull
    That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why.

OLIVIA    Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
    Though, I confess, much like the character
    But out of question 'tis Maria's hand.
    And now I do bethink me, it was she
    First told me thou wast mad; then camest in smiling,
    And in such forms which here were presupposed
    Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content:
    This practise hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee;
    But when we know the grounds and authors of it,
    Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
    Of thine own cause.

FABIAN    Good madam, hear me speak,
    And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
    Taint the condition of this present hour,
    Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not,
    Most freely I confess, myself and Toby
    Set this device against Malvolio here,
    Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
    We had conceived against him: Maria writ
    The letter at Sir Toby's great importance;
    In recompense whereof he hath married her.
    How with a sportful malice it was follow'd,
    May rather pluck on laughter than revenge;
    If that the injuries be justly weigh'd
    That have on both sides pass'd.

OLIVIA    Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee!

Clown    Why, 'some are born great, some achieve greatness,
    and some have greatness thrown upon them.' I was
    one, sir, in this interlude; one Sir Topas, sir; but
    that's all one. 'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.'
    But do you remember? 'Madam, why laugh you at such
    a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagged:'
    and thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges.

MALVOLIO    I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you.

    [Exit]

OLIVIA    He hath been most notoriously abused.

DUKE ORSINO    Pursue him and entreat him to a peace:
    He hath not told us of the captain yet:
    When that is known and golden time convents,
    A solemn combination shall be made
    Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister,
    We will not part from hence. Cesario, come;
    For so you shall be, while you are a man;
    But when in other habits you are seen,
    Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.

    [Exeunt all, except Clown]

Clown    [Sings]

    When that I was and a little tiny boy,
    With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
    A foolish thing was but a toy,
    For the rain it raineth every day.

    But when I came to man's estate,
    With hey, ho, &c.
    'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
    For the rain, &c.

    But when I came, alas! to wive,
    With hey, ho, &c.
    By swaggering could I never thrive,
    For the rain, &c.

    But when I came unto my beds,
    With hey, ho, &c.
    With toss-pots still had drunken heads,
    For the rain, &c.

    A great while ago the world begun,
    With hey, ho, &c.
    But that's all one, our play is done,
    And we'll strive to please you every day.

    [Exit]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


PRIAM    king of Troy.


HECTOR    |
    |
TROILUS    |
    |
PARIS    |  his sons.
    |
DEIPHOBUS    |
    |
HELENUS    |


MARGARELON    a bastard son of Priam.


AENEAS    |
    |  Trojan commanders.
ANTENOR    |


CALCHAS    a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks.

PANDARUS    uncle to Cressida.

AGAMEMNON    the Grecian general.

MENELAUS    his brother.


ACHILLES    |
    |
AJAX    |
    |
ULYSSES    |
    |  Grecian princes.
NESTOR    |
    |
DIOMEDES    |
    |
PATROCLUS    |


THERSITES    a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.

ALEXANDER    servant to Cressida.

    Servant to Troilus. (Boy:)

    Servant to Paris.

    Servant to Diomedes. (Servant:)

HELEN    wife to Menelaus.

ANDROMACHE    wife to Hector.

CASSANDRA    daughter to Priam, a prophetess.

CRESSIDA    daughter to Calchas.

    Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.


SCENE    Troy, and the Grecian camp before it.




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

    PROLOGUE


    In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
    The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed,
    Have to the port of Athens sent their ships,
    Fraught with the ministers and instruments
    Of cruel war: sixty and nine, that wore
    Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
    Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made
    To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
    The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
    With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel.
    To Tenedos they come;
    And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
    Their warlike fraughtage: now on Dardan plains
    The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
    Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
    Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
    And Antenorides, with massy staples
    And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
    Sperr up the sons of Troy.
    Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
    On one and other side, Trojan and Greek,
    Sets all on hazard: and hither am I come
    A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence
    Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited
    In like conditions as our argument,
    To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
    Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils,
    Beginning in the middle, starting thence away
    To what may be digested in a play.
    Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are:
    Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE I    Troy. Before Priam's palace.


    [Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS]

TROILUS    Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again:
    Why should I war without the walls of Troy,
    That find such cruel battle here within?
    Each Trojan that is master of his heart,
    Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none.

PANDARUS    Will this gear ne'er be mended?

TROILUS    The Greeks are strong and skilful to their strength,
    Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness valiant;
    But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
    Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance,
    Less valiant than the virgin in the night
    And skilless as unpractised infancy.

PANDARUS    Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part,
    I'll not meddle nor make no further. He that will
    have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.

TROILUS    Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS    Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry
    the bolting.

TROILUS    Have I not tarried?

PANDARUS    Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry the leavening.

TROILUS    Still have I tarried.

PANDARUS    Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word
    'hereafter' the kneading, the making of the cake, the
    heating of the oven and the baking; nay, you must
    stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.

TROILUS    Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be,
    Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do.
    At Priam's royal table do I sit;
    And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,--
    So, traitor! 'When she comes!' When is she thence?

PANDARUS    Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw
    her look, or any woman else.

TROILUS    I was about to tell thee:--when my heart,
    As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain,
    Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
    I have, as when the sun doth light a storm,
    Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile:
    But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness,
    Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.

PANDARUS    An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's--
    well, go to--there were no more comparison between
    the women: but, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I
    would not, as they term it, praise her: but I would
    somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I
    will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but--

TROILUS    O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus,--
    When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd,
    Reply not in how many fathoms deep
    They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad
    In Cressid's love: thou answer'st 'she is fair;'
    Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
    Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice,
    Handlest in thy discourse, O, that her hand,
    In whose comparison all whites are ink,
    Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
    The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense
    Hard as the palm of ploughman: this thou tell'st me,
    As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
    But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
    Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
    The knife that made it.

PANDARUS    I speak no more than truth.

TROILUS    Thou dost not speak so much.

PANDARUS    Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as she is:
    if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she be
    not, she has the mends in her own hands.

TROILUS    Good Pandarus, how now, Pandarus!

PANDARUS    I have had my labour for my travail; ill-thought on of
    her and ill-thought on of you; gone between and
    between, but small thanks for my labour.

TROILUS    What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, with me?

PANDARUS    Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair
    as Helen: an she were not kin to me, she would be as
    fair on Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care
    I? I care not an she were a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me.

TROILUS    Say I she is not fair?

PANDARUS    I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to
    stay behind her father; let her to the Greeks; and so
    I'll tell her the next time I see her: for my part,
    I'll meddle nor make no more i' the matter.

TROILUS    Pandarus,--

PANDARUS    Not I.

TROILUS    Sweet Pandarus,--

PANDARUS    Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I
    found it, and there an end.

    [Exit PANDARUS. An alarum]

TROILUS    Peace, you ungracious clamours! peace, rude sounds!
    Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
    When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
    I cannot fight upon this argument;
    It is too starved a subject for my sword.
    But Pandarus,--O gods, how do you plague me!
    I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
    And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo.
    As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
    Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
    What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
    Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl:
    Between our Ilium and where she resides,
    Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood,
    Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
    Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark.

    [Alarum. Enter AENEAS]

AENEAS    How now, Prince Troilus! wherefore not afield?

TROILUS    Because not there: this woman's answer sorts,
    For womanish it is to be from thence.
    What news, AEneas, from the field to-day?

AENEAS    That Paris is returned home and hurt.

TROILUS    By whom, AEneas?

AENEAS                      Troilus, by Menelaus.

TROILUS    Let Paris bleed; 'tis but a scar to scorn;
    Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn.

    [Alarum]

AENEAS    Hark, what good sport is out of town to-day!

TROILUS    Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'
    But to the sport abroad: are you bound thither?

AENEAS    In all swift haste.

TROILUS    Come, go we then together.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE II    The Same. A street.


    [Enter CRESSIDA and ALEXANDER]

CRESSIDA    Who were those went by?

ALEXANDER    Queen Hecuba and Helen.

CRESSIDA    And whither go they?

ALEXANDER    Up to the eastern tower,
    Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
    To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
    Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved:
    He chid Andromache and struck his armourer,
    And, like as there were husbandry in war,
    Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
    And to the field goes he; where every flower
    Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
    In Hector's wrath.

CRESSIDA                      What was his cause of anger?

ALEXANDER    The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks
    A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector;
    They call him Ajax.

CRESSIDA    Good; and what of him?

ALEXANDER    They say he is a very man per se,
    And stands alone.

CRESSIDA    So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.

ALEXANDER    This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of their
    particular additions; he is as valiant as the lion,
    churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant: a man
    into whom nature hath so crowded humours that his
    valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with
    discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that he
    hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he
    carries some stain of it: he is melancholy without
    cause, and merry against the hair: he hath the
    joints of every thing, but everything so out of joint
    that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use,
    or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.

CRESSIDA    But how should this man, that makes
    me smile, make Hector angry?

ALEXANDER    They say he yesterday coped Hector in the battle and
    struck him down, the disdain and shame whereof hath
    ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.

CRESSIDA    Who comes here?

ALEXANDER    Madam, your uncle Pandarus.

    [Enter PANDARUS]

CRESSIDA    Hector's a gallant man.

ALEXANDER    As may be in the world, lady.

PANDARUS    What's that? what's that?

CRESSIDA    Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.

PANDARUS    Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do you talk of?
    Good morrow, Alexander. How do you, cousin? When
    were you at Ilium?

CRESSIDA    This morning, uncle.

PANDARUS    What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector
    armed and gone ere ye came to Ilium? Helen was not
    up, was she?

CRESSIDA    Hector was gone, but Helen was not up.

PANDARUS    Even so: Hector was stirring early.

CRESSIDA    That were we talking of, and of his anger.

PANDARUS    Was he angry?

CRESSIDA    So he says here.

PANDARUS    True, he was so: I know the cause too: he'll lay
    about him to-day, I can tell them that: and there's
    Troilus will not come far behind him: let them take
    heed of Troilus, I can tell them that too.

CRESSIDA    What, is he angry too?

PANDARUS    Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two.

CRESSIDA    O Jupiter! there's no comparison.

PANDARUS    What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a
    man if you see him?

CRESSIDA    Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him.

PANDARUS    Well, I say Troilus is Troilus.

CRESSIDA    Then you say as I say; for, I am sure, he is not Hector.

PANDARUS    No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some degrees.

CRESSIDA    'Tis just to each of them; he is himself.

PANDARUS    Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were.

CRESSIDA    So he is.

PANDARUS    Condition, I had gone barefoot to India.

CRESSIDA    He is not Hector.

PANDARUS    Himself! no, he's not himself: would a' were
    himself! Well, the gods are above; time must friend
    or end: well, Troilus, well: I would my heart were
    in her body. No, Hector is not a better man than Troilus.

CRESSIDA    Excuse me.

PANDARUS    He is elder.

CRESSIDA    Pardon me, pardon me.

PANDARUS    Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another
    tale, when th' other's come to't. Hector shall not
    have his wit this year.

CRESSIDA    He shall not need it, if he have his own.

PANDARUS    Nor his qualities.

CRESSIDA    No matter.

PANDARUS    Nor his beauty.

CRESSIDA    'Twould not become him; his own's better.

PANDARUS    You have no judgment, niece: Helen
    herself swore th' other day, that Troilus, for
    a brown favour--for so 'tis, I must confess,--
    not brown neither,--

CRESSIDA    No, but brown.

PANDARUS    'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.

CRESSIDA    To say the truth, true and not true.

PANDARUS    She praised his complexion above Paris.

CRESSIDA    Why, Paris hath colour enough.

PANDARUS    So he has.

CRESSIDA    Then Troilus should have too much: if she praised
    him above, his complexion is higher than his; he
    having colour enough, and the other higher, is too
    flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as
    lief Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for
    a copper nose.

PANDARUS    I swear to you. I think Helen loves him better than Paris.

CRESSIDA    Then she's a merry Greek indeed.

PANDARUS    Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other
    day into the compassed window,--and, you know, he
    has not past three or four hairs on his chin,--

CRESSIDA    Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring his
    particulars therein to a total.

PANDARUS    Why, he is very young: and yet will he, within
    three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector.

CRESSIDA    Is he so young a man and so old a lifter?

PANDARUS    But to prove to you that Helen loves him: she came
    and puts me her white hand to his cloven chin--

CRESSIDA    Juno have mercy! how came it cloven?

PANDARUS    Why, you know 'tis dimpled: I think his smiling
    becomes him better than any man in all Phrygia.

CRESSIDA    O, he smiles valiantly.

PANDARUS    Does he not?

CRESSIDA    O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.

PANDARUS    Why, go to, then: but to prove to you that Helen
    loves Troilus,--

CRESSIDA    Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll
    prove it so.

PANDARUS    Troilus! why, he esteems her no more than I esteem
    an addle egg.

CRESSIDA    If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle
    head, you would eat chickens i' the shell.

PANDARUS    I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she tickled
    his chin: indeed, she has a marvellous white hand, I
    must needs confess,--

CRESSIDA    Without the rack.

PANDARUS    And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin.

CRESSIDA    Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

PANDARUS    But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laughed
    that her eyes ran o'er.

CRESSIDA    With mill-stones.

PANDARUS    And Cassandra laughed.

CRESSIDA    But there was more temperate fire under the pot of
    her eyes: did her eyes run o'er too?

PANDARUS    And Hector laughed.

CRESSIDA    At what was all this laughing?

PANDARUS    Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.

CRESSIDA    An't had been a green hair, I should have laughed
    too.

PANDARUS    They laughed not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.

CRESSIDA    What was his answer?

PANDARUS    Quoth she, 'Here's but two and fifty hairs on your
    chin, and one of them is white.

CRESSIDA    This is her question.

PANDARUS    That's true; make no question of that. 'Two and
    fifty hairs' quoth he, 'and one white: that white
    hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons.'
    'Jupiter!' quoth she, 'which of these hairs is Paris,
    my husband? 'The forked one,' quoth he, 'pluck't
    out, and give it him.' But there was such laughing!
    and Helen so blushed, an Paris so chafed, and all the
    rest so laughed, that it passed.

CRESSIDA    So let it now; for it has been while going by.

PANDARUS    Well, cousin. I told you a thing yesterday; think on't.

CRESSIDA    So I do.

PANDARUS    I'll be sworn 'tis true; he will weep you, an 'twere
    a man born in April.

CRESSIDA    And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle
    against May.

    [A retreat sounded]

PANDARUS    Hark! they are coming from the field: shall we
    stand up here, and see them as they pass toward
    Ilium? good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.

CRESSIDA    At your pleasure.

PANDARUS    Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may
    see most bravely: I'll tell you them all by their
    names as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest.

CRESSIDA    Speak not so loud.

    [AENEAS passes]

PANDARUS    That's AEneas: is not that a brave man? he's one of
    the flowers of Troy, I can tell you: but mark
    Troilus; you shall see anon.

    [ANTENOR passes]

CRESSIDA    Who's that?

PANDARUS    That's Antenor: he has a shrewd wit, I can tell you;
    and he's a man good enough, he's one o' the soundest
    judgments in whosoever, and a proper man of person.
    When comes Troilus? I'll show you Troilus anon: if
    he see me, you shall see him nod at me.

CRESSIDA    Will he give you the nod?

PANDARUS    You shall see.

CRESSIDA    If he do, the rich shall have more.

    [HECTOR passes]

PANDARUS    That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; there's a
    fellow! Go thy way, Hector! There's a brave man,
    niece. O brave Hector! Look how he looks! there's
    a countenance! is't not a brave man?

CRESSIDA    O, a brave man!

PANDARUS    Is a' not? it does a man's heart good. Look you
    what hacks are on his helmet! look you yonder, do
    you see? look you there: there's no jesting;
    there's laying on, take't off who will, as they say:
    there be hacks!

CRESSIDA    Be those with swords?

PANDARUS    Swords! any thing, he cares not; an the devil come
    to him, it's all one: by God's lid, it does one's
    heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris.

    [PARIS passes]

    Look ye yonder, niece; is't not a gallant man too,
    is't not? Why, this is brave now. Who said he came
    hurt home to-day? he's not hurt: why, this will do
    Helen's heart good now, ha! Would I could see
    Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon.

    [HELENUS passes]

CRESSIDA    Who's that?

PANDARUS    That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That's
    Helenus. I think he went not forth to-day. That's Helenus.

CRESSIDA    Can Helenus fight, uncle?

PANDARUS    Helenus? no. Yes, he'll fight indifferent well. I
    marvel where Troilus is. Hark! do you not hear the
    people cry 'Troilus'? Helenus is a priest.

CRESSIDA    What sneaking fellow comes yonder?

    [TROILUS passes]

PANDARUS    Where? yonder? that's Deiphobus. 'Tis Troilus!
    there's a man, niece! Hem! Brave Troilus! the
    prince of chivalry!

CRESSIDA    Peace, for shame, peace!

PANDARUS    Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon
    him, niece: look you how his sword is bloodied, and
    his helm more hacked than Hector's, and how he looks,
    and how he goes! O admirable youth! he ne'er saw
    three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way!
    Had I a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess,
    he should take his choice. O admirable man! Paris?
    Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to
    change, would give an eye to boot.

CRESSIDA    Here come more.

    [Forces pass]

PANDARUS    Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran!
    porridge after meat! I could live and die i' the
    eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look: the eagles
    are gone: crows and daws, crows and daws! I had
    rather be such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon and
    all Greece.

CRESSIDA    There is among the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus.

PANDARUS    Achilles! a drayman, a porter, a very camel.

CRESSIDA    Well, well.

PANDARUS    'Well, well!' why, have you any discretion? have
    you any eyes? Do you know what a man is? Is not
    birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood,
    learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality,
    and such like, the spice and salt that season a man?

CRESSIDA    Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked with no date
    in the pie, for then the man's date's out.

PANDARUS    You are such a woman! one knows not at what ward you
    lie.

CRESSIDA    Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to
    defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to defend mine
    honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and you, to
    defend all these: and at all these wards I lie, at a
    thousand watches.

PANDARUS    Say one of your watches.

CRESSIDA    Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the
    chiefest of them too: if I cannot ward what I would
    not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took
    the blow; unless it swell past hiding, and then it's
    past watching.

PANDARUS    You are such another!

    [Enter Troilus's Boy]

Boy    Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.

PANDARUS    Where?

Boy    At your own house; there he unarms him.

PANDARUS    Good boy, tell him I come.

    [Exit boy]

    I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece.

CRESSIDA    Adieu, uncle.

PANDARUS    I'll be with you, niece, by and by.

CRESSIDA    To bring, uncle?

PANDARUS    Ay, a token from Troilus.

CRESSIDA    By the same token, you are a bawd.

    [Exit PANDARUS]

    Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice,
    He offers in another's enterprise;
    But more in Troilus thousand fold I see
    Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be;
    Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
    Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.
    That she beloved knows nought that knows not this:
    Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is:
    That she was never yet that ever knew
    Love got so sweet as when desire did sue.
    Therefore this maxim out of love I teach:
    Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech:
    Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
    Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT I



SCENE III    The Grecian camp. Before Agamemnon's tent.


    [Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES,
    MENELAUS, and others]

AGAMEMNON    Princes,
    What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
    The ample proposition that hope makes
    In all designs begun on earth below
    Fails in the promised largeness: cheques and disasters
    Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd,
    As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
    Infect the sound pine and divert his grain
    Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
    Nor, princes, is it matter new to us
    That we come short of our suppose so far
    That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand;
    Sith every action that hath gone before,
    Whereof we have record, trial did draw
    Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
    And that unbodied figure of the thought
    That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
    Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works,
    And call them shames? which are indeed nought else
    But the protractive trials of great Jove
    To find persistive constancy in men:
    The fineness of which metal is not found
    In fortune's love; for then the bold and coward,
    The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
    The hard and soft seem all affined and kin:
    But, in the wind and tempest of her frown,
    Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
    Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
    And what hath mass or matter, by itself
    Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.

NESTOR    With due observance of thy godlike seat,
    Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
    Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
    Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth,
    How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
    Upon her patient breast, making their way
    With those of nobler bulk!
    But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
    The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
    The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut,
    Bounding between the two moist elements,
    Like Perseus' horse: where's then the saucy boat
    Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
    Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled,
    Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
    Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide
    In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
    The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze
    Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
    Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
    And flies fled under shade, why, then the thing of courage
    As roused with rage with rage doth sympathize,
    And with an accent tuned in selfsame key
    Retorts to chiding fortune.

ULYSSES    Agamemnon,
    Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
    Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit.
    In whom the tempers and the minds of all
    Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks.
    Besides the applause and approbation To which,

    [To AGAMEMNON]

    most mighty for thy place and sway,

    [To NESTOR]

    And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life
    I give to both your speeches, which were such
    As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
    Should hold up high in brass, and such again
    As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver,
    Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree
    On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears
    To his experienced tongue, yet let it please both,
    Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak.

AGAMEMNON    Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect
    That matter needless, of importless burden,
    Divide thy lips, than we are confident,
    When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws,
    We shall hear music, wit and oracle.

ULYSSES    Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down,
    And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
    But for these instances.
    The specialty of rule hath been neglected:
    And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand
    Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.
    When that the general is not like the hive
    To whom the foragers shall all repair,
    What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded,
    The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
    The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre
    Observe degree, priority and place,
    Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
    Office and custom, in all line of order;
    And therefore is the glorious planet Sol
    In noble eminence enthroned and sphered
    Amidst the other; whose medicinable eye
    Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
    And posts, like the commandment of a king,
    Sans cheque to good and bad: but when the planets
    In evil mixture to disorder wander,
    What plagues and what portents! what mutiny!
    What raging of the sea! shaking of earth!
    Commotion in the winds! frights, changes, horrors,
    Divert and crack, rend and deracinate
    The unity and married calm of states
    Quite from their fixure! O, when degree is shaked,
    Which is the ladder to all high designs,
    Then enterprise is sick! How could communities,
    Degrees in schools and brotherhoods in cities,
    Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,
    The primogenitive and due of birth,
    Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels,
    But by degree, stand in authentic place?
    Take but degree away, untune that string,
    And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets
    In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters
    Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores
    And make a sop of all this solid globe:
    Strength should be lord of imbecility,
    And the rude son should strike his father dead:
    Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong,
    Between whose endless jar justice resides,
    Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
    Then every thing includes itself in power,
    Power into will, will into appetite;
    And appetite, an universal wolf,
    So doubly seconded with will and power,
    Must make perforce an universal prey,
    And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
    This chaos, when degree is suffocate,
    Follows the choking.
    And this neglection of degree it is
    That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
    It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd
    By him one step below, he by the next,
    That next by him beneath; so every step,
    Exampled by the first pace that is sick
    Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
    Of pale and bloodless emulation:
    And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
    Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
    Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.

NESTOR    Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
    The fever whereof all our power is sick.

AGAMEMNON    The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
    What is the remedy?

ULYSSES    The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
    The sinew and the forehand of our host,
    Having his ear full of his airy fame,
    Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
    Lies mocking our designs: with him Patroclus
    Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
    Breaks scurril jests;
    And with ridiculous and awkward action,
    Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,
    He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
    Thy topless deputation he puts on,
    And, like a strutting player, whose conceit
    Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
    To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
    'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage,--
    Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming
    He acts thy greatness in: and when he speaks,
    'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquared,
    Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd
    Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
    The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
    From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
    Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just.
    Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
    As he being drest to some oration.'
    That's done, as near as the extremest ends
    Of parallels, as like as Vulcan and his wife:
    Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent!
    'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,
    Arming to answer in a night alarm.'
    And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
    Must be the scene of mirth; to cough and spit,
    And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
    Shake in and out the rivet: and at this sport
    Sir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus;
    Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
    In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion,
    All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
    Severals and generals of grace exact,
    Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
    Excitements to the field, or speech for truce,
    Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
    As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.

NESTOR    And in the imitation of these twain--
    Who, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
    With an imperial voice--many are infect.
    Ajax is grown self-will'd, and bears his head
    In such a rein, in full as proud a place
    As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
    Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war,
    Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
    A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,
    To match us in comparisons with dirt,
    To weaken and discredit our exposure,
    How rank soever rounded in with danger.

ULYSSES    They tax our policy, and call it cowardice,
    Count wisdom as no member of the war,
    Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
    But that of hand: the still and mental parts,
    That do contrive how many hands shall strike,
    When fitness calls them on, and know by measure
    Of their observant toil the enemies' weight,--
    Why, this hath not a finger's dignity:
    They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war;
    So that the ram that batters down the wall,
    For the great swing and rudeness of his poise,
    They place before his hand that made the engine,
    Or those that with the fineness of their souls
    By reason guide his execution.

NESTOR    Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
    Makes many Thetis' sons.

    [A tucket]

AGAMEMNON    What trumpet? look, Menelaus.

MENELAUS    From Troy.

    [Enter AENEAS]

AGAMEMNON    What would you 'fore our tent?

AENEAS    Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you?

AGAMEMNON    Even this.

AENEAS    May one, that is a herald and a prince,
    Do a fair message to his kingly ears?

AGAMEMNON    With surety stronger than Achilles' arm
    'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
    Call Agamemnon head and general.

AENEAS    Fair leave and large security. How may
    A stranger to those most imperial looks
    Know them from eyes of other mortals?

AGAMEMNON    How!

AENEAS    Ay;
    I ask, that I might waken reverence,
    And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
    Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
    The youthful Phoebus:
    Which is that god in office, guiding men?
    Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon?

AGAMEMNON    This Trojan scorns us; or the men of Troy
    Are ceremonious courtiers.

AENEAS    Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
    As bending angels; that's their fame in peace:
    But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls,
    Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and,
    Jove's accord,
    Nothing so full of heart. But peace, AEneas,
    Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips!
    The worthiness of praise distains his worth,
    If that the praised himself bring the praise forth:
    But what the repining enemy commends,
    That breath fame blows; that praise, sole sure,
    transcends.

AGAMEMNON    Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself AEneas?

AENEAS    Ay, Greek, that is my name.

AGAMEMNON    What's your affair I pray you?

AENEAS    Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.

AGAMEMNON    He hears naught privately that comes from Troy.

AENEAS    Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him:
    I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
    To set his sense on the attentive bent,
    And then to speak.

AGAMEMNON                      Speak frankly as the wind;
    It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour:
    That thou shalt know. Trojan, he is awake,
    He tells thee so himself.

AENEAS    Trumpet, blow loud,
    Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents;
    And every Greek of mettle, let him know,
    What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.

    [Trumpet sounds]

    We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy
    A prince call'd Hector,--Priam is his father,--
    Who in this dull and long-continued truce
    Is rusty grown: he bade me take a trumpet,
    And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords!
    If there be one among the fair'st of Greece
    That holds his honour higher than his ease,
    That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril,
    That knows his valour, and knows not his fear,
    That loves his mistress more than in confession,
    With truant vows to her own lips he loves,
    And dare avow her beauty and her worth
    In other arms than hers,--to him this challenge.
    Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
    Shall make it good, or do his best to do it,
    He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer,
    Than ever Greek did compass in his arms,
    And will to-morrow with his trumpet call
    Midway between your tents and walls of Troy,
    To rouse a Grecian that is true in love:
    If any come, Hector shall honour him;
    If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires,
    The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth
    The splinter of a lance. Even so much.

AGAMEMNON    This shall be told our lovers, Lord AEneas;
    If none of them have soul in such a kind,
    We left them all at home: but we are soldiers;
    And may that soldier a mere recreant prove,
    That means not, hath not, or is not in love!
    If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
    That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.

NESTOR    Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
    When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now;
    But if there be not in our Grecian host
    One noble man that hath one spark of fire,
    To answer for his love, tell him from me
    I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver
    And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn,
    And meeting him will tell him that my lady
    Was fairer than his grandam and as chaste
    As may be in the world: his youth in flood,
    I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.

AENEAS    Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth!

ULYSSES    Amen.

AGAMEMNON    Fair Lord AEneas, let me touch your hand;
    To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.
    Achilles shall have word of this intent;
    So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent:
    Yourself shall feast with us before you go
    And find the welcome of a noble foe.

    [Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR]

ULYSSES    Nestor!

NESTOR    What says Ulysses?

ULYSSES    I have a young conception in my brain;
    Be you my time to bring it to some shape.

NESTOR    What is't?

ULYSSES    This 'tis:
    Blunt wedges rive hard knots: the seeded pride
    That hath to this maturity blown up
    In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd,
    Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil,
    To overbulk us all.

NESTOR    Well, and how?

ULYSSES    This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
    However it is spread in general name,
    Relates in purpose only to Achilles.

NESTOR    The purpose is perspicuous even as substance,
    Whose grossness little characters sum up:
    And, in the publication, make no strain,
    But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
    As banks of Libya,--though, Apollo knows,
    'Tis dry enough,--will, with great speed of judgment,
    Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
    Pointing on him.

ULYSSES    And wake him to the answer, think you?

NESTOR    Yes, 'tis most meet: whom may you else oppose,
    That can from Hector bring his honour off,
    If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat,
    Yet in the trial much opinion dwells;
    For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
    With their finest palate: and trust to me, Ulysses,
    Our imputation shall be oddly poised
    In this wild action; for the success,
    Although particular, shall give a scantling
    Of good or bad unto the general;
    And in such indexes, although small pricks
    To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
    The baby figure of the giant mass
    Of things to come at large. It is supposed
    He that meets Hector issues from our choice
    And choice, being mutual act of all our souls,
    Makes merit her election, and doth boil,
    As 'twere from us all, a man distill'd
    Out of our virtues; who miscarrying,
    What heart receives from hence the conquering part,
    To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
    Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
    In no less working than are swords and bows
    Directive by the limbs.

ULYSSES    Give pardon to my speech:
    Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector.
    Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares,
    And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not,
    The lustre of the better yet to show,
    Shall show the better. Do not consent
    That ever Hector and Achilles meet;
    For both our honour and our shame in this
    Are dogg'd with two strange followers.

NESTOR    I see them not with my old eyes: what are they?

ULYSSES    What glory our Achilles shares from Hector,
    Were he not proud, we all should share with him:
    But he already is too insolent;
    And we were better parch in Afric sun
    Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
    Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd,
    Why then, we did our main opinion crush
    In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
    And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
    The sort to fight with Hector: among ourselves
    Give him allowance for the better man;
    For that will physic the great Myrmidon
    Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall
    His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends.
    If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off,
    We'll dress him up in voices: if he fail,
    Yet go we under our opinion still
    That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
    Our project's life this shape of sense assumes:
    Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes.

NESTOR    Ulysses,
    Now I begin to relish thy advice;
    And I will give a taste of it forthwith
    To Agamemnon: go we to him straight.
    Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone
    Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT II



SCENE I    A part of the Grecian camp.


    [Enter AJAX and THERSITES]

AJAX    Thersites!

THERSITES    Agamemnon, how if he had boils? full, all over,
    generally?

AJAX    Thersites!

THERSITES    And those boils did run? say so: did not the
    general run then? were not that a botchy core?

AJAX    Dog!

THERSITES    Then would come some matter from him; I see none now.

AJAX    Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear?

    [Beating him]

    Feel, then.

THERSITES    The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel
    beef-witted lord!

AJAX    Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, speak: I will
    beat thee into handsomeness.

THERSITES    I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness: but,
    I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration than
    thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike,
    canst thou? a red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!

AJAX    Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.

THERSITES    Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus?

AJAX    The proclamation!

THERSITES    Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.

AJAX    Do not, porpentine, do not: my fingers itch.

THERSITES    I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had
    the scratching of thee; I would make thee the
    loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in
    the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another.

AJAX    I say, the proclamation!

THERSITES    Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles,
    and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as
    Cerberus is at Proserpine's beauty, ay, that thou
    barkest at him.

AJAX    Mistress Thersites!

THERSITES    Thou shouldest strike him.

AJAX    Cobloaf!

THERSITES    He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a
    sailor breaks a biscuit.

AJAX    [Beating him]  You whoreson cur!

THERSITES    Do, do.

AJAX    Thou stool for a witch!

THERSITES    Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! thou hast no
    more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego
    may tutor thee: thou scurvy-valiant ass! thou art
    here but to thrash Trojans; and thou art bought and
    sold among those of any wit, like a barbarian slave.
    If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, and
    tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of no
    bowels, thou!

AJAX    You dog!

THERSITES    You scurvy lord!

AJAX    [Beating him]  You cur!

THERSITES    Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.

    [Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

ACHILLES    Why, how now, Ajax! wherefore do you thus? How now,
    Thersites! what's the matter, man?

THERSITES    You see him there, do you?

ACHILLES    Ay; what's the matter?

THERSITES    Nay, look upon him.

ACHILLES    So I do: what's the matter?

THERSITES    Nay, but regard him well.

ACHILLES    'Well!' why, I do so.

THERSITES    But yet you look not well upon him; for whosoever you
    take him to be, he is Ajax.

ACHILLES    I know that, fool.

THERSITES    Ay, but that fool knows not himself.

AJAX    Therefore I beat thee.

THERSITES    Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! his
    evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed his
    brain more than he has beat my bones: I will buy
    nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia mater is not
    worth the nineth part of a sparrow. This lord,
    Achilles, Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly and
    his guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of
    him.

ACHILLES    What?

THERSITES    I say, this Ajax--

    [Ajax offers to beat him]

ACHILLES    Nay, good Ajax.

THERSITES    Has not so much wit--

ACHILLES    Nay, I must hold you.

THERSITES    As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he
    comes to fight.

ACHILLES    Peace, fool!

THERSITES    I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will
    not: he there: that he: look you there.

AJAX    O thou damned cur! I shall--

ACHILLES    Will you set your wit to a fool's?

THERSITES    No, I warrant you; for a fools will shame it.

PATROCLUS    Good words, Thersites.

ACHILLES    What's the quarrel?

AJAX    I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenor of the
    proclamation, and he rails upon me.

THERSITES    I serve thee not.

AJAX    Well, go to, go to.

THERSITES    I serve here voluntarily.

ACHILLES    Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not
    voluntary: no man is beaten voluntary: Ajax was
    here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.

THERSITES    E'en so; a great deal of your wit, too, lies in your
    sinews, or else there be liars. Hector have a great
    catch, if he knock out either of your brains: a'
    were as good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.

ACHILLES    What, with me too, Thersites?

THERSITES    There's Ulysses and old Nestor, whose wit was mouldy
    ere your grandsires had nails on their toes, yoke you
    like draught-oxen and make you plough up the wars.

ACHILLES    What, what?

THERSITES    Yes, good sooth: to, Achilles! to, Ajax! to!

AJAX    I shall cut out your tongue.

THERSITES    'Tis no matter! I shall speak as much as thou
    afterwards.

PATROCLUS    No more words, Thersites; peace!

THERSITES    I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I?

ACHILLES    There's for you, Patroclus.

THERSITES    I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere I come
    any more to your tents: I will keep where there is
    wit stirring and leave the faction of fools.

    [Exit]

PATROCLUS    A good riddance.

ACHILLES    Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host:
    That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun,
    Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy
    To-morrow morning call some knight to arms
    That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare
    Maintain--I know not what: 'tis trash. Farewell.

AJAX    Farewell. Who shall answer him?

ACHILLES    I know not: 'tis put to lottery; otherwise
    He knew his man.

AJAX    O, meaning you. I will go learn more of it.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT II



SCENE II    Troy. A room in Priam's palace.


    [Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS]

PRIAM    After so many hours, lives, speeches spent,
    Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks:
    'Deliver Helen, and all damage else--
    As honour, loss of time, travail, expense,
    Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed
    In hot digestion of this cormorant war--
    Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't?

HECTOR    Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I
    As far as toucheth my particular,
    Yet, dread Priam,
    There is no lady of more softer bowels,
    More spongy to suck in the sense of fear,
    More ready to cry out 'Who knows what follows?'
    Than Hector is: the wound of peace is surety,
    Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd
    The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches
    To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go:
    Since the first sword was drawn about this question,
    Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes,
    Hath been as dear as Helen; I mean, of ours:
    If we have lost so many tenths of ours,
    To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us,
    Had it our name, the value of one ten,
    What merit's in that reason which denies
    The yielding of her up?

TROILUS    Fie, fie, my brother!
    Weigh you the worth and honour of a king
    So great as our dread father in a scale
    Of common ounces? will you with counters sum
    The past proportion of his infinite?
    And buckle in a waist most fathomless
    With spans and inches so diminutive
    As fears and reasons? fie, for godly shame!

HELENUS    No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons,
    You are so empty of them. Should not our father
    Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons,
    Because your speech hath none that tells him so?

TROILUS    You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest;
    You fur your gloves with reason. Here are
    your reasons:
    You know an enemy intends you harm;
    You know a sword employ'd is perilous,
    And reason flies the object of all harm:
    Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
    A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
    The very wings of reason to his heels
    And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
    Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason,
    Let's shut our gates and sleep: manhood and honour
    Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat
    their thoughts
    With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect
    Make livers pale and lustihood deject.

HECTOR    Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
    The holding.

TROILUS                      What is aught, but as 'tis valued?

HECTOR    But value dwells not in particular will;
    It holds his estimate and dignity
    As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
    As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry
    To make the service greater than the god
    And the will dotes that is attributive
    To what infectiously itself affects,
    Without some image of the affected merit.

TROILUS    I take to-day a wife, and my election
    Is led on in the conduct of my will;
    My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
    Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
    Of will and judgment: how may I avoid,
    Although my will distaste what it elected,
    The wife I chose? there can be no evasion
    To blench from this and to stand firm by honour:
    We turn not back the silks upon the merchant,
    When we have soil'd them, nor the remainder viands
    We do not throw in unrespective sieve,
    Because we now are full. It was thought meet
    Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks:
    Your breath of full consent bellied his sails;
    The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce
    And did him service: he touch'd the ports desired,
    And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive,
    He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
    Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.
    Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt:
    Is she worth keeping? why, she is a pearl,
    Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
    And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
    If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went--
    As you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go,'--
    If you'll confess he brought home noble prize--
    As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands
    And cried 'Inestimable!'--why do you now
    The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
    And do a deed that fortune never did,
    Beggar the estimation which you prized
    Richer than sea and land? O, theft most base,
    That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep!
    But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n,
    That in their country did them that disgrace,
    We fear to warrant in our native place!

CASSANDRA    [Within]  Cry, Trojans, cry!

PRIAM    What noise? what shriek is this?

TROILUS    'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.

CASSANDRA    [Within]  Cry, Trojans!

HECTOR    It is Cassandra.

    [Enter CASSANDRA, raving]

CASSANDRA    Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes,
    And I will fill them with prophetic tears.

HECTOR    Peace, sister, peace!

CASSANDRA    Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,
    Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
    Add to my clamours! let us pay betimes
    A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
    Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears!
    Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
    Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
    Cry, Trojans, cry! a Helen and a woe:
    Cry, cry! Troy burns, or else let Helen go.

    [Exit]

HECTOR    Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high strains
    Of divination in our sister work
    Some touches of remorse? or is your blood
    So madly hot that no discourse of reason,
    Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
    Can qualify the same?

TROILUS    Why, brother Hector,
    We may not think the justness of each act
    Such and no other than event doth form it,
    Nor once deject the courage of our minds,
    Because Cassandra's mad: her brain-sick raptures
    Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel
    Which hath our several honours all engaged
    To make it gracious. For my private part,
    I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons:
    And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us
    Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
    To fight for and maintain!

PARIS    Else might the world convince of levity
    As well my undertakings as your counsels:
    But I attest the gods, your full consent
    Gave wings to my propension and cut off
    All fears attending on so dire a project.
    For what, alas, can these my single arms?
    What Propugnation is in one man's valour,
    To stand the push and enmity of those
    This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest,
    Were I alone to pass the difficulties
    And had as ample power as I have will,
    Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done,
    Nor faint in the pursuit.

PRIAM    Paris, you speak
    Like one besotted on your sweet delights:
    You have the honey still, but these the gall;
    So to be valiant is no praise at all.

PARIS    Sir, I propose not merely to myself
    The pleasures such a beauty brings with it;
    But I would have the soil of her fair rape
    Wiped off, in honourable keeping her.
    What treason were it to the ransack'd queen,
    Disgrace to your great worths and shame to me,
    Now to deliver her possession up
    On terms of base compulsion! Can it be
    That so degenerate a strain as this
    Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
    There's not the meanest spirit on our party
    Without a heart to dare or sword to draw
    When Helen is defended, nor none so noble
    Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfamed
    Where Helen is the subject; then, I say,
    Well may we fight for her whom, we know well,
    The world's large spaces cannot parallel.

HECTOR    Paris and Troilus, you have both said well,
    And on the cause and question now in hand
    Have glozed, but superficially: not much
    Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought
    Unfit to hear moral philosophy:
    The reasons you allege do more conduce
    To the hot passion of distemper'd blood
    Than to make up a free determination
    'Twixt right and wrong, for pleasure and revenge
    Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice
    Of any true decision. Nature craves
    All dues be render'd to their owners: now,
    What nearer debt in all humanity
    Than wife is to the husband? If this law
    Of nature be corrupted through affection,
    And that great minds, of partial indulgence
    To their benumbed wills, resist the same,
    There is a law in each well-order'd nation
    To curb those raging appetites that are
    Most disobedient and refractory.
    If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,
    As it is known she is, these moral laws
    Of nature and of nations speak aloud
    To have her back return'd: thus to persist
    In doing wrong extenuates not wrong,
    But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
    Is this in way of truth; yet ne'ertheless,
    My spritely brethren, I propend to you
    In resolution to keep Helen still,
    For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance
    Upon our joint and several dignities.

TROILUS    Why, there you touch'd the life of our design:
    Were it not glory that we more affected
    Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
    I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
    Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
    She is a theme of honour and renown,
    A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
    Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
    And fame in time to come canonize us;
    For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
    So rich advantage of a promised glory
    As smiles upon the forehead of this action
    For the wide world's revenue.

HECTOR    I am yours,
    You valiant offspring of great Priamus.
    I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
    The dun and factious nobles of the Greeks
    Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits:
    I was advertised their great general slept,
    Whilst emulation in the army crept:
    This, I presume, will wake him.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT II



SCENE III    The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent.


    [Enter THERSITES, solus]

THERSITES    How now, Thersites! what lost in the labyrinth of
    thy fury! Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus? He
    beats me, and I rail at him: O, worthy satisfaction!
    would it were otherwise; that I could beat him,
    whilst he railed at me. 'Sfoot, I'll learn to
    conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of
    my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, a
    rare enginer! If Troy be not taken till these two
    undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall of
    themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,
    forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods and,
    Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy
    caduceus, if ye take not that little, little less
    than little wit from them that they have! which
    short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant
    scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly
    from a spider, without drawing their massy irons and
    cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on the
    whole camp! or rather, the bone-ache! for that,
    methinks, is the curse dependent on those that war
    for a placket. I have said my prayers and devil Envy
    say Amen. What ho! my Lord Achilles!

    [Enter PATROCLUS]

PATROCLUS    Who's there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.

THERSITES    If I could have remembered a gilt counterfeit, thou
    wouldst not have slipped out of my contemplation: but
    it is no matter; thyself upon thyself! The common
    curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in
    great revenue! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and
    discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy
    direction till thy death! then if she that lays thee
    out says thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and
    sworn upon't she never shrouded any but lazars.
    Amen. Where's Achilles?

PATROCLUS    What, art thou devout? wast thou in prayer?

THERSITES    Ay: the heavens hear me!

    [Enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES    Who's there?

PATROCLUS    Thersites, my lord.

ACHILLES    Where, where? Art thou come? why, my cheese, my
    digestion, why hast thou not served thyself in to
    my table so many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?

THERSITES    Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus,
    what's Achilles?

PATROCLUS    Thy lord, Thersites: then tell me, I pray thee,
    what's thyself?

THERSITES    Thy knower, Patroclus: then tell me, Patroclus,
    what art thou?

PATROCLUS    Thou mayst tell that knowest.

ACHILLES    O, tell, tell.

THERSITES    I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands
    Achilles; Achilles is my lord; I am Patroclus'
    knower, and Patroclus is a fool.

PATROCLUS    You rascal!

THERSITES    Peace, fool! I have not done.

ACHILLES    He is a privileged man. Proceed, Thersites.

THERSITES    Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites
    is a fool, and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.

ACHILLES    Derive this; come.

THERSITES    Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles;
    Achilles is a fool to be commanded of Agamemnon;
    Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool, and
    Patroclus is a fool positive.

PATROCLUS    Why am I a fool?

THERSITES    Make that demand of the prover. It suffices me thou
    art. Look you, who comes here?

ACHILLES    Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody.
    Come in with me, Thersites.

    [Exit]

THERSITES    Here is such patchery, such juggling and such
    knavery! all the argument is a cuckold and a
    whore; a good quarrel to draw emulous factions
    and bleed to death upon. Now, the dry serpigo on
    the subject! and war and lechery confound all!

    [Exit]

    [Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, and AJAX]

AGAMEMNON    Where is Achilles?

PATROCLUS    Within his tent; but ill disposed, my lord.

AGAMEMNON    Let it be known to him that we are here.
    He shent our messengers; and we lay by
    Our appertainments, visiting of him:
    Let him be told so; lest perchance he think
    We dare not move the question of our place,
    Or know not what we are.

PATROCLUS    I shall say so to him.

    [Exit]

ULYSSES    We saw him at the opening of his tent:
    He is not sick.

AJAX    Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you may call it
    melancholy, if you will favour the man; but, by my
    head, 'tis pride: but why, why? let him show us the
    cause. A word, my lord.

    [Takes AGAMEMNON aside]

NESTOR    What moves Ajax thus to bay at him?

ULYSSES    Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.

NESTOR    Who, Thersites?

ULYSSES    He.

NESTOR    Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument.

ULYSSES    No, you see, he is his argument that has his
    argument, Achilles.

NESTOR    All the better; their fraction is more our wish than
    their faction: but it was a strong composure a fool
    could disunite.

ULYSSES    The amity that wisdom knits not, folly may easily
    untie. Here comes Patroclus.

    [Re-enter PATROCLUS]

NESTOR    No Achilles with him.

ULYSSES    The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy:
    his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure.

PATROCLUS    Achilles bids me say, he is much sorry,
    If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
    Did move your greatness and this noble state
    To call upon him; he hopes it is no other
    But for your health and your digestion sake,
    And after-dinner's breath.

AGAMEMNON    Hear you, Patroclus:
    We are too well acquainted with these answers:
    But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn,
    Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
    Much attribute he hath, and much the reason
    Why we ascribe it to him; yet all his virtues,
    Not virtuously on his own part beheld,
    Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss,
    Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish,
    Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,
    We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin,
    If you do say we think him over-proud
    And under-honest, in self-assumption greater
    Than in the note of judgment; and worthier
    than himself
    Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on,
    Disguise the holy strength of their command,
    And underwrite in an observing kind
    His humorous predominance; yea, watch
    His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if
    The passage and whole carriage of this action
    Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add,
    That if he overhold his price so much,
    We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
    Not portable, lie under this report:
    'Bring action hither, this cannot go to war:
    A stirring dwarf we do allowance give
    Before a sleeping giant.' Tell him so.

PATROCLUS    I shall; and bring his answer presently.

    [Exit]

AGAMEMNON    In second voice we'll not be satisfied;
    We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you.

    [Exit ULYSSES]

AJAX    What is he more than another?

AGAMEMNON    No more than what he thinks he is.

AJAX    Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a
    better man than I am?

AGAMEMNON    No question.

AJAX    Will you subscribe his thought, and say he is?

AGAMEMNON    No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as
    wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and altogether
    more tractable.

AJAX    Why should a man be proud? How doth pride grow? I
    know not what pride is.

AGAMEMNON    Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the
    fairer. He that is proud eats up himself: pride is
    his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle;
    and whatever praises itself but in the deed, devours
    the deed in the praise.

AJAX    I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendering of toads.

NESTOR    Yet he loves himself: is't not strange?

    [Aside]

    [Re-enter ULYSSES]

ULYSSES    Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.

AGAMEMNON    What's his excuse?

ULYSSES                      He doth rely on none,
    But carries on the stream of his dispose
    Without observance or respect of any,
    In will peculiar and in self-admission.

AGAMEMNON    Why will he not upon our fair request
    Untent his person and share the air with us?

ULYSSES    Things small as nothing, for request's sake only,
    He makes important: possess'd he is with greatness,
    And speaks not to himself but with a pride
    That quarrels at self-breath: imagined worth
    Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse
    That 'twixt his mental and his active parts
    Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages
    And batters down himself: what should I say?
    He is so plaguy proud that the death-tokens of it
    Cry 'No recovery.'

AGAMEMNON                      Let Ajax go to him.
    Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent:
    'Tis said he holds you well, and will be led
    At your request a little from himself.

ULYSSES    O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
    We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
    When they go from Achilles: shall the proud lord
    That bastes his arrogance with his own seam
    And never suffers matter of the world
    Enter his thoughts, save such as do revolve
    And ruminate himself, shall he be worshipp'd
    Of that we hold an idol more than he?
    No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord
    Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquired;
    Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
    As amply titled as Achilles is,
    By going to Achilles:
    That were to enlard his fat already pride
    And add more coals to Cancer when he burns
    With entertaining great Hyperion.
    This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,
    And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.'

NESTOR    [Aside to DIOMEDES]  O, this is well; he rubs the
    vein of him.

DIOMEDES    [Aside to NESTOR]  And how his silence drinks up
    this applause!

AJAX    If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll pash him o'er the face.

AGAMEMNON    O, no, you shall not go.

AJAX    An a' be proud with me, I'll pheeze his pride:
    Let me go to him.

ULYSSES    Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.

AJAX    A paltry, insolent fellow!

NESTOR    How he describes himself!

AJAX    Can he not be sociable?

ULYSSES    The raven chides blackness.

AJAX    I'll let his humours blood.

AGAMEMNON    He will be the physician that should be the patient.

AJAX    An all men were o' my mind,--

ULYSSES    Wit would be out of fashion.

AJAX    A' should not bear it so, a' should eat swords first:
    shall pride carry it?

NESTOR    An 'twould, you'ld carry half.

ULYSSES    A' would have ten shares.

AJAX    I will knead him; I'll make him supple.

NESTOR    He's not yet through warm: force him with praises:
    pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry.

ULYSSES    [To AGAMEMNON]  My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.

NESTOR    Our noble general, do not do so.

DIOMEDES    You must prepare to fight without Achilles.

ULYSSES    Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
    Here is a man--but 'tis before his face;
    I will be silent.

NESTOR                      Wherefore should you so?
    He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

ULYSSES    Know the whole world, he is as valiant.

AJAX    A whoreson dog, that shall pelter thus with us!
    Would he were a Trojan!

NESTOR    What a vice were it in Ajax now,--

ULYSSES    If he were proud,--

DIOMEDES    Or covetous of praise,--

ULYSSES    Ay, or surly borne,--

DIOMEDES    Or strange, or self-affected!

ULYSSES    Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure;
    Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck:
    Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
    Thrice famed, beyond all erudition:
    But he that disciplined thy arms to fight,
    Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
    And give him half: and, for thy vigour,
    Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield
    To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
    Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines
    Thy spacious and dilated parts: here's Nestor;
    Instructed by the antiquary times,
    He must, he is, he cannot but be wise:
    Put pardon, father Nestor, were your days
    As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd,
    You should not have the eminence of him,
    But be as Ajax.

AJAX                      Shall I call you father?

NESTOR    Ay, my good son.

DIOMEDES                      Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax.

ULYSSES    There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles
    Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
    To call together all his state of war;
    Fresh kings are come to Troy: to-morrow
    We must with all our main of power stand fast:
    And here's a lord,--come knights from east to west,
    And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.

AGAMEMNON    Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep:
    Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT III



SCENE I    Troy. Priam's palace.


    [Enter a Servant and PANDARUS]

PANDARUS    Friend, you! pray you, a word: do not you follow
    the young Lord Paris?

Servant    Ay, sir, when he goes before me.

PANDARUS    You depend upon him, I mean?

Servant    Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

PANDARUS    You depend upon a noble gentleman; I must needs
    praise him.

Servant    The lord be praised!

PANDARUS    You know me, do you not?

Servant    Faith, sir, superficially.

PANDARUS    Friend, know me better; I am the Lord Pandarus.

Servant    I hope I shall know your honour better.

PANDARUS    I do desire it.

Servant    You are in the state of grace.

PANDARUS    Grace! not so, friend: honour and lordship are my titles.

    [Music within]

    What music is this?

Servant    I do but partly know, sir: it is music in parts.

PANDARUS    Know you the musicians?

Servant    Wholly, sir.

PANDARUS    Who play they to?

Servant    To the hearers, sir.

PANDARUS    At whose pleasure, friend

Servant    At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.

PANDARUS    Command, I mean, friend.

Servant    Who shall I command, sir?

PANDARUS    Friend, we understand not one another: I am too
    courtly and thou art too cunning. At whose request
    do these men play?

Servant    That's to 't indeed, sir: marry, sir, at the request
    of Paris my lord, who's there in person; with him,
    the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, love's
    invisible soul,--

PANDARUS    Who, my cousin Cressida?

Servant    No, sir, Helen: could you not find out that by her
    attributes?

PANDARUS    It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the
    Lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris from the
    Prince Troilus: I will make a complimental assault
    upon him, for my business seethes.

Servant    Sodden business! there's a stewed phrase indeed!

    [Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended]

PANDARUS    Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair
    company! fair desires, in all fair measure,
    fairly guide them! especially to you, fair queen!
    fair thoughts be your fair pillow!

HELEN    Dear lord, you are full of fair words.

PANDARUS    You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair
    prince, here is good broken music.

PARIS    You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you
    shall make it whole again; you shall piece it out
    with a piece of your performance. Nell, he is full
    of harmony.

PANDARUS    Truly, lady, no.

HELEN    O, sir,--

PANDARUS    Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.

PARIS    Well said, my lord! well, you say so in fits.

PANDARUS    I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord,
    will you vouchsafe me a word?

HELEN    Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll hear you
    sing, certainly.

PANDARUS    Well, sweet queen. you are pleasant with me. But,
    marry, thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed
    friend, your brother Troilus,--

HELEN    My Lord Pandarus; honey-sweet lord,--

PANDARUS    Go to, sweet queen, to go:--commends himself most
    affectionately to you,--

HELEN    You shall not bob us out of our melody: if you do,
    our melancholy upon your head!

PANDARUS    Sweet queen, sweet queen! that's a sweet queen, i' faith.

HELEN    And to make a sweet lady sad is a sour offence.

PANDARUS    Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall not,
    in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such words; no,
    no. And, my lord, he desires you, that if the king
    call for him at supper, you will make his excuse.

HELEN    My Lord Pandarus,--

PANDARUS    What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen?

PARIS    What exploit's in hand? where sups he to-night?

HELEN    Nay, but, my lord,--

PANDARUS    What says my sweet queen? My cousin will fall out
    with you. You must not know where he sups.

PARIS    I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.

PANDARUS    No, no, no such matter; you are wide: come, your
    disposer is sick.

PARIS    Well, I'll make excuse.

PANDARUS    Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida? no,
    your poor disposer's sick.

PARIS    I spy.

PANDARUS    You spy! what do you spy? Come, give me an
    instrument. Now, sweet queen.

HELEN    Why, this is kindly done.

PANDARUS    My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have,
    sweet queen.

HELEN    She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my lord Paris.

PANDARUS    He! no, she'll none of him; they two are twain.

HELEN    Falling in, after falling out, may make them three.

PANDARUS    Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing
    you a song now.

HELEN    Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou
    hast a fine forehead.

PANDARUS    Ay, you may, you may.

HELEN    Let thy song be love: this love will undo us all.
    O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!

PANDARUS    Love! ay, that it shall, i' faith.

PARIS    Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.

PANDARUS    In good troth, it begins so.

    [Sings]

    Love, love, nothing but love, still more!
    For, O, love's bow
    Shoots buck and doe:
    The shaft confounds,
    Not that it wounds,
    But tickles still the sore.
    These lovers cry Oh! oh! they die!
    Yet that which seems the wound to kill,
    Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he!
    So dying love lives still:
    Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha!
    Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha!
    Heigh-ho!

HELEN    In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose.

PARIS    He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot
    blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot
    thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love.

PANDARUS    Is this the generation of love? hot blood, hot
    thoughts, and hot deeds? Why, they are vipers:
    is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's
    a-field to-day?

PARIS    Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the
    gallantry of Troy: I  would fain have armed to-day,
    but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my
    brother Troilus went not?

HELEN    He hangs the lip at something: you know all, Lord Pandarus.

PANDARUS    Not I, honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they
    sped to-day. You'll remember your brother's excuse?

PARIS    To a hair.

PANDARUS    Farewell, sweet queen.

HELEN    Commend me to your niece.

PANDARUS    I will, sweet queen.

    [Exit]

    [A retreat sounded]

PARIS    They're come from field: let us to Priam's hall,
    To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you
    To help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles,
    With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd,
    Shall more obey than to the edge of steel
    Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more
    Than all the island kings,--disarm great Hector.

HELEN    'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris;
    Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty
    Gives us more palm in beauty than we have,
    Yea, overshines ourself.

PARIS    Sweet, above thought I love thee.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT III



SCENE II    The same. Pandarus' orchard.


    [Enter PANDARUS and Troilus's Boy, meeting]

PANDARUS    How now! where's thy master? at my cousin
    Cressida's?

Boy    No, sir; he stays for you to conduct him thither.

PANDARUS    O, here he comes.

    [Enter TROILUS]

    How now, how now!

TROILUS    Sirrah, walk off.

    [Exit Boy]

PANDARUS    Have you seen my cousin?

TROILUS    No, Pandarus: I stalk about her door,
    Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
    Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
    And give me swift transportance to those fields
    Where I may wallow in the lily-beds
    Proposed for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus,
    From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings
    And fly with me to Cressid!

PANDARUS    Walk here i' the orchard, I'll bring her straight.

    [Exit]

TROILUS    I am giddy; expectation whirls me round.
    The imaginary relish is so sweet
    That it enchants my sense: what will it be,
    When that the watery palate tastes indeed
    Love's thrice repured nectar? death, I fear me,
    Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine,
    Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness,
    For the capacity of my ruder powers:
    I fear it much; and I do fear besides,
    That I shall lose distinction in my joys;
    As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
    The enemy flying.

    [Re-enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS    She's making her ready, she'll come straight: you
    must be witty now. She does so blush, and fetches
    her wind so short, as if she were frayed with a
    sprite: I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest
    villain: she fetches her breath as short as a
    new-ta'en sparrow.

    [Exit]

TROILUS    Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom:
    My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse;
    And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
    Like vassalage at unawares encountering
    The eye of majesty.

    [Re-enter PANDARUS with CRESSIDA]

PANDARUS    Come, come, what need you blush? shame's a baby.
    Here she is now: swear the oaths now to her that
    you have sworn to me. What, are you gone again?
    you must be watched ere you be made tame, must you?
    Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw backward,
    we'll put you i' the fills. Why do you not speak to
    her? Come, draw this curtain, and let's see your
    picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend
    daylight! an 'twere dark, you'ld close sooner.
    So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress. How now!
    a kiss in fee-farm! build there, carpenter; the air
    is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out ere
    I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the
    ducks i' the river: go to, go to.

TROILUS    You have bereft me of all words, lady.

PANDARUS    Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but she'll
    bereave you o' the deeds too, if she call your
    activity in question. What, billing again? Here's
    'In witness whereof the parties interchangeably'--
    Come in, come in: I'll go get a fire.

    [Exit]

CRESSIDA    Will you walk in, my lord?

TROILUS    O Cressida, how often have I wished me thus!

CRESSIDA    Wished, my lord! The gods grant,--O my lord!

TROILUS    What should they grant? what makes this pretty
    abruption? What too curious dreg espies my sweet
    lady in the fountain of our love?

CRESSIDA    More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.

TROILUS    Fears make devils of cherubims; they never see truly.

CRESSIDA    Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds safer
    footing than blind reason stumbling without fear: to
    fear the worst oft cures the worse.

TROILUS    O, let my lady apprehend no fear: in all Cupid's
    pageant there is presented no monster.

CRESSIDA    Nor nothing monstrous neither?

TROILUS    Nothing, but our undertakings; when we vow to weep
    seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers; thinking
    it harder for our mistress to devise imposition
    enough than for us to undergo any difficulty imposed.
    This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will
    is infinite and the execution confined, that the
    desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.

CRESSIDA    They say all lovers swear more performance than they
    are able and yet reserve an ability that they never
    perform, vowing more than the perfection of ten and
    discharging less than the tenth part of one. They
    that have the voice of lions and the act of hares,
    are they not monsters?

TROILUS    Are there such? such are not we: praise us as we
    are tasted, allow us as we prove; our head shall go
    bare till merit crown it: no perfection in reversion
    shall have a praise in present: we will not name
    desert before his birth, and, being born, his addition
    shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: Troilus
    shall be such to Cressid as what envy can say worst
    shall be a mock for his truth, and what truth can
    speak truest not truer than Troilus.

CRESSIDA    Will you walk in, my lord?

    [Re-enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS    What, blushing still? have you not done talking yet?

CRESSIDA    Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate to you.

PANDARUS    I thank you for that: if my lord get a boy of you,
    you'll give him me. Be true to my lord: if he
    flinch, chide me for it.

TROILUS    You know now your hostages; your uncle's word and my
    firm faith.

PANDARUS    Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred,
    though they be long ere they are wooed, they are
    constant being won: they are burs, I can tell you;
    they'll stick where they are thrown.

CRESSIDA    Boldness comes to me now, and brings me heart.
    Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day
    For many weary months.

TROILUS    Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?

CRESSIDA    Hard to seem won: but I was won, my lord,
    With the first glance that ever--pardon me--
    If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
    I love you now; but not, till now, so much
    But I might master it: in faith, I lie;
    My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
    Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!
    Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us,
    When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
    But, though I loved you well, I woo'd you not;
    And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man,
    Or that we women had men's privilege
    Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,
    For in this rapture I shall surely speak
    The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence,
    Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws
    My very soul of counsel! stop my mouth.

TROILUS    And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.

PANDARUS    Pretty, i' faith.

CRESSIDA    My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me;
    'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss:
    I am ashamed. O heavens! what have I done?
    For this time will I take my leave, my lord.

TROILUS    Your leave, sweet Cressid!

PANDARUS    Leave! an you take leave till to-morrow morning,--

CRESSIDA    Pray you, content you.

TROILUS    What offends you, lady?

CRESSIDA    Sir, mine own company.

TROILUS    You cannot shun Yourself.

CRESSIDA            Let me go and try:
    I have a kind of self resides with you;
    But an unkind self, that itself will leave,
    To be another's fool. I would be gone:
    Where is my wit? I know not what I speak.

TROILUS    Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely.

CRESSIDA    Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than love;
    And fell so roundly to a large confession,
    To angle for your thoughts: but you are wise,
    Or else you love not, for to be wise and love
    Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above.

TROILUS    O that I thought it could be in a woman--
    As, if it can, I will presume in you--
    To feed for aye her ramp and flames of love;
    To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
    Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
    That doth renew swifter than blood decays!
    Or that persuasion could but thus convince me,
    That my integrity and truth to you
    Might be affronted with the match and weight
    Of such a winnow'd purity in love;
    How were I then uplifted! but, alas!
    I am as true as truth's simplicity
    And simpler than the infancy of truth.

CRESSIDA    In that I'll war with you.

TROILUS    O virtuous fight,
    When right with right wars who shall be most right!
    True swains in love shall in the world to come
    Approve their truths by Troilus: when their rhymes,
    Full of protest, of oath and big compare,
    Want similes, truth tired with iteration,
    As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
    As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
    As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre,
    Yet, after all comparisons of truth,
    As truth's authentic author to be cited,
    'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse,
    And sanctify the numbers.

CRESSIDA    Prophet may you be!
    If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth,
    When time is old and hath forgot itself,
    When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,
    And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up,
    And mighty states characterless are grated
    To dusty nothing, yet let memory,
    From false to false, among false maids in love,
    Upbraid my falsehood! when they've said 'as false
    As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth,
    As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf,
    Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son,'
    'Yea,' let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood,
    'As false as Cressid.'

PANDARUS    Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I'll be the
    witness. Here I hold your hand, here my cousin's.
    If ever you prove false one to another, since I have
    taken such pains to bring you together, let all
    pitiful goers-between be called to the world's end
    after my name; call them all Pandars; let all
    constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids,
    and all brokers-between Pandars! say, amen.

TROILUS    Amen.

CRESSIDA    Amen.

PANDARUS    Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber with a
    bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your
    pretty encounters, press it to death: away!
    And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here
    Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this gear!

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT III



SCENE III    The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent.


    [Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, NESTOR, AJAX,
    MENELAUS, and CALCHAS]

CALCHAS    Now, princes, for the service I have done you,
    The advantage of the time prompts me aloud
    To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind
    That, through the sight I bear in things to love,
    I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
    Incurr'd a traitor's name; exposed myself,
    From certain and possess'd conveniences,
    To doubtful fortunes; sequestering from me all
    That time, acquaintance, custom and condition
    Made tame and most familiar to my nature,
    And here, to do you service, am become
    As new into the world, strange, unacquainted:
    I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
    To give me now a little benefit,
    Out of those many register'd in promise,
    Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.

AGAMEMNON    What wouldst thou of us, Trojan? make demand.

CALCHAS    You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor,
    Yesterday took: Troy holds him very dear.
    Oft have you--often have you thanks therefore--
    Desired my Cressid in right great exchange,
    Whom Troy hath still denied: but this Antenor,
    I know, is such a wrest in their affairs
    That their negotiations all must slack,
    Wanting his manage; and they will almost
    Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
    In change of him: let him be sent, great princes,
    And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence
    Shall quite strike off all service I have done,
    In most accepted pain.

AGAMEMNON    Let Diomedes bear him,
    And bring us Cressid hither: Calchas shall have
    What he requests of us. Good Diomed,
    Furnish you fairly for this interchange:
    Withal bring word if Hector will to-morrow
    Be answer'd in his challenge: Ajax is ready.

DIOMEDES    This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden
    Which I am proud to bear.

    [Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS]

    [Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS, before their tent]

ULYSSES    Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent:
    Please it our general to pass strangely by him,
    As if he were forgot; and, princes all,
    Lay negligent and loose regard upon him:
    I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me
    Why such unplausive eyes are bent on him:
    If so, I have derision medicinable,
    To use between your strangeness and his pride,
    Which his own will shall have desire to drink:
    It may be good: pride hath no other glass
    To show itself but pride, for supple knees
    Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.

AGAMEMNON    We'll execute your purpose, and put on
    A form of strangeness as we pass along:
    So do each lord, and either greet him not,
    Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
    Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.

ACHILLES    What, comes the general to speak with me?
    You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.

AGAMEMNON    What says Achilles? would he aught with us?

NESTOR    Would you, my lord, aught with the general?

ACHILLES    No.

NESTOR    Nothing, my lord.

AGAMEMNON    The better.

    [Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR]

ACHILLES    Good day, good day.

MENELAUS    How do you? how do you?

    [Exit]

ACHILLES    What, does the cuckold scorn me?

AJAX    How now, Patroclus!

ACHILLES    Good morrow, Ajax.

AJAX    Ha?

ACHILLES    Good morrow.

AJAX    Ay, and good next day too.

    [Exit]

ACHILLES    What mean these fellows? Know they not Achilles?

PATROCLUS    They pass by strangely: they were used to bend
    To send their smiles before them to Achilles;
    To come as humbly as they used to creep
    To holy altars.

ACHILLES                      What, am I poor of late?
    'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune,
    Must fall out with men too: what the declined is
    He shall as soon read in the eyes of others
    As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies,
    Show not their mealy wings but to the summer,
    And not a man, for being simply man,
    Hath any honour, but honour for those honours
    That are without him, as place, riches, favour,
    Prizes of accident as oft as merit:
    Which when they fall, as being slippery standers,
    The love that lean'd on them as slippery too,
    Do one pluck down another and together
    Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me:
    Fortune and I are friends: I do enjoy
    At ample point all that I did possess,
    Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out
    Something not worth in me such rich beholding
    As they have often given. Here is Ulysses;
    I'll interrupt his reading.
    How now Ulysses!

ULYSSES                      Now, great Thetis' son!

ACHILLES    What are you reading?

ULYSSES    A strange fellow here
    Writes me: 'That man, how dearly ever parted,
    How much in having, or without or in,
    Cannot make boast to have that which he hath,
    Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection;
    As when his virtues shining upon others
    Heat them and they retort that heat again
    To the first giver.'

ACHILLES    This is not strange, Ulysses.
    The beauty that is borne here in the face
    The bearer knows not, but commends itself
    To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself,
    That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself,
    Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed
    Salutes each other with each other's form;
    For speculation turns not to itself,
    Till it hath travell'd and is mirror'd there
    Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all.

ULYSSES    I do not strain at the position,--
    It is familiar,--but at the author's drift;
    Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves
    That no man is the lord of any thing,
    Though in and of him there be much consisting,
    Till he communicate his parts to others:
    Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
    Till he behold them form'd in the applause
    Where they're extended; who, like an arch,
    reverberates
    The voice again, or, like a gate of steel
    Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
    His figure and his heat.  I was much wrapt in this;
    And apprehended here immediately
    The unknown Ajax.
    Heavens, what a man is there! a very horse,
    That has he knows not what. Nature, what things there are
    Most abject in regard and dear in use!
    What things again most dear in the esteem
    And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrow--
    An act that very chance doth throw upon him--
    Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
    While some men leave to do!
    How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
    Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
    How one man eats into another's pride,
    While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
    To see these Grecian lords!--why, even already
    They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
    As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast
    And great Troy shrieking.

ACHILLES    I do believe it; for they pass'd by me
    As misers do by beggars, neither gave to me
    Good word nor look: what, are my deeds forgot?

ULYSSES    Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
    Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
    A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:
    Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd
    As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
    As done: perseverance, dear my lord,
    Keeps honour bright: to have done is to hang
    Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
    In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
    For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
    Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path;
    For emulation hath a thousand sons
    That one by one pursue: if you give way,
    Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
    Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by
    And leave you hindmost;
    Or like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
    Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
    O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in present,
    Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;
    For time is like a fashionable host
    That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
    And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would fly,
    Grasps in the comer: welcome ever smiles,
    And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not
    virtue seek
    Remuneration for the thing it was;
    For beauty, wit,
    High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
    Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
    To envious and calumniating time.
    One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,
    That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
    Though they are made and moulded of things past,
    And give to dust that is a little gilt
    More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
    The present eye praises the present object.
    Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
    That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax;
    Since things in motion sooner catch the eye
    Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee,
    And still it might, and yet it may again,
    If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive
    And case thy reputation in thy tent;
    Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
    Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves
    And drave great Mars to faction.

ACHILLES    Of this my privacy
    I have strong reasons.

ULYSSES    But 'gainst your privacy
    The reasons are more potent and heroical:
    'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
    With one of Priam's daughters.

ACHILLES    Ha! known!

ULYSSES    Is that a wonder?
    The providence that's in a watchful state
    Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold,
    Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps,
    Keeps place with thought and almost, like the gods,
    Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
    There is a mystery--with whom relation
    Durst never meddle--in the soul of state;
    Which hath an operation more divine
    Than breath or pen can give expressure to:
    All the commerce that you have had with Troy
    As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord;
    And better would it fit Achilles much
    To throw down Hector than Polyxena:
    But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
    When fame shall in our islands sound her trump,
    And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing,
    'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win,
    But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.'
    Farewell, my lord: I as your lover speak;
    The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.

    [Exit]

PATROCLUS    To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you:
    A woman impudent and mannish grown
    Is not more loathed than an effeminate man
    In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this;
    They think my little stomach to the war
    And your great love to me restrains you thus:
    Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
    Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
    And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
    Be shook to air.

ACHILLES                      Shall Ajax fight with Hector?

PATROCLUS    Ay, and perhaps receive much honour by him.

ACHILLES    I see my reputation is at stake
    My fame is shrewdly gored.

PATROCLUS    O, then, beware;
    Those wounds heal ill that men do give themselves:
    Omission to do what is necessary
    Seals a commission to a blank of danger;
    And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
    Even then when we sit idly in the sun.

ACHILLES    Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus:
    I'll send the fool to Ajax and desire him
    To invite the Trojan lords after the combat
    To see us here unarm'd: I have a woman's longing,
    An appetite that I am sick withal,
    To see great Hector in his weeds of peace,
    To talk with him and to behold his visage,
    Even to my full of view.

    [Enter THERSITES]

           A labour saved!

THERSITES    A wonder!

ACHILLES    What?

THERSITES    Ajax goes up and down the field, asking for himself.

ACHILLES    How so?

THERSITES    He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so
    prophetically proud of an heroical cudgelling that he
    raves in saying nothing.

ACHILLES    How can that be?

THERSITES    Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,--a stride
    and a stand: ruminates like an hostess that hath no
    arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning:
    bites his lip with a politic regard, as who should
    say 'There were wit in this head, an 'twould out;'
    and so there is, but it lies as coldly in him as fire
    in a flint, which will not show without knocking.
    The man's undone forever; for if Hector break not his
    neck i' the combat, he'll break 't himself in
    vain-glory. He knows not me: I said 'Good morrow,
    Ajax;' and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think
    you of this man that takes me for the general? He's
    grown a very land-fish, language-less, a monster.
    A plague of opinion! a man may wear it on both
    sides, like a leather jerkin.

ACHILLES    Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites.

THERSITES    Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not
    answering: speaking is for beggars; he wears his
    tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence: let
    Patroclus make demands to me, you shall see the
    pageant of Ajax.

ACHILLES    To him, Patroclus; tell him I humbly desire the
    valiant Ajax to invite the most valorous Hector
    to come unarmed to my tent, and to procure
    safe-conduct for his person of the magnanimous
    and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honoured
    captain-general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon,
    et cetera. Do this.

PATROCLUS    Jove bless great Ajax!

THERSITES    Hum!

PATROCLUS    I come from the worthy Achilles,--

THERSITES    Ha!

PATROCLUS    Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tent,--

THERSITES    Hum!

PATROCLUS    And to procure safe-conduct from Agamemnon.

THERSITES    Agamemnon!

PATROCLUS    Ay, my lord.

THERSITES    Ha!

PATROCLUS    What say you to't?

THERSITES    God b' wi' you, with all my heart.

PATROCLUS    Your answer, sir.

THERSITES    If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock it will
    go one way or other: howsoever, he shall pay for me
    ere he has me.

PATROCLUS    Your answer, sir.

THERSITES    Fare you well, with all my heart.

ACHILLES    Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?

THERSITES    No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music will be in
    him when Hector has knocked out his brains, I know
    not; but, I am sure, none, unless the fiddler Apollo
    get his sinews to make catlings on.

ACHILLES    Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight.

THERSITES    Let me bear another to his horse; for that's the more
    capable creature.

ACHILLES    My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
    And I myself see not the bottom of it.

    [Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

THERSITES    Would the fountain of your mind were clear again,
    that I might water an ass at it! I had rather be a
    tick in a sheep than such a valiant ignorance.

    [Exit]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE I    Troy. A street.


    [Enter, from one side, AENEAS, and Servant with a
    torch; from the other, PARIS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR,
    DIOMEDES, and others, with torches]

PARIS    See, ho! who is that there?

DEIPHOBUS    It is the Lord AEneas.

AENEAS    Is the prince there in person?
    Had I so good occasion to lie long
    As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
    Should rob my bed-mate of my company.

DIOMEDES    That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord AEneas.

PARIS    A valiant Greek, AEneas,--take his hand,--
    Witness the process of your speech, wherein
    You told how Diomed, a whole week by days,
    Did haunt you in the field.

AENEAS    Health to you, valiant sir,
    During all question of the gentle truce;
    But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance
    As heart can think or courage execute.

DIOMEDES    The one and other Diomed embraces.
    Our bloods are now in calm; and, so long, health!
    But when contention and occasion meet,
    By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life
    With all my force, pursuit and policy.

AENEAS    And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
    With his face backward. In humane gentleness,
    Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life,
    Welcome, indeed! By Venus' hand I swear,
    No man alive can love in such a sort
    The thing he means to kill more excellently.

DIOMEDES    We sympathize: Jove, let AEneas live,
    If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
    A thousand complete courses of the sun!
    But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,
    With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow!

AENEAS    We know each other well.

DIOMEDES    We do; and long to know each other worse.

PARIS    This is the most despiteful gentle greeting,
    The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.
    What business, lord, so early?

AENEAS    I was sent for to the king; but why, I know not.

PARIS    His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek
    To Calchas' house, and there to render him,
    For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid:
    Let's have your company, or, if you please,
    Haste there before us: I constantly do think--
    Or rather, call my thought a certain knowledge--
    My brother Troilus lodges there to-night:
    Rouse him and give him note of our approach.
    With the whole quality wherefore: I fear
    We shall be much unwelcome.

AENEAS    That I assure you:
    Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece
    Than Cressid borne from Troy.

PARIS    There is no help;
    The bitter disposition of the time
    Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you.

AENEAS    Good morrow, all.

    [Exit with Servant]

PARIS    And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell me true,
    Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship,
    Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best,
    Myself or Menelaus?

DIOMEDES    Both alike:
    He merits well to have her, that doth seek her,
    Not making any scruple of her soilure,
    With such a hell of pain and world of charge,
    And you as well to keep her, that defend her,
    Not palating the taste of her dishonour,
    With such a costly loss of wealth and friends:
    He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up
    The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece;
    You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins
    Are pleased to breed out your inheritors:
    Both merits poised, each weighs nor less nor more;
    But he as he, the heavier for a whore.

PARIS    You are too bitter to your countrywoman.

DIOMEDES    She's bitter to her country: hear me, Paris:
    For every false drop in her bawdy veins
    A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scruple
    Of her contaminated carrion weight,
    A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak,
    She hath not given so many good words breath
    As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death.

PARIS    Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do,
    Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy:
    But we in silence hold this virtue well,
    We'll but commend what we intend to sell.
    Here lies our way.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE II    The same. Court of Pandarus' house.


    [Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA]

TROILUS    Dear, trouble not yourself: the morn is cold.

CRESSIDA    Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down;
    He shall unbolt the gates.

TROILUS    Trouble him not;
    To bed, to bed: sleep kill those pretty eyes,
    And give as soft attachment to thy senses
    As infants' empty of all thought!

CRESSIDA    Good morrow, then.

TROILUS    I prithee now, to bed.

CRESSIDA    Are you a-weary of me?

TROILUS    O Cressida! but that the busy day,
    Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows,
    And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer,
    I would not from thee.

CRESSIDA    Night hath been too brief.

TROILUS    Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays
    As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of love
    With wings more momentary-swift than thought.
    You will catch cold, and curse me.

CRESSIDA    Prithee, tarry:
    You men will never tarry.
    O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off,
    And then you would have tarried. Hark!
    there's one up.

PANDARUS    [Within]  What, 's all the doors open here?

TROILUS    It is your uncle.

CRESSIDA    A pestilence on him! now will he be mocking:
    I shall have such a life!

    [Enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS    How now, how now! how go maidenheads? Here, you
    maid! where's my cousin Cressid?

CRESSIDA    Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle!
    You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.

PANDARUS    To do what? to do what? let her say
    what: what have I brought you to do?

CRESSIDA    Come, come, beshrew your heart! you'll ne'er be good,
    Nor suffer others.

PANDARUS    Ha! ha! Alas, poor wretch! ah, poor capocchia!
    hast not slept to-night? would he not, a naughty
    man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him!

CRESSIDA    Did not I tell you? Would he were knock'd i' the head!

    [Knocking within]

    Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see.
    My lord, come you again into my chamber:
    You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.

TROILUS    Ha, ha!

CRESSIDA    Come, you are deceived, I think of no such thing.

    [Knocking within]

    How earnestly they knock! Pray you, come in:
    I would not for half Troy have you seen here.

    [Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA]

PANDARUS    Who's there? what's the matter? will you beat
    down the door? How now! what's the matter?

    [Enter AENEAS]

AENEAS    Good morrow, lord, good morrow.

PANDARUS    Who's there? my Lord AEneas! By my troth,
    I knew you not: what news with you so early?

AENEAS    Is not Prince Troilus here?

PANDARUS    Here! what should he do here?

AENEAS    Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him:
    It doth import him much to speak with me.

PANDARUS    Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know, I'll
    be sworn: for my own part, I came in late. What
    should he do here?

AENEAS    Who!--nay, then: come, come, you'll do him wrong
    ere you're ware: you'll be so true to him, to be
    false to him: do not you know of him, but yet go
    fetch him hither; go.

    [Re-enter TROILUS]

TROILUS    How now! what's the matter?

AENEAS    My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
    My matter is so rash: there is at hand
    Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
    The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
    Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
    Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
    We must give up to Diomedes' hand
    The Lady Cressida.

TROILUS                      Is it so concluded?

AENEAS    By Priam and the general state of Troy:
    They are at hand and ready to effect it.

TROILUS    How my achievements mock me!
    I will go meet them: and, my Lord AEneas,
    We met by chance; you did not find me here.

AENEAS    Good, good, my lord; the secrets of nature
    Have not more gift in taciturnity.

    [Exeunt TROILUS and AENEAS]

PANDARUS    Is't possible? no sooner got but lost? The devil
    take Antenor! the young prince will go mad: a
    plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke 's neck!

    [Re-enter CRESSIDA]

CRESSIDA    How now! what's the matter? who was here?

PANDARUS    Ah, ah!

CRESSIDA    Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my lord? gone!
    Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter?

PANDARUS    Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above!

CRESSIDA    O the gods! what's the matter?

PANDARUS    Prithee, get thee in: would thou hadst ne'er been
    born! I knew thou wouldst be his death. O, poor
    gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!

CRESSIDA    Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees! beseech you,
    what's the matter?

PANDARUS    Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou
    art changed for Antenor: thou must to thy father,
    and be gone from Troilus: 'twill be his death;
    'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it.

CRESSIDA    O you immortal gods! I will not go.

PANDARUS    Thou must.

CRESSIDA    I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father;
    I know no touch of consanguinity;
    No kin no love, no blood, no soul so near me
    As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine!
    Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood,
    If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death,
    Do to this body what extremes you can;
    But the strong base and building of my love
    Is as the very centre of the earth,
    Drawing all things to it. I'll go in and weep,--

PANDARUS    Do, do.

CRESSIDA    Tear my bright hair and scratch my praised cheeks,
    Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart
    With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE III    The same. Street before Pandarus' house.


    [Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR,
    and DIOMEDES]

PARIS    It is great morning, and the hour prefix'd
    Of her delivery to this valiant Greek
    Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus,
    Tell you the lady what she is to do,
    And haste her to the purpose.

TROILUS    Walk into her house;
    I'll bring her to the Grecian presently:
    And to his hand when I deliver her,
    Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus
    A priest there offering to it his own heart.

    [Exit]

PARIS    I know what 'tis to love;
    And would, as I shall pity, I could help!
    Please you walk in, my lords.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE IV    The same. Pandarus' house.


    [Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDA]

PANDARUS    Be moderate, be moderate.

CRESSIDA    Why tell you me of moderation?
    The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste,
    And violenteth in a sense as strong
    As that which causeth it: how can I moderate it?
    If I could temporize with my affection,
    Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
    The like allayment could I give my grief.
    My love admits no qualifying dross;
    No more my grief, in such a precious loss.

PANDARUS    Here, here, here he comes.

    [Enter TROILUS]

    Ah, sweet ducks!

CRESSIDA    O Troilus! Troilus!

    [Embracing him]

PANDARUS    What a pair of spectacles is here!
    Let me embrace too. 'O heart,' as the goodly saying is,
    '--O heart, heavy heart,
    Why sigh'st thou without breaking?
    where he answers again,
    'Because thou canst not ease thy smart
    By friendship nor by speaking.'
    There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away
    nothing, for we may live to have need of such a
    verse: we see it, we see it. How now, lambs?

TROILUS    Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity,
    That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy,
    More bright in zeal than the devotion which
    Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me.

CRESSIDA    Have the gods envy?

PANDARUS    Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case.

CRESSIDA    And is it true that I must go from Troy?

TROILUS    A hateful truth.

CRESSIDA                      What, and from Troilus too?

TROILUS    From Troy and Troilus.

CRESSIDA    Is it possible?

TROILUS    And suddenly; where injury of chance
    Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
    All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
    Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
    Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
    Even in the birth of our own labouring breath:
    We two, that with so many thousand sighs
    Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
    With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
    Injurious time now with a robber's haste
    Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how:
    As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
    With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them,
    He fumbles up into a lose adieu,
    And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
    Distasted with the salt of broken tears.

AENEAS    [Within]  My lord, is the lady ready?

TROILUS    Hark! you are call'd: some say the Genius so
    Cries 'come' to him that instantly must die.
    Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.

PANDARUS    Where are my tears? rain, to lay this wind, or
    my heart will be blown up by the root.

    [Exit]

CRESSIDA    I must then to the Grecians?

TROILUS    No remedy.

CRESSIDA    A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
    When shall we see again?

TROILUS    Hear me, my love: be thou but true of heart,--

CRESSIDA    I true! how now! what wicked deem is this?

TROILUS    Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
    For it is parting from us:
    I speak not 'be thou true,' as fearing thee,
    For I will throw my glove to Death himself,
    That there's no maculation in thy heart:
    But 'be thou true,' say I, to fashion in
    My sequent protestation; be thou true,
    And I will see thee.

CRESSIDA    O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to dangers
    As infinite as imminent! but I'll be true.

TROILUS    And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve.

CRESSIDA    And you this glove. When shall I see you?

TROILUS    I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
    To give thee nightly visitation.
    But yet be true.

CRESSIDA                      O heavens! 'be true' again!

TROILUS    Hear while I speak it, love:
    The Grecian youths are full of quality;
    They're loving, well composed with gifts of nature,
    Flowing and swelling o'er with arts and exercise:
    How novelty may move, and parts with person,
    Alas, a kind of godly jealousy--
    Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin--
    Makes me afeard.

CRESSIDA                      O heavens! you love me not.

TROILUS    Die I a villain, then!
    In this I do not call your faith in question
    So mainly as my merit: I cannot sing,
    Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
    Nor play at subtle games; fair virtues all,
    To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant:
    But I can tell that in each grace of these
    There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil
    That tempts most cunningly: but be not tempted.

CRESSIDA    Do you think I will?

TROILUS    No.
    But something may be done that we will not:
    And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
    When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
    Presuming on their changeful potency.

AENEAS    [Within]  Nay, good my lord,--

TROILUS    Come, kiss; and let us part.

PARIS    [Within]  Brother Troilus!

TROILUS    Good brother, come you hither;
    And bring AEneas and the Grecian with you.

CRESSIDA    My lord, will you be true?

TROILUS    Who, I? alas, it is my vice, my fault:
    Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion,
    I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
    Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
    With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
    Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit
    Is 'plain and true;' there's all the reach of it.

    [Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, DEIPHOBUS,
    and DIOMEDES]

    Welcome, Sir Diomed! here is the lady
    Which for Antenor we deliver you:
    At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand,
    And by the way possess thee what she is.
    Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
    If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword,
    Name Cressida and thy life shall be as safe
    As Priam is in Ilion.

DIOMEDES    Fair Lady Cressid,
    So please you, save the thanks this prince expects:
    The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek,
    Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed
    You shall be mistress, and command him wholly.

TROILUS    Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously,
    To shame the zeal of my petition to thee
    In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece,
    She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises
    As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant.
    I charge thee use her well, even for my charge;
    For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not,
    Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
    I'll cut thy throat.

DIOMEDES    O, be not moved, Prince Troilus:
    Let me be privileged by my place and message,
    To be a speaker free; when I am hence
    I'll answer to my lust: and know you, lord,
    I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth
    She shall be prized; but that you say 'be't so,'
    I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, 'no.'

TROILUS    Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed,
    This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head.
    Lady, give me your hand, and, as we walk,
    To our own selves bend we our needful talk.

    [Exeunt TROILUS, CRESSIDA, and DIOMEDES]

    [Trumpet within]

PARIS    Hark! Hector's trumpet.

AENEAS    How have we spent this morning!
    The prince must think me tardy and remiss,
    That sore to ride before him to the field.

PARIS    'Tis Troilus' fault: come, come, to field with him.

DEIPHOBUS    Let us make ready straight.

AENEAS    Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,
    Let us address to tend on Hector's heels:
    The glory of our Troy doth this day lie
    On his fair worth and single chivalry.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT IV



SCENE V    The Grecian camp. Lists set out.


    [Enter AJAX, armed; AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES, PATROCLUS,
    MENELAUS, ULYSSES, NESTOR, and others]

AGAMEMNON    Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,
    Anticipating time with starting courage.
    Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
    Thou dreadful Ajax; that the appalled air
    May pierce the head of the great combatant
    And hale him hither.

AJAX    Thou, trumpet, there's my purse.
    Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe:
    Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
    Outswell the colic of puff'd Aquilon:
    Come, stretch thy chest and let thy eyes spout blood;
    Thou blow'st for Hector.

    [Trumpet sounds]

ULYSSES    No trumpet answers.

ACHILLES    'Tis but early days.

AGAMEMNON    Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' daughter?

ULYSSES    'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait;
    He rises on the toe: that spirit of his
    In aspiration lifts him from the earth.

    [Enter DIOMEDES, with CRESSIDA]

AGAMEMNON    Is this the Lady Cressid?

DIOMEDES    Even she.

AGAMEMNON    Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady.

NESTOR    Our general doth salute you with a kiss.

ULYSSES    Yet is the kindness but particular;
    'Twere better she were kiss'd in general.

NESTOR    And very courtly counsel: I'll begin.
    So much for Nestor.

ACHILLES    I'll take what winter from your lips, fair lady:
    Achilles bids you welcome.

MENELAUS    I had good argument for kissing once.

PATROCLUS    But that's no argument for kissing now;
    For this popp'd Paris in his hardiment,
    And parted thus you and your argument.

ULYSSES    O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!
    For which we lose our heads to gild his horns.

PATROCLUS    The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, mine:
    Patroclus kisses you.

MENELAUS    O, this is trim!

PATROCLUS    Paris and I kiss evermore for him.

MENELAUS    I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.

CRESSIDA    In kissing, do you render or receive?

PATROCLUS    Both take and give.

CRESSIDA    I'll make my match to live,
    The kiss you take is better than you give;
    Therefore no kiss.

MENELAUS    I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one.

CRESSIDA    You're an odd man; give even or give none.

MENELAUS    An odd man, lady! every man is odd.

CRESSIDA    No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true,
    That you are odd, and he is even with you.

MENELAUS    You fillip me o' the head.

CRESSIDA    No, I'll be sworn.

ULYSSES    It were no match, your nail against his horn.
    May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?

CRESSIDA    You may.

ULYSSES           I do desire it.

CRESSIDA    Why, beg, then.

ULYSSES    Why then for Venus' sake, give me a kiss,
    When Helen is a maid again, and his.

CRESSIDA    I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due.

ULYSSES    Never's my day, and then a kiss of you.

DIOMEDES    Lady, a word: I'll bring you to your father.

    [Exit with CRESSIDA]

NESTOR    A woman of quick sense.

ULYSSES    Fie, fie upon her!
    There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
    Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
    At every joint and motive of her body.
    O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue,
    That give accosting welcome ere it comes,
    And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
    To every ticklish reader! set them down
    For sluttish spoils of opportunity
    And daughters of the game.

    [Trumpet within]

ALL    The Trojans' trumpet.

AGAMEMNON    Yonder comes the troop.

    [Enter HECTOR, armed; AENEAS, TROILUS, and other
    Trojans, with Attendants]

AENEAS    Hail, all you state of Greece! what shall be done
    To him that victory commands? or do you purpose
    A victor shall be known? will you the knights
    Shall to the edge of all extremity
    Pursue each other, or shall be divided
    By any voice or order of the field?
    Hector bade ask.

AGAMEMNON    Which way would Hector have it?

AENEAS    He cares not; he'll obey conditions.

ACHILLES    'Tis done like Hector; but securely done,
    A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
    The knight opposed.

AENEAS    If not Achilles, sir,
    What is your name?

ACHILLES                      If not Achilles, nothing.

AENEAS    Therefore Achilles: but, whate'er, know this:
    In the extremity of great and little,
    Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
    The one almost as infinite as all,
    The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,
    And that which looks like pride is courtesy.
    This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood:
    In love whereof, half Hector stays at home;
    Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
    This blended knight, half Trojan and half Greek.

ACHILLES    A maiden battle, then? O, I perceive you.

    [Re-enter DIOMEDES]

AGAMEMNON    Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,
    Stand by our Ajax: as you and Lord AEneas
    Consent upon the order of their fight,
    So be it; either to the uttermost,
    Or else a breath: the combatants being kin
    Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.

    [AJAX and HECTOR enter the lists]

ULYSSES    They are opposed already.

AGAMEMNON    What Trojan is that same that looks so heavy?

ULYSSES    The youngest son of Priam, a true knight,
    Not yet mature, yet matchless, firm of word,
    Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;
    Not soon provoked nor being provoked soon calm'd:
    His heart and hand both open and both free;
    For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows;
    Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty,
    Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath;
    Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
    For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
    To tender objects, but he in heat of action
    Is more vindicative than jealous love:
    They call him Troilus, and on him erect
    A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
    Thus says AEneas; one that knows the youth
    Even to his inches, and with private soul
    Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.

    [Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight]

AGAMEMNON    They are in action.

NESTOR    Now, Ajax, hold thine own!

TROILUS    Hector, thou sleep'st;
    Awake thee!

AGAMEMNON    His blows are well disposed: there, Ajax!

DIOMEDES    You must no more.

    [Trumpets cease]

AENEAS                      Princes, enough, so please you.

AJAX    I am not warm yet; let us fight again.

DIOMEDES    As Hector pleases.

HECTOR                      Why, then will I no more:
    Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son,
    A cousin-german to great Priam's seed;
    The obligation of our blood forbids
    A gory emulation 'twixt us twain:
    Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so
    That thou couldst say 'This hand is Grecian all,
    And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg
    All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
    Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister
    Bounds in my father's;' by Jove multipotent,
    Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member
    Wherein my sword had not impressure made
    Of our rank feud: but the just gods gainsay
    That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother,
    My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
    Be drain'd! Let me embrace thee, Ajax:
    By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
    Hector would have them fall upon him thus:
    Cousin, all honour to thee!

AJAX    I thank thee, Hector
    Thou art too gentle and too free a man:
    I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
    A great addition earned in thy death.

HECTOR    Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
    On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes
    Cries 'This is he,' could promise to himself
    A thought of added honour torn from Hector.

AENEAS    There is expectance here from both the sides,
    What further you will do.

HECTOR    We'll answer it;
    The issue is embracement: Ajax, farewell.

AJAX    If I might in entreaties find success--
    As seld I have the chance--I would desire
    My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.

DIOMEDES    'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles
    Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.

HECTOR    AEneas, call my brother Troilus to me,
    And signify this loving interview
    To the expecters of our Trojan part;
    Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;
    I will go eat with thee and see your knights.

AJAX    Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.

HECTOR    The worthiest of them tell me name by name;
    But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes
    Shall find him by his large and portly size.

AGAMEMNON    Worthy of arms! as welcome as to one
    That would be rid of such an enemy;
    But that's no welcome: understand more clear,
    What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks
    And formless ruin of oblivion;
    But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
    Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
    Bids thee, with most divine integrity,
    From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.

HECTOR    I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.

AGAMEMNON    [To TROILUS]  My well-famed lord of Troy, no
    less to you.

MENELAUS    Let me confirm my princely brother's greeting:
    You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.

HECTOR    Who must we answer?

AENEAS    The noble Menelaus.

HECTOR    O, you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, thanks!
    Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath;
    Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove:
    She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.

MENELAUS    Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme.

HECTOR    O, pardon; I offend.

NESTOR    I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft
    Labouring for destiny make cruel way
    Through ranks of Greekish youth, and I have seen thee,
    As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
    Despising many forfeits and subduements,
    When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air,
    Not letting it decline on the declined,
    That I have said to some my standers by
    'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!'
    And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,
    When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in,
    Like an Olympian wrestling: this have I seen;
    But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
    I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,
    And once fought with him: he was a soldier good;
    But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
    Never saw like thee. Let an old man embrace thee;
    And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.

AENEAS    'Tis the old Nestor.

HECTOR    Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
    That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time:
    Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.

NESTOR    I would my arms could match thee in contention,
    As they contend with thee in courtesy.

HECTOR    I would they could.

NESTOR    Ha!
    By this white beard, I'ld fight with thee to-morrow.
    Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.

ULYSSES    I wonder now how yonder city stands
    When we have here her base and pillar by us.

HECTOR    I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.
    Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
    Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
    In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy.

ULYSSES    Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue:
    My prophecy is but half his journey yet;
    For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
    Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
    Must kiss their own feet.

HECTOR    I must not believe you:
    There they stand yet, and modestly I think,
    The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
    A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all,
    And that old common arbitrator, Time,
    Will one day end it.

ULYSSES    So to him we leave it.
    Most gentle and most valiant Hector, welcome:
    After the general, I beseech you next
    To feast with me and see me at my tent.

ACHILLES    I shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, thou!
    Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee;
    I have with exact view perused thee, Hector,
    And quoted joint by joint.

HECTOR    Is this Achilles?

ACHILLES    I am Achilles.

HECTOR    Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee.

ACHILLES    Behold thy fill.

HECTOR                      Nay, I have done already.

ACHILLES    Thou art too brief: I will the second time,
    As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.

HECTOR    O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er;
    But there's more in me than thou understand'st.
    Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye?

ACHILLES    Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body
    Shall I destroy him? whether there, or there, or there?
    That I may give the local wound a name
    And make distinct the very breach whereout
    Hector's great spirit flew: answer me, heavens!

HECTOR    It would discredit the blest gods, proud man,
    To answer such a question: stand again:
    Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly
    As to prenominate in nice conjecture
    Where thou wilt hit me dead?

ACHILLES    I tell thee, yea.

HECTOR    Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,
    I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well;
    For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there;
    But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm,
    I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er.
    You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag;
    His insolence draws folly from my lips;
    But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
    Or may I never--

AJAX                      Do not chafe thee, cousin:
    And you, Achilles, let these threats alone,
    Till accident or purpose bring you to't:
    You may have every day enough of Hector
    If you have stomach; the general state, I fear,
    Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.

HECTOR    I pray you, let us see you in the field:
    We have had pelting wars, since you refused
    The Grecians' cause.

ACHILLES    Dost thou entreat me, Hector?
    To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death;
    To-night all friends.

HECTOR    Thy hand upon that match.

AGAMEMNON    First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent;
    There in the full convive we: afterwards,
    As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall
    Concur together, severally entreat him.
    Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow,
    That this great soldier may his welcome know.

    [Exeunt all except TROILUS and ULYSSES]

TROILUS    My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you,
    In what place of the field doth Calchas keep?

ULYSSES    At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus:
    There Diomed doth feast with him to-night;
    Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth,
    But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
    On the fair Cressid.

TROILUS    Shall sweet lord, be bound to you so much,
    After we part from Agamemnon's tent,
    To bring me thither?

ULYSSES    You shall command me, sir.
    As gentle tell me, of what honour was
    This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there
    That wails her absence?


TROILUS    O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars
    A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
    She was beloved, she loved; she is, and doth:
    But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE I    The Grecian camp. Before Achilles' tent.


    [Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

ACHILLES    I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night,
    Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow.
    Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.

PATROCLUS    Here comes Thersites.

    [Enter THERSITES]

ACHILLES    How now, thou core of envy!
    Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?

THERSITES    Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol
    of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee.

ACHILLES    From whence, fragment?

THERSITES    Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.

PATROCLUS    Who keeps the tent now?

THERSITES    The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound.

PATROCLUS    Well said, adversity! and what need these tricks?

THERSITES    Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk:
    thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet.

PATROCLUS    Male varlet, you rogue! what's that?

THERSITES    Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases
    of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs,
    loads o' gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold
    palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing
    lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas,
    limekilns i' the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the
    rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take
    again such preposterous discoveries!

PATROCLUS    Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest
    thou to curse thus?

THERSITES    Do I curse thee?

PATROCLUS    Why no, you ruinous butt, you whoreson
    indistinguishable cur, no.

THERSITES    No! why art thou then exasperate, thou idle
    immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou green sarcenet
    flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's
    purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered
    with such waterflies, diminutives of nature!

PATROCLUS    Out, gall!

THERSITES    Finch-egg!

ACHILLES    My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
    From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
    Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
    A token from her daughter, my fair love,
    Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
    An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it:
    Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
    My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
    Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent:
    This night in banqueting must all be spent.
    Away, Patroclus!

    [Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS]

THERSITES    With too much blood and too little brain, these two
    may run mad; but, if with too much brain and too
    little blood they do, I'll be a curer of madmen.
    Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough and one
    that loves quails; but he has not so much brain as
    earwax: and the goodly transformation of Jupiter
    there, his brother, the bull,--the primitive statue,
    and oblique memorial of cuckolds; a thrifty
    shoeing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's
    leg,--to what form but that he is, should wit larded
    with malice and malice forced with wit turn him to?
    To an ass, were nothing; he is both ass and ox: to
    an ox, were nothing; he is both ox and ass. To be a
    dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an
    owl, a puttock, or a herring without a roe, I would
    not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire
    against destiny. Ask me not, what I would be, if I
    were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse
    of a lazar, so I were not Menelaus! Hey-day!
    spirits and fires!

    [Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES,
    NESTOR, MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights]

AGAMEMNON    We go wrong, we go wrong.

AJAX    No, yonder 'tis;
    There, where we see the lights.

HECTOR    I trouble you.

AJAX    No, not a whit.

ULYSSES                      Here comes himself to guide you.

    [Re-enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES    Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, princes all.

AGAMEMNON    So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good night.
    Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.

HECTOR    Thanks and good night to the Greeks' general.

MENELAUS    Good night, my lord.

HECTOR    Good night, sweet lord Menelaus.

THERSITES    Sweet draught: 'sweet' quoth 'a! sweet sink,
    sweet sewer.

ACHILLES    Good night and welcome, both at once, to those
    That go or tarry.

AGAMEMNON    Good night.

    [Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS]

ACHILLES    Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed,
    Keep Hector company an hour or two.

DIOMEDES    I cannot, lord; I have important business,
    The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector.

HECTOR    Give me your hand.

ULYSSES    [Aside to TROILUS]  Follow his torch; he goes to
    Calchas' tent:
    I'll keep you company.

TROILUS    Sweet sir, you honour me.

HECTOR    And so, good night.

    [Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and TROILUS following]

ACHILLES    Come, come, enter my tent.

    [Exeunt ACHILLES, HECTOR, AJAX, and NESTOR]

THERSITES    That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most
    unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he leers
    than I will a serpent when he hisses: he will spend
    his mouth, and promise, like Brabbler the hound:
    but when he performs, astronomers foretell it; it
    is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun
    borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his
    word. I will rather leave to see Hector, than
    not to dog him: they say he keeps a Trojan
    drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent: I'll
    after. Nothing but lechery! all incontinent varlets!

    [Exit]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE II    The same. Before Calchas' tent.


    [Enter DIOMEDES]

DIOMEDES    What, are you up here, ho? speak.

CALCHAS    [Within]  Who calls?

DIOMEDES    Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter?

CALCHAS    [Within]  She comes to you.

    [Enter TROILUS and ULYSSES, at a distance;
    after them, THERSITES]

ULYSSES    Stand where the torch may not discover us.

    [Enter CRESSIDA]

TROILUS    Cressid comes forth to him.

DIOMEDES    How now, my charge!

CRESSIDA    Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you.

    [Whispers]

TROILUS    Yea, so familiar!

ULYSSES    She will sing any man at first sight.

THERSITES    And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff;
    she's noted.

DIOMEDES    Will you remember?

CRESSIDA    Remember! yes.

DIOMEDES    Nay, but do, then;
    And let your mind be coupled with your words.

TROILUS    What should she remember?

ULYSSES    List.

CRESSIDA    Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly.

THERSITES    Roguery!

DIOMEDES    Nay, then,--

CRESSIDA    I'll tell you what,--

DIOMEDES    Foh, foh! come, tell a pin: you are forsworn.

CRESSIDA    In faith, I cannot: what would you have me do?

THERSITES    A juggling trick,--to be secretly open.

DIOMEDES    What did you swear you would bestow on me?

CRESSIDA    I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;
    Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek.

DIOMEDES    Good night.

TROILUS    Hold, patience!

ULYSSES    How now, Trojan!

CRESSIDA    Diomed,--

DIOMEDES    No, no, good night: I'll be your fool no more.

TROILUS    Thy better must.

CRESSIDA    Hark, one word in your ear.

TROILUS    O plague and madness!

ULYSSES    You are moved, prince; let us depart, I pray you,
    Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
    To wrathful terms: this place is dangerous;
    The time right deadly; I beseech you, go.

TROILUS    Behold, I pray you!

ULYSSES    Nay, good my lord, go off:
    You flow to great distraction; come, my lord.

TROILUS    I pray thee, stay.

ULYSSES                      You have not patience; come.

TROILUS    I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments
    I will not speak a word!

DIOMEDES    And so, good night.

CRESSIDA    Nay, but you part in anger.

TROILUS    Doth that grieve thee?
    O wither'd truth!

ULYSSES                      Why, how now, lord!

TROILUS    By Jove,
    I will be patient.

CRESSIDA                      Guardian!--why, Greek!

DIOMEDES    Foh, foh! adieu; you palter.

CRESSIDA    In faith, I do not: come hither once again.

ULYSSES    You shake, my lord, at something: will you go?
    You will break out.

TROILUS    She strokes his cheek!

ULYSSES    Come, come.

TROILUS    Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
    There is between my will and all offences
    A guard of patience: stay a little while.

THERSITES    How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and
    potato-finger, tickles these together! Fry, lechery, fry!

DIOMEDES    But will you, then?

CRESSIDA    In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.

DIOMEDES    Give me some token for the surety of it.

CRESSIDA    I'll fetch you one.

    [Exit]

ULYSSES    You have sworn patience.

TROILUS    Fear me not, sweet lord;
    I will not be myself, nor have cognition
    Of what I feel: I am all patience.

    [Re-enter CRESSIDA]

THERSITES    Now the pledge; now, now, now!

CRESSIDA    Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.

TROILUS    O beauty! where is thy faith?

ULYSSES    My lord,--

TROILUS    I will be patient; outwardly I will.

CRESSIDA    You look upon that sleeve; behold it well.
    He loved me--O false wench!--Give't me again.

DIOMEDES    Whose was't?

CRESSIDA    It is no matter, now I have't again.
    I will not meet with you to-morrow night:
    I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.

THERSITES    Now she sharpens: well said, whetstone!

DIOMEDES    I shall have it.

CRESSIDA                      What, this?

DIOMEDES    Ay, that.

CRESSIDA    O, all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!
    Thy master now lies thinking in his bed
    Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
    And gives memorial dainty kisses to it,
    As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;
    He that takes that doth take my heart withal.

DIOMEDES    I had your heart before, this follows it.

TROILUS    I did swear patience.

CRESSIDA    You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not;
    I'll give you something else.

DIOMEDES    I will have this: whose was it?

CRESSIDA    It is no matter.

DIOMEDES    Come, tell me whose it was.

CRESSIDA    'Twas one's that loved me better than you will.
    But, now you have it, take it.

DIOMEDES    Whose was it?

CRESSIDA    By all Diana's waiting-women yond,
    And by herself, I will not tell you whose.

DIOMEDES    To-morrow will I wear it on my helm,
    And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.

TROILUS    Wert thou the devil, and worest it on thy horn,
    It should be challenged.

CRESSIDA    Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past: and yet it is not;
    I will not keep my word.

DIOMEDES    Why, then, farewell;
    Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.

CRESSIDA    You shall not go: one cannot speak a word,
    But it straight starts you.

DIOMEDES    I do not like this fooling.

THERSITES    Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes not you pleases me best.

DIOMEDES    What, shall I come? the hour?

CRESSIDA    Ay, come:--O Jove!--do come:--I shall be plagued.

DIOMEDES    Farewell till then.

CRESSIDA    Good night: I prithee, come.

    [Exit DIOMEDES]

    Troilus, farewell! one eye yet looks on thee
    But with my heart the other eye doth see.
    Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find,
    The error of our eye directs our mind:
    What error leads must err; O, then conclude
    Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude.

    [Exit]

THERSITES    A proof of strength she could not publish more,
    Unless she said ' My mind is now turn'd whore.'

ULYSSES    All's done, my lord.

TROILUS    It is.

ULYSSES    Why stay we, then?

TROILUS    To make a recordation to my soul
    Of every syllable that here was spoke.
    But if I tell how these two did co-act,
    Shall I not lie in publishing a truth?
    Sith yet there is a credence in my heart,
    An esperance so obstinately strong,
    That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears,
    As if those organs had deceptious functions,
    Created only to calumniate.
    Was Cressid here?

ULYSSES                      I cannot conjure, Trojan.

TROILUS    She was not, sure.

ULYSSES                      Most sure she was.

TROILUS    Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.

ULYSSES    Nor mine, my lord: Cressid was here but now.

TROILUS    Let it not be believed for womanhood!
    Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage
    To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme,
    For depravation, to square the general sex
    By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid.

ULYSSES    What hath she done, prince, that can soil our mothers?

TROILUS    Nothing at all, unless that this were she.

THERSITES    Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes?

TROILUS    This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida:
    If beauty have a soul, this is not she;
    If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies,
    If sanctimony be the gods' delight,
    If there be rule in unity itself,
    This is not she. O madness of discourse,
    That cause sets up with and against itself!
    Bi-fold authority! where reason can revolt
    Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
    Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid.
    Within my soul there doth conduce a fight
    Of this strange nature that a thing inseparate
    Divides more wider than the sky and earth,
    And yet the spacious breadth of this division
    Admits no orifex for a point as subtle
    As Ariachne's broken woof to enter.
    Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates;
    Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven:
    Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself;
    The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolved, and loosed;
    And with another knot, five-finger-tied,
    The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
    The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy relics
    Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.

ULYSSES    May worthy Troilus be half attach'd
    With that which here his passion doth express?

TROILUS    Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well
    In characters as red as Mars his heart
    Inflamed with Venus: never did young man fancy
    With so eternal and so fix'd a soul.
    Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,
    So much by weight hate I her Diomed:
    That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm;
    Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill,
    My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout
    Which shipmen do the hurricano call,
    Constringed in mass by the almighty sun,
    Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
    In his descent than shall my prompted sword
    Falling on Diomed.

THERSITES    He'll tickle it for his concupy.

TROILUS    O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false!
    Let all untruths stand by thy stained name,
    And they'll seem glorious.

ULYSSES    O, contain yourself
    Your passion draws ears hither.

    [Enter AENEAS]

AENEAS    I have been seeking you this hour, my lord:
    Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy;
    Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.


TROILUS    Have with you, prince. My courteous lord, adieu.
    Farewell, revolted fair! and, Diomed,
    Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head!

ULYSSES    I'll bring you to the gates.

TROILUS    Accept distracted thanks.

    [Exeunt TROILUS, AENEAS, and ULYSSES]

THERSITES    Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would
    croak like a raven; I would bode, I would bode.
    Patroclus will give me any thing for the
    intelligence of this whore: the parrot will not
    do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab.
    Lechery, lechery; still, wars and lechery; nothing
    else holds fashion: a burning devil take them!

    [Exit]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE III    Troy. Before Priam's palace.


    [Enter HECTOR and ANDROMACHE]

ANDROMACHE    When was my lord so much ungently temper'd,
    To stop his ears against admonishment?
    Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.

HECTOR    You train me to offend you; get you in:
    By all the everlasting gods, I'll go!

ANDROMACHE    My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.

HECTOR    No more, I say.

    [Enter CASSANDRA]

CASSANDRA                      Where is my brother Hector?

ANDROMACHE    Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in intent.
    Consort with me in loud and dear petition,
    Pursue we him on knees; for I have dream'd
    Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
    Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.

CASSANDRA    O, 'tis true.

HECTOR                      Ho! bid my trumpet sound!

CASSANDRA    No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother.

HECTOR    Be gone, I say: the gods have heard me swear.

CASSANDRA    The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows:
    They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
    Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.

ANDROMACHE    O, be persuaded! do not count it holy
    To hurt by being just: it is as lawful,
    For we would give much, to use violent thefts,
    And rob in the behalf of charity.

CASSANDRA    It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
    But vows to every purpose must not hold:
    Unarm, sweet Hector.

HECTOR    Hold you still, I say;
    Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate:
    Lie every man holds dear; but the brave man
    Holds honour far more precious-dear than life.

    [Enter TROILUS]

    How now, young man! mean'st thou to fight to-day?

ANDROMACHE    Cassandra, call my father to persuade.

    [Exit CASSANDRA]

HECTOR    No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth;
    I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry:
    Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
    And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
    Unarm thee, go, and doubt thou not, brave boy,
    I'll stand to-day for thee and me and Troy.

TROILUS    Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you,
    Which better fits a lion than a man.

HECTOR    What vice is that, good Troilus? chide me for it.

TROILUS    When many times the captive Grecian falls,
    Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword,
    You bid them rise, and live.

HECTOR    O,'tis fair play.

TROILUS                      Fool's play, by heaven, Hector.

HECTOR    How now! how now!

TROILUS                      For the love of all the gods,
    Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers,
    And when we have our armours buckled on,
    The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords,
    Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth.

HECTOR    Fie, savage, fie!

TROILUS                      Hector, then 'tis wars.

HECTOR    Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.

TROILUS    Who should withhold me?
    Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
    Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;
    Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
    Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears;
    Not you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,
    Opposed to hinder me, should stop my way,
    But by my ruin.

    [Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAM]

CASSANDRA    Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast:
    He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay,
    Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee,
    Fall all together.

PRIAM                      Come, Hector, come, go back:
    Thy wife hath dream'd; thy mother hath had visions;
    Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself
    Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt
    To tell thee that this day is ominous:
    Therefore, come back.

HECTOR    AEneas is a-field;
    And I do stand engaged to many Greeks,
    Even in the faith of valour, to appear
    This morning to them.

PRIAM    Ay, but thou shalt not go.

HECTOR    I must not break my faith.
    You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir,
    Let me not shame respect; but give me leave
    To take that course by your consent and voice,
    Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam.

CASSANDRA    O Priam, yield not to him!

ANDROMACHE    Do not, dear father.

HECTOR    Andromache, I am offended with you:
    Upon the love you bear me, get you in.

    [Exit ANDROMACHE]

TROILUS    This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
    Makes all these bodements.

CASSANDRA    O, farewell, dear Hector!
    Look, how thou diest! look, how thy eye turns pale!
    Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents!
    Hark, how Troy roars! how Hecuba cries out!
    How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth!
    Behold, distraction, frenzy and amazement,
    Like witless antics, one another meet,
    And all cry, Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector!

TROILUS    Away! away!

CASSANDRA    Farewell: yet, soft! Hector! take my leave:
    Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive.

    [Exit]

HECTOR    You are amazed, my liege, at her exclaim:
    Go in and cheer the town: we'll forth and fight,
    Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.

PRIAM    Farewell: the gods with safety stand about thee!

    [Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR. Alarums]

TROILUS    They are at it, hark! Proud Diomed, believe,
    I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.

    [Enter PANDARUS]

PANDARUS    Do you hear, my lord? do you hear?

TROILUS    What now?

PANDARUS    Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.

TROILUS    Let me read.

PANDARUS    A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick so
    troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl;
    and what one thing, what another, that I shall
    leave you one o' these days: and I have a rheum
    in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones
    that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell what
    to think on't. What says she there?

TROILUS    Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart:
    The effect doth operate another way.

    [Tearing the letter]

    Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.
    My love with words and errors still she feeds;
    But edifies another with her deeds.

    [Exeunt severally]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE IV    Plains between Troy and the Grecian camp.


    [Alarums: excursions. Enter THERSITES]

THERSITES    Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go
    look on. That dissembling abominable varlets Diomed,
    has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's
    sleeve of Troy there in his helm: I would fain see
    them meet; that that same young Trojan ass, that
    loves the whore there, might send that Greekish
    whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve, back to the
    dissembling luxurious drab, of a sleeveless errand.
    O' the t'other side, the policy of those crafty
    swearing rascals, that stale old mouse-eaten dry
    cheese, Nestor, and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, is
    not proved worthy a blackberry: they set me up, in
    policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of
    as bad a kind, Achilles: and now is the cur Ajax
    prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm
    to-day; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim
    barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion.
    Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other.

    [Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following]

TROILUS    Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx,
    I would swim after.

DIOMEDES    Thou dost miscall retire:
    I do not fly, but advantageous care
    Withdrew me from the odds of multitude:
    Have at thee!

THERSITES    Hold thy whore, Grecian!--now for thy whore,
    Trojan!--now the sleeve, now the sleeve!

    [Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES, fighting]

    [Enter HECTOR]

HECTOR    What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's match?
    Art thou of blood and honour?

THERSITES    No, no, I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave:
    a very filthy rogue.

HECTOR    I do believe thee: live.

    [Exit]

THERSITES    God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; but a
    plague break thy neck for frightening me! What's
    become of the wenching rogues? I think they have
    swallowed one another: I would laugh at that
    miracle: yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself.
    I'll seek them.

    [Exit]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE V    Another part of the plains.


    [Enter DIOMEDES and a Servant]

DIOMEDES    Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse;
    Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid:
    Fellow, commend my service to her beauty;
    Tell her I have chastised the amorous Trojan,
    And am her knight by proof.

Servant    I go, my lord.

    [Exit]

    [Enter AGAMEMNON]

AGAMEMNON    Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamas
    Hath beat down Menon: bastard Margarelon
    Hath Doreus prisoner,
    And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,
    Upon the pashed corses of the kings
    Epistrophus and Cedius: Polyxenes is slain,
    Amphimachus and Thoas deadly hurt,
    Patroclus ta'en or slain, and Palamedes
    Sore hurt and bruised: the dreadful Sagittary
    Appals our numbers: haste we, Diomed,
    To reinforcement, or we perish all.

    [Enter NESTOR]

NESTOR    Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles;
    And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame.
    There is a thousand Hectors in the field:
    Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
    And there lacks work; anon he's there afoot,
    And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls
    Before the belching whale; then is he yonder,
    And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
    Fall down before him, like the mower's swath:
    Here, there, and every where, he leaves and takes,
    Dexterity so obeying appetite
    That what he will he does, and does so much
    That proof is call'd impossibility.

    [Enter ULYSSES]

ULYSSES    O, courage, courage, princes! great Achilles
    Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance:
    Patroclus' wounds have roused his drowsy blood,
    Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
    That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to him,
    Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend
    And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it,
    Roaring for Troilus, who hath done to-day
    Mad and fantastic execution,
    Engaging and redeeming of himself
    With such a careless force and forceless care
    As if that luck, in very spite of cunning,
    Bade him win all.

    [Enter AJAX]

AJAX    Troilus! thou coward Troilus!

    [Exit]

DIOMEDES    Ay, there, there.

NESTOR    So, so, we draw together.

    [Enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES    Where is this Hector?
    Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;
    Know what it is to meet Achilles angry:
    Hector? where's Hector? I will none but Hector.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE VI    Another part of the plains.


    [Enter AJAX]

AJAX    Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head!

    [Enter DIOMEDES]

DIOMEDES    Troilus, I say! where's Troilus?

AJAX    What wouldst thou?

DIOMEDES    I would correct him.

AJAX    Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office
    Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! what, Troilus!

    [Enter TROILUS]

TROILUS    O traitor Diomed! turn thy false face, thou traitor,
    And pay thy life thou owest me for my horse!

DIOMEDES    Ha, art thou there?

AJAX    I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed.

DIOMEDES    He is my prize; I will not look upon.

TROILUS    Come, both you cogging Greeks; have at you both!

    [Exeunt, fighting]

    [Enter HECTOR]

HECTOR    Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!

    [Enter ACHILLES]

ACHILLES    Now do I see thee, ha! have at thee, Hector!

HECTOR    Pause, if thou wilt.

ACHILLES    I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan:
    Be happy that my arms are out of use:
    My rest and negligence befriends thee now,
    But thou anon shalt hear of me again;
    Till when, go seek thy fortune.

    [Exit]

HECTOR    Fare thee well:
    I would have been much more a fresher man,
    Had I expected thee. How now, my brother!

    [Re-enter TROILUS]

TROILUS    Ajax hath ta'en AEneas: shall it be?
    No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
    He shall not carry him: I'll be ta'en too,
    Or bring him off: fate, hear me what I say!
    I reck not though I end my life to-day.

    [Exit]

    [Enter one in sumptuous armour]

HECTOR    Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark:
    No? wilt thou not? I like thy armour well;
    I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all,
    But I'll be master of it: wilt thou not,
    beast, abide?
    Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE VII    Another part of the plains.


    [Enter ACHILLES, with Myrmidons]

ACHILLES    Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
    Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel:
    Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath:
    And when I have the bloody Hector found,
    Empale him with your weapons round about;
    In fellest manner execute your aims.
    Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye:
    It is decreed Hector the great must die.

    [Exeunt]

    [Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting:
    then THERSITES]

THERSITES    The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now,
    bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo! now my double-
    henned sparrow! 'loo, Paris, 'loo! The bull has the
    game: ware horns, ho!

    [Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS]

    [Enter MARGARELON]

MARGARELON    Turn, slave, and fight.

THERSITES    What art thou?

MARGARELON    A bastard son of Priam's.

THERSITES    I am a bastard too; I love bastards: I am a bastard
    begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, bastard
    in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One bear will
    not bite another, and wherefore should one bastard?
    Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us: if the
    son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment:
    farewell, bastard.

    [Exit]

MARGARELON    The devil take thee, coward!

    [Exit]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE VIII    Another part of the plains.


    [Enter HECTOR]

HECTOR    Most putrefied core, so fair without,
    Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
    Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath:
    Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death.

    [Puts off his helmet and hangs his shield
    behind him]

    [Enter ACHILLES and Myrmidons]

ACHILLES    Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set;
    How ugly night comes breathing at his heels:
    Even with the vail and darking of the sun,
    To close the day up, Hector's life is done.

HECTOR    I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.

ACHILLES    Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.

    [HECTOR falls]

    So, Ilion, fall thou next! now, Troy, sink down!
    Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.
    On, Myrmidons, and cry you all amain,
    'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'

    [A retreat sounded]

    Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.

MYRMIDONS    The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.

ACHILLES    The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth,
    And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
    My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
    Pleased with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.

    [Sheathes his sword]

    Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
    Along the field I will the Trojan trail.

    [Exeunt]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE IX    Another part of the plains.


    [Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, NESTOR, DIOMEDES,
    and others, marching. Shouts within]

AGAMEMNON    Hark! hark! what shout is that?

NESTOR    Peace, drums!

    [Within]

    Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles.

DIOMEDES    The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by Achilles.

AJAX    If it be so, yet bragless let it be;
    Great Hector was a man as good as he.

AGAMEMNON    March patiently along: let one be sent
    To pray Achilles see us at our tent.
    If in his death the gods have us befriended,
    Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.

    [Exeunt, marching]




    TROILUS AND CRESSIDA


ACT V



SCENE X    Another part of the plains.


    [Enter AENEAS and Trojans]

AENEAS    Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field:
    Never go home; here starve we out the night.

    [Enter TROILUS]

TROILUS    Hector is slain.

ALL                      Hector! the gods forbid!

TROILUS    He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail,
    In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field.
    Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed!
    Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy!
    I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
    And linger not our sure destructions on!

AENEAS    My lord, you do discomfort all the host!

TROILUS    You understand me not that tell me so:
    I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
    But dare all imminence that gods and men
    Address their dangers in. Hector is gone:
    Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba?
    Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd,
    Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
    There is a word will Priam turn to stone;
    Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
    Cold statues of the youth, and, in a word,
    Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away:
    Hector is dead; there is no more to say.
    Stay yet. You vile abominable tents,
    Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains,
    Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
    I'll through and through you! and, thou great-sized coward,
    No space of earth shall sunder our two hates:
    I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
    That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts.
    Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go:
    Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.

    [Exeunt AENEAS and Trojans]

    [As TROILUS is going out, enter, from the other
    side, PANDARUS]

PANDARUS    But hear you, hear you!

TROILUS    Hence, broker-lackey! ignomy and shame
    Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name!

    [Exit]

PANDARUS    A goodly medicine for my aching bones! O world!
    world! world! thus is the poor agent despised!
    O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set
    a-work, and how ill requited! why should our
    endeavour be so loved and the performance so loathed?
    what verse for it? what instance for it? Let me see:
    Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
    Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
    And being once subdued in armed tail,
    Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
    Good traders in the flesh, set this in your
    painted cloths.
    As many as be here of pander's hall,
    Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall;
    Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
    Though not for me, yet for your aching bones.
    Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
    Some two months hence my will shall here be made:
    It should be now, but that my fear is this,
    Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss:
    Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases,
    And at that time bequeathe you my diseases.

    [Exit]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


VINCENTIO    the Duke. (DUKE VINCENTIO:)

ANGELO    Deputy.

ESCALUS    an ancient Lord.

CLAUDIO    a young gentleman.

LUCIO    a fantastic.

    Two other gentlemen.
    (First Gentleman:)
    (Second Gentleman:)
    Provost.


PETER    (FRIAR PETER:)    |
        |  two friars.
THOMAS    (FRIAR THOMAS:)    |


    A Justice.

VARRIUS:

ELBOW    a simple constable.

FROTH    a foolish gentleman.

POMPEY    servant to Mistress Overdone.

ABHORSON    an executioner.

BARNARDINE    a dissolute prisoner.

ISABELLA    sister to Claudio.

MARIANA    betrothed to Angelo.

JULIET    beloved of Claudio.

FRANCISCA    a nun.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    a bawd.

    Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendant.
    (Servant:)
    (Messenger:)


SCENE    Vienna.




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE I    An apartment in the DUKE'S palace.


    [Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, ESCALUS, Lords and
    Attendants]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Escalus.

ESCALUS    My lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Of government the properties to unfold,
    Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse;
    Since I am put to know that your own science
    Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
    My strength can give you: then no more remains,
    But that to your sufficiency [           ]
    [                  ] as your Worth is able,
    And let them work. The nature of our people,
    Our city's institutions, and the terms
    For common justice, you're as pregnant in
    As art and practise hath enriched any
    That we remember. There is our commission,
    From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
    I say, bid come before us Angelo.

    [Exit an Attendant]

    What figure of us think you he will bear?
    For you must know, we have with special soul
    Elected him our absence to supply,
    Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love,
    And given his deputation all the organs
    Of our own power: what think you of it?

ESCALUS    If any in Vienna be of worth
    To undergo such ample grace and honour,
    It is Lord Angelo.

DUKE VINCENTIO                      Look where he comes.

    [Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO    Always obedient to your grace's will,
    I come to know your pleasure.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Angelo,
    There is a kind of character in thy life,
    That to the observer doth thy history
    Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings
    Are not thine own so proper as to waste
    Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
    Heaven doth with us as we with torches do,
    Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues
    Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
    As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
    But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends
    The smallest scruple of her excellence
    But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
    Herself the glory of a creditor,
    Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech
    To one that can my part in him advertise;
    Hold therefore, Angelo:--
    In our remove be thou at full ourself;
    Mortality and mercy in Vienna
    Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus,
    Though first in question, is thy secondary.
    Take thy commission.

ANGELO    Now, good my lord,
    Let there be some more test made of my metal,
    Before so noble and so great a figure
    Be stamp'd upon it.

DUKE VINCENTIO    No more evasion:
    We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice
    Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours.
    Our haste from hence is of so quick condition
    That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd
    Matters of needful value. We shall write to you,
    As time and our concernings shall importune,
    How it goes with us, and do look to know
    What doth befall you here. So, fare you well;
    To the hopeful execution do I leave you
    Of your commissions.

ANGELO    Yet give leave, my lord,
    That we may bring you something on the way.

DUKE VINCENTIO    My haste may not admit it;
    Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
    With any scruple; your scope is as mine own
    So to enforce or qualify the laws
    As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand:
    I'll privily away. I love the people,
    But do not like to stage me to their eyes:
    Through it do well, I do not relish well
    Their loud applause and Aves vehement;
    Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
    That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.

ANGELO    The heavens give safety to your purposes!

ESCALUS    Lead forth and bring you back in happiness!

DUKE    I thank you. Fare you well.

    [Exit]

ESCALUS    I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
    To have free speech with you; and it concerns me
    To look into the bottom of my place:
    A power I have, but of what strength and nature
    I am not yet instructed.

ANGELO    'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together,
    And we may soon our satisfaction have
    Touching that point.

ESCALUS    I'll wait upon your honour.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE II    A Street.


    [Enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO    If the duke with the other dukes come not to
    composition with the King of Hungary, why then all
    the dukes fall upon the king.

First Gentleman    Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of
    Hungary's!

Second Gentleman    Amen.

LUCIO    Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that
    went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped
    one out of the table.

Second Gentleman    'Thou shalt not steal'?

LUCIO    Ay, that he razed.

First Gentleman    Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain and
    all the rest from their functions: they put forth
    to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in
    the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition
    well that prays for peace.

Second Gentleman    I never heard any soldier dislike it.

LUCIO    I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where
    grace was said.

Second Gentleman    No? a dozen times at least.

First Gentleman    What, in metre?

LUCIO    In any proportion or in any language.

First Gentleman    I think, or in any religion.

LUCIO    Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all
    controversy: as, for example, thou thyself art a
    wicked villain, despite of all grace.

First Gentleman    Well, there went but a pair of shears between us.

LUCIO    I grant; as there may between the lists and the
    velvet. Thou art the list.

First Gentleman    And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou'rt
    a three-piled piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief
    be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou
    art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak
    feelingly now?

LUCIO    I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful
    feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own
    confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I
    live, forget to drink after thee.

First Gentleman    I think I have done myself wrong, have I not?

Second Gentleman    Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free.

LUCIO    Behold, behold. where Madam Mitigation comes! I
    have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to--

Second Gentleman    To what, I pray?

LUCIO    Judge.

Second Gentleman    To three thousand dolours a year.

First Gentleman    Ay, and more.

LUCIO    A French crown more.

First Gentleman    Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou
    art full of error; I am sound.

LUCIO    Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound as
    things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow;
    impiety has made a feast of thee.

    [Enter MISTRESS OVERDONE]

First Gentleman    How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica?

MISTRESS OVERDONE    Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried
    to prison was worth five thousand of you all.

Second Gentleman    Who's that, I pray thee?

MISTRESS OVERDONE    Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.

First Gentleman    Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw
    him carried away; and, which is more, within these
    three days his head to be chopped off.

LUCIO    But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so.
    Art thou sure of this?

MISTRESS OVERDONE    I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam
    Julietta with child.

LUCIO    Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two
    hours since, and he was ever precise in
    promise-keeping.

Second Gentleman    Besides, you know, it draws something near to the
    speech we had to such a purpose.

First Gentleman    But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation.

LUCIO    Away! let's go learn the truth of it.

    [Exeunt LUCIO and Gentlemen]

MISTRESS OVERDONE    Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what
    with the gallows and what with poverty, I am
    custom-shrunk.

    [Enter POMPEY]

    How now! what's the news with you?

POMPEY    Yonder man is carried to prison.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    Well; what has he done?

POMPEY    A woman.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    But what's his offence?

POMPEY    Groping for trouts in a peculiar river.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    What, is there a maid with child by him?

POMPEY    No, but there's a woman with maid by him. You have
    not heard of the proclamation, have you?

MISTRESS OVERDONE    What proclamation, man?

POMPEY    All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    And what shall become of those in the city?

POMPEY    They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too,
    but that a wise burgher put in for them.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be
    pulled down?

POMPEY    To the ground, mistress.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth!
    What shall become of me?

POMPEY    Come; fear you not: good counsellors lack no
    clients: though you change your place, you need not
    change your trade; I'll be your tapster still.
    Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that
    have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you
    will be considered.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    What's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw.

POMPEY    Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to
    prison; and there's Madam Juliet.

    [Exeunt]

    [Enter Provost, CLAUDIO, JULIET, and Officers]

CLAUDIO    Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world?
    Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Provost    I do it not in evil disposition,
    But from Lord Angelo by special charge.

CLAUDIO    Thus can the demigod Authority
    Make us pay down for our offence by weight
    The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will;
    On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just.

    [Re-enter LUCIO and two Gentlemen]

LUCIO    Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint?

CLAUDIO    From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty:
    As surfeit is the father of much fast,
    So every scope by the immoderate use
    Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue,
    Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,
    A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die.

LUCIO    If could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would
    send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say
    the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom
    as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy
    offence, Claudio?

CLAUDIO    What but to speak of would offend again.

LUCIO    What, is't murder?

CLAUDIO    No.

LUCIO    Lechery?

CLAUDIO    Call it so.

Provost    Away, sir! you must go.

CLAUDIO    One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you.

LUCIO    A hundred, if they'll do you any good.
    Is lechery so look'd after?

CLAUDIO    Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract
    I got possession of Julietta's bed:
    You know the lady; she is fast my wife,
    Save that we do the denunciation lack
    Of outward order: this we came not to,
    Only for propagation of a dower
    Remaining in the coffer of her friends,
    From whom we thought it meet to hide our love
    Till time had made them for us. But it chances
    The stealth of our most mutual entertainment
    With character too gross is writ on Juliet.

LUCIO    With child, perhaps?

CLAUDIO    Unhappily, even so.
    And the new deputy now for the duke--
    Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness,
    Or whether that the body public be
    A horse whereon the governor doth ride,
    Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
    He can command, lets it straight feel the spur;
    Whether the tyranny be in his place,
    Or in his emmence that fills it up,
    I stagger in:--but this new governor
    Awakes me all the enrolled penalties
    Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
    So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round
    And none of them been worn; and, for a name,
    Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
    Freshly on me: 'tis surely for a name.

LUCIO    I warrant it is: and thy head stands so tickle on
    thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love,
    may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to
    him.

CLAUDIO    I have done so, but he's not to be found.
    I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service:
    This day my sister should the cloister enter
    And there receive her approbation:
    Acquaint her with the danger of my state:
    Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
    To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him:
    I have great hope in that; for in her youth
    There is a prone and speechless dialect,
    Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art
    When she will play with reason and discourse,
    And well she can persuade.

LUCIO    I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the
    like, which else would stand under grievous
    imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I
    would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a
    game of tick-tack. I'll to her.

CLAUDIO    I thank you, good friend Lucio.

LUCIO    Within two hours.

CLAUDIO                      Come, officer, away!

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE III    A monastery.


    [Enter DUKE VINCENTIO and FRIAR THOMAS]

DUKE VINCENTIO    No, holy father; throw away that thought;
    Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
    Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee
    To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
    More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
    Of burning youth.

FRIAR THOMAS                      May your grace speak of it?

DUKE VINCENTIO    My holy sir, none better knows than you
    How I have ever loved the life removed
    And held in idle price to haunt assemblies
    Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
    I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo,
    A man of stricture and firm abstinence,
    My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
    And he supposes me travell'd to Poland;
    For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
    And so it is received. Now, pious sir,
    You will demand of me why I do this?

FRIAR THOMAS    Gladly, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    We have strict statutes and most biting laws.
    The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds,
    Which for this nineteen years we have let slip;
    Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
    That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers,
    Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch,
    Only to stick it in their children's sight
    For terror, not to use, in time the rod
    Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees,
    Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead;
    And liberty plucks justice by the nose;
    The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
    Goes all decorum.

FRIAR THOMAS                      It rested in your grace
    To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased:
    And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd
    Than in Lord Angelo.

DUKE VINCENTIO    I do fear, too dreadful:
    Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope,
    'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them
    For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done,
    When evil deeds have their permissive pass
    And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, my father,
    I have on Angelo imposed the office;
    Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
    And yet my nature never in the fight
    To do in slander. And to behold his sway,
    I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
    Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee,
    Supply me with the habit and instruct me
    How I may formally in person bear me
    Like a true friar. More reasons for this action
    At our more leisure shall I render you;
    Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise;
    Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses
    That his blood flows, or that his appetite
    Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see,
    If power change purpose, what our seemers be.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT I


SCENE IV    A nunnery.


    [Enter ISABELLA and FRANCISCA]

ISABELLA    And have you nuns no farther privileges?

FRANCISCA    Are not these large enough?

ISABELLA    Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more;
    But rather wishing a more strict restraint
    Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare.

LUCIO    [Within]  Ho! Peace be in this place!

ISABELLA    Who's that which calls?

FRANCISCA    It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella,
    Turn you the key, and know his business of him;
    You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn.
    When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men
    But in the presence of the prioress:
    Then, if you speak, you must not show your face,
    Or, if you show your face, you must not speak.
    He calls again; I pray you, answer him.

    [Exit]

ISABELLA    Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls

    [Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO    Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses
    Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me
    As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
    A novice of this place and the fair sister
    To her unhappy brother Claudio?

ISABELLA    Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask,
    The rather for I now must make you know
    I am that Isabella and his sister.

LUCIO    Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you:
    Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.

ISABELLA    Woe me! for what?

LUCIO    For that which, if myself might be his judge,
    He should receive his punishment in thanks:
    He hath got his friend with child.

ISABELLA    Sir, make me not your story.

LUCIO    It is true.
    I would not--though 'tis my familiar sin
    With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest,
    Tongue far from heart--play with all virgins so:
    I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted.
    By your renouncement an immortal spirit,
    And to be talk'd with in sincerity,
    As with a saint.

ISABELLA    You do blaspheme the good in mocking me.

LUCIO    Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus:
    Your brother and his lover have embraced:
    As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time
    That from the seedness the bare fallow brings
    To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb
    Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry.

ISABELLA    Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet?

LUCIO    Is she your cousin?

ISABELLA    Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names
    By vain though apt affection.

LUCIO    She it is.

ISABELLA    O, let him marry her.

LUCIO    This is the point.
    The duke is very strangely gone from hence;
    Bore many gentlemen, myself being one,
    In hand and hope of action: but we do learn
    By those that know the very nerves of state,
    His givings-out were of an infinite distance
    From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
    And with full line of his authority,
    Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood
    Is very snow-broth; one who never feels
    The wanton stings and motions of the sense,
    But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
    With profits of the mind, study and fast.
    He--to give fear to use and liberty,
    Which have for long run by the hideous law,
    As mice by lions--hath pick'd out an act,
    Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
    Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it;
    And follows close the rigour of the statute,
    To make him an example. All hope is gone,
    Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
    To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business
    'Twixt you and your poor brother.

ISABELLA    Doth he so seek his life?

LUCIO    Has censured him
    Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath
    A warrant for his execution.

ISABELLA    Alas! what poor ability's in me
    To do him good?

LUCIO                      Assay the power you have.

ISABELLA    My power? Alas, I doubt--

LUCIO    Our doubts are traitors
    And make us lose the good we oft might win
    By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo,
    And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
    Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel,
    All their petitions are as freely theirs
    As they themselves would owe them.

ISABELLA    I'll see what I can do.

LUCIO    But speedily.

ISABELLA    I will about it straight;
    No longer staying but to give the mother
    Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you:
    Commend me to my brother: soon at night
    I'll send him certain word of my success.

LUCIO    I take my leave of you.

ISABELLA    Good sir, adieu.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE I    A hall In ANGELO's house.


    [Enter ANGELO, ESCALUS, and a Justice, Provost,
    Officers, and other Attendants, behind]

ANGELO    We must not make a scarecrow of the law,
    Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
    And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
    Their perch and not their terror.

ESCALUS    Ay, but yet
    Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
    Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gentleman
    Whom I would save, had a most noble father!
    Let but your honour know,
    Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue,
    That, in the working of your own affections,
    Had time cohered with place or place with wishing,
    Or that the resolute acting of your blood
    Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose,
    Whether you had not sometime in your life
    Err'd in this point which now you censure him,
    And pull'd the law upon you.

ANGELO    'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
    Another thing to fall. I not deny,
    The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
    May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two
    Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice,
    That justice seizes: what know the laws
    That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant,
    The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't
    Because we see it; but what we do not see
    We tread upon, and never think of it.
    You may not so extenuate his offence
    For I have had such faults; but rather tell me,
    When I, that censure him, do so offend,
    Let mine own judgment pattern out my death,
    And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.

ESCALUS    Be it as your wisdom will.

ANGELO    Where is the provost?

Provost    Here, if it like your honour.

ANGELO    See that Claudio
    Be executed by nine to-morrow morning:
    Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared;
    For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.

    [Exit Provost]

ESCALUS    [Aside]  Well, heaven forgive him! and forgive us all!
    Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall:
    Some run from brakes of ice, and answer none:
    And some condemned for a fault alone.

    [Enter ELBOW, and Officers with FROTH and POMPEY]

ELBOW    Come, bring them away: if these be good people in
    a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in
    common houses, I know no law: bring them away.

ANGELO    How now, sir! What's your name? and what's the matter?

ELBOW    If it Please your honour, I am the poor duke's
    constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon
    justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good
    honour two notorious benefactors.

ANGELO    Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? are
    they not malefactors?

ELBOW    If it? please your honour, I know not well what they
    are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure
    of; and void of all profanation in the world that
    good Christians ought to have.

ESCALUS    This comes off well; here's a wise officer.

ANGELO    Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your
    name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow?

POMPEY    He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow.

ANGELO    What are you, sir?

ELBOW    He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that
    serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they
    say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she
    professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too.

ESCALUS    How know you that?

ELBOW    My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,--

ESCALUS    How? thy wife?

ELBOW    Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,--

ESCALUS    Dost thou detest her therefore?

ELBOW    I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as
    she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house,
    it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house.

ESCALUS    How dost thou know that, constable?

ELBOW    Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman
    cardinally given, might have been accused in
    fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there.

ESCALUS    By the woman's means?

ELBOW    Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means: but as she
    spit in his face, so she defied him.

POMPEY    Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so.

ELBOW    Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable
    man; prove it.

ESCALUS    Do you hear how he misplaces?

POMPEY    Sir, she came in great with child; and longing,
    saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes;
    sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very
    distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a
    dish of some three-pence; your honours have seen
    such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very
    good dishes,--

ESCALUS    Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir.

POMPEY    No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in
    the right: but to the point. As I say, this
    Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and
    being great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for
    prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said,
    Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the
    rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very
    honestly; for, as you know, Master Froth, I could
    not give you three-pence again.

FROTH    No, indeed.

POMPEY    Very well: you being then, if you be remembered,
    cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes,--

FROTH    Ay, so I did indeed.

POMPEY    Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be
    remembered, that such a one and such a one were past
    cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very
    good diet, as I told you,--

FROTH    All this is true.

POMPEY    Why, very well, then,--

ESCALUS    Come, you are a tedious fool: to the purpose. What
    was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to
    complain of? Come me to what was done to her.

POMPEY    Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet.

ESCALUS    No, sir, nor I mean it not.

POMPEY    Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's
    leave. And, I beseech you, look into Master Froth
    here, sir; a man of four-score pound a year; whose
    father died at Hallowmas: was't not at Hallowmas,
    Master Froth?

FROTH    All-hallond eve.

POMPEY    Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir,
    sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in
    the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight
    to sit, have you not?

FROTH    I have so; because it is an open room and good for winter.

POMPEY    Why, very well, then; I hope here be truths.

ANGELO    This will last out a night in Russia,
    When nights are longest there: I'll take my leave.
    And leave you to the hearing of the cause;
    Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all.

ESCALUS    I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.

    [Exit ANGELO]

    Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more?

POMPEY    Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once.

ELBOW    I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

POMPEY    I beseech your honour, ask me.

ESCALUS    Well, sir; what did this gentleman to her?

POMPEY    I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face.
    Good Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a
    good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face?

ESCALUS    Ay, sir, very well.

POMPEY    Nay; I beseech you, mark it well.

ESCALUS    Well, I do so.

POMPEY    Doth your honour see any harm in his face?

ESCALUS    Why, no.

POMPEY    I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst
    thing about him. Good, then; if his face be the
    worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the
    constable's wife any harm? I would know that of
    your honour.

ESCALUS    He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it?

ELBOW    First, an it like you, the house is a respected
    house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his
    mistress is a respected woman.

POMPEY    By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected
    person than any of us all.

ELBOW    Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet! the
    time has yet to come that she was ever respected
    with man, woman, or child.

POMPEY    Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.

ESCALUS    Which is the wiser here? Justice or Iniquity? Is
    this true?

ELBOW    O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked
    Hannibal! I respected with her before I was married
    to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she
    with me, let not your worship think me the poor
    duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or
    I'll have mine action of battery on thee.

ESCALUS    If he took you a box o' the ear, you might have your
    action of slander too.

ELBOW    Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't
    your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?

ESCALUS    Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him
    that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him
    continue in his courses till thou knowest what they
    are.

ELBOW    Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou
    wicked varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art
    to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue.

ESCALUS    Where were you born, friend?

FROTH    Here in Vienna, sir.

ESCALUS    Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

FROTH    Yes, an't please you, sir.

ESCALUS    So. What trade are you of, sir?

POMPHEY    Tapster; a poor widow's tapster.

ESCALUS    Your mistress' name?

POMPHEY    Mistress Overdone.

ESCALUS    Hath she had any more than one husband?

POMPEY    Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.

ESCALUS    Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master
    Froth, I would not have you acquainted with
    tapsters: they will draw you, Master Froth, and you
    will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no
    more of you.

FROTH    I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never
    come into any room in a tap-house, but I am drawn
    in.

ESCALUS    Well, no more of it, Master Froth: farewell.

    [Exit FROTH]

    Come you hither to me, Master tapster. What's your
    name, Master tapster?

POMPEY    Pompey.

ESCALUS    What else?

POMPEY    Bum, sir.

ESCALUS    Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you;
    so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the
    Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey,
    howsoever you colour it in being a tapster, are you
    not? come, tell me true: it shall be the better for you.

POMPEY    Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.

ESCALUS    How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What
    do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade?

POMPEY    If the law would allow it, sir.

ESCALUS    But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall
    not be allowed in Vienna.

POMPEY    Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the
    youth of the city?

ESCALUS    No, Pompey.

POMPEY    Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then.
    If your worship will take order for the drabs and
    the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

ESCALUS    There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you:
    it is but heading and hanging.

POMPEY    If you head and hang all that offend that way but
    for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a
    commission for more heads: if this law hold in
    Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it
    after three-pence a bay: if you live to see this
    come to pass, say Pompey told you so.

ESCALUS    Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your
    prophecy, hark you: I advise you, let me not find
    you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever;
    no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey,
    I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd
    Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall
    have you whipt: so, for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

POMPEY    I thank your worship for your good counsel:

    [Aside]

    but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall
    better determine.
    Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade:
    The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade.

    [Exit]

ESCALUS    Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master
    constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

ELBOW    Seven year and a half, sir.

ESCALUS    I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had
    continued in it some time. You say, seven years together?

ELBOW    And a half, sir.

ESCALUS    Alas, it hath been great pains to you. They do you
    wrong to put you so oft upon 't: are there not men
    in your ward sufficient to serve it?

ELBOW    Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as they
    are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I
    do it for some piece of money, and go through with
    all.

ESCALUS    Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven,
    the most sufficient of your parish.

ELBOW    To your worship's house, sir?

ESCALUS    To my house. Fare you well.

    [Exit ELBOW]

    What's o'clock, think you?

Justice    Eleven, sir.

ESCALUS    I pray you home to dinner with me.

Justice    I humbly thank you.

ESCALUS    It grieves me for the death of Claudio;
    But there's no remedy.

Justice    Lord Angelo is severe.

ESCALUS    It is but needful:
    Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so;
    Pardon is still the nurse of second woe:
    But yet,--poor Claudio! There is no remedy.
    Come, sir.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE II    Another room in the same.


    [Enter Provost and a Servant]

Servant    He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight
    I'll tell him of you.

Provost    Pray you, do.

    [Exit Servant]

                          I'll know
    His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas,
    He hath but as offended in a dream!
    All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he
    To die for't!

    [Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO                      Now, what's the matter. Provost?

Provost    Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow?

ANGELO    Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order?
    Why dost thou ask again?

Provost    Lest I might be too rash:
    Under your good correction, I have seen,
    When, after execution, judgment hath
    Repented o'er his doom.

ANGELO    Go to; let that be mine:
    Do you your office, or give up your place,
    And you shall well be spared.

Provost    I crave your honour's pardon.
    What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?
    She's very near her hour.

ANGELO    Dispose of her
    To some more fitter place, and that with speed.

    [Re-enter Servant]

Servant    Here is the sister of the man condemn'd
    Desires access to you.

ANGELO    Hath he a sister?

Provost    Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid,
    And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
    If not already.

ANGELO                      Well, let her be admitted.

    [Exit Servant]

    See you the fornicatress be removed:
    Let have needful, but not lavish, means;
    There shall be order for't.

    [Enter ISABELLA and LUCIO]

Provost    God save your honour!

ANGELO    Stay a little while.

    [To ISABELLA]

        You're welcome: what's your will?

ISABELLA    I am a woeful suitor to your honour,
    Please but your honour hear me.

ANGELO    Well; what's your suit?

ISABELLA    There is a vice that most I do abhor,
    And most desire should meet the blow of justice;
    For which I would not plead, but that I must;
    For which I must not plead, but that I am
    At war 'twixt will and will not.

ANGELO    Well; the matter?

ISABELLA    I have a brother is condemn'd to die:
    I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
    And not my brother.

Provost    [Aside]  Heaven give thee moving graces!

ANGELO    Condemn the fault and not the actor of it?
    Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done:
    Mine were the very cipher of a function,
    To fine the faults whose fine stands in record,
    And let go by the actor.

ISABELLA    O just but severe law!
    I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]  Give't not o'er so: to him
    again, entreat him;
    Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown:
    You are too cold; if you should need a pin,
    You could not with more tame a tongue desire it:
    To him, I say!

ISABELLA    Must he needs die?

ANGELO                      Maiden, no remedy.

ISABELLA    Yes; I do think that you might pardon him,
    And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.

ANGELO    I will not do't.

ISABELLA                      But can you, if you would?

ANGELO    Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

ISABELLA    But might you do't, and do the world no wrong,
    If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse
    As mine is to him?

ANGELO                      He's sentenced; 'tis too late.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]  You are too cold.

ISABELLA    Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word.
    May call it back again. Well, believe this,
    No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
    Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
    The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
    Become them with one half so good a grace
    As mercy does.
    If he had been as you and you as he,
    You would have slipt like him; but he, like you,
    Would not have been so stern.

ANGELO    Pray you, be gone.

ISABELLA    I would to heaven I had your potency,
    And you were Isabel! should it then be thus?
    No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge,
    And what a prisoner.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]

        Ay, touch him; there's the vein.

ANGELO    Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
    And you but waste your words.

ISABELLA    Alas, alas!
    Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once;
    And He that might the vantage best have took
    Found out the remedy. How would you be,
    If He, which is the top of judgment, should
    But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
    And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
    Like man new made.

ANGELO                      Be you content, fair maid;
    It is the law, not I condemn your brother:
    Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
    It should be thus with him: he must die tomorrow.

ISABELLA    To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him!
    He's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens
    We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven
    With less respect than we do minister
    To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you;
    Who is it that hath died for this offence?
    There's many have committed it.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]           Ay, well said.

ANGELO    The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept:
    Those many had not dared to do that evil,
    If the first that did the edict infringe
    Had answer'd for his deed: now 'tis awake
    Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet,
    Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,
    Either new, or by remissness new-conceived,
    And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,
    Are now to have no successive degrees,
    But, ere they live, to end.

ISABELLA    Yet show some pity.

ANGELO    I show it most of all when I show justice;
    For then I pity those I do not know,
    Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall;
    And do him right that, answering one foul wrong,
    Lives not to act another. Be satisfied;
    Your brother dies to-morrow; be content.

ISABELLA    So you must be the first that gives this sentence,
    And he, that suffer's. O, it is excellent
    To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous
    To use it like a giant.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]   That's well said.

ISABELLA    Could great men thunder
    As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet,
    For every pelting, petty officer
    Would use his heaven for thunder;
    Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven,
    Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
    Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
    Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man,
    Drest in a little brief authority,
    Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
    His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
    Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
    As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
    Would all themselves laugh mortal.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]  O, to him, to him, wench! he
    will relent;
    He's coming; I perceive 't.

Provost    [Aside]  Pray heaven she win him!

ISABELLA    We cannot weigh our brother with ourself:
    Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them,
    But in the less foul profanation.

LUCIO    Thou'rt i' the right, girl; more o, that.

ISABELLA    That in the captain's but a choleric word,
    Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]  Art avised o' that? more on 't.

ANGELO    Why do you put these sayings upon me?

ISABELLA    Because authority, though it err like others,
    Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself,
    That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom;
    Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know
    That's like my brother's fault: if it confess
    A natural guiltiness such as is his,
    Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
    Against my brother's life.

ANGELO    [Aside]                  She speaks, and 'tis
    Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare you well.

ISABELLA    Gentle my lord, turn back.

ANGELO    I will bethink me: come again tomorrow.

ISABELLA    Hark how I'll bribe you: good my lord, turn back.

ANGELO    How! bribe me?

ISABELLA    Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]  You had marr'd all else.

ISABELLA    Not with fond shekels of the tested gold,
    Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor
    As fancy values them; but with true prayers
    That shall be up at heaven and enter there
    Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls,
    From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate
    To nothing temporal.

ANGELO    Well; come to me to-morrow.

LUCIO    [Aside to ISABELLA]  Go to; 'tis well; away!

ISABELLA    Heaven keep your honour safe!

ANGELO    [Aside]    Amen:
    For I am that way going to temptation,
    Where prayers cross.

ISABELLA    At what hour to-morrow
    Shall I attend your lordship?

ANGELO    At any time 'fore noon.

ISABELLA    'Save your honour!

    [Exeunt ISABELLA, LUCIO, and Provost]

ANGELO                      From thee, even from thy virtue!
    What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine?
    The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?
    Ha!
    Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I
    That, lying by the violet in the sun,
    Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
    Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be
    That modesty may more betray our sense
    Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
    Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary
    And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie!
    What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo?
    Dost thou desire her foully for those things
    That make her good? O, let her brother live!
    Thieves for their robbery have authority
    When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her,
    That I desire to hear her speak again,
    And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on?
    O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint,
    With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous
    Is that temptation that doth goad us on
    To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet,
    With all her double vigour, art and nature,
    Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid
    Subdues me quite. Even till now,
    When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how.

    [Exit]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE III    A room in a prison.


    [Enter, severally, DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as a
    friar, and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Hail to you, provost! so I think you are.

Provost    I am the provost. What's your will, good friar?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Bound by my charity and my blest order,
    I come to visit the afflicted spirits
    Here in the prison. Do me the common right
    To let me see them and to make me know
    The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
    To them accordingly.

Provost    I would do more than that, if more were needful.

    [Enter JULIET]

    Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine,
    Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth,
    Hath blister'd her report: she is with child;
    And he that got it, sentenced; a young man
    More fit to do another such offence
    Than die for this.

DUKE VINCENTIO    When must he die?

Provost                      As I do think, to-morrow.
    I have provided for you: stay awhile,

    [To JULIET]

    And you shall be conducted.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry?

JULIET    I do; and bear the shame most patiently.

DUKE VINCENTIO    I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience,
    And try your penitence, if it be sound,
    Or hollowly put on.

JULIET    I'll gladly learn.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Love you the man that wrong'd you?

JULIET    Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.

DUKE VINCENTIO    So then it seems your most offenceful act
    Was mutually committed?

JULIET    Mutually.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.

JULIET    I do confess it, and repent it, father.

DUKE VINCENTIO    'Tis meet so, daughter: but lest you do repent,
    As that the sin hath brought you to this shame,
    Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven,
    Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it,
    But as we stand in fear,--

JULIET    I do repent me, as it is an evil,
    And take the shame with joy.

DUKE VINCENTIO    There rest.
    Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
    And I am going with instruction to him.
    Grace go with you, Benedicite!

    [Exit]

JULIET    Must die to-morrow! O injurious love,
    That respites me a life, whose very comfort
    Is still a dying horror!

Provost    'Tis pity of him.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT II


SCENE IV    A room in ANGELO's house.


    [Enter ANGELO]

ANGELO    When I would pray and think, I think and pray
    To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words;
    Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,
    Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth,
    As if I did but only chew his name;
    And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
    Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied
    Is like a good thing, being often read,
    Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity,
    Wherein--let no man hear me--I take pride,
    Could I with boot change for an idle plume,
    Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form,
    How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,
    Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls
    To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood:
    Let's write good angel on the devil's horn:
    'Tis not the devil's crest.

    [Enter a Servant]

              How now! who's there?

Servant    One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.

ANGELO    Teach her the way.

    [Exit Servant]

    O heavens!
    Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,
    Making both it unable for itself,
    And dispossessing all my other parts
    Of necessary fitness?
    So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons;
    Come all to help him, and so stop the air
    By which he should revive: and even so
    The general, subject to a well-wish'd king,
    Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
    Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
    Must needs appear offence.

    [Enter ISABELLA]

             How now, fair maid?

ISABELLA    I am come to know your pleasure.

ANGELO    That you might know it, would much better please me
    Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live.

ISABELLA    Even so. Heaven keep your honour!

ANGELO    Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be,
    As long as you or I    yet he must die.

ISABELLA    Under your sentence?

ANGELO    Yea.

ISABELLA    When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve,
    Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted
    That his soul sicken not.

ANGELO    Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good
    To pardon him that hath from nature stolen
    A man already made, as to remit
    Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image
    In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy
    Falsely to take away a life true made
    As to put metal in restrained means
    To make a false one.

ISABELLA    'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.

ANGELO    Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly.
    Which had you rather, that the most just law
    Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him,
    Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness
    As she that he hath stain'd?

ISABELLA    Sir, believe this,
    I had rather give my body than my soul.

ANGELO    I talk not of your soul: our compell'd sins
    Stand more for number than for accompt.

ISABELLA    How say you?

ANGELO    Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak
    Against the thing I say. Answer to this:
    I, now the voice of the recorded law,
    Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life:
    Might there not be a charity in sin
    To save this brother's life?

ISABELLA    Please you to do't,
    I'll take it as a peril to my soul,
    It is no sin at all, but charity.

ANGELO    Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul,
    Were equal poise of sin and charity.

ISABELLA    That I do beg his life, if it be sin,
    Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit,
    If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
    To have it added to the faults of mine,
    And nothing of your answer.

ANGELO    Nay, but hear me.
    Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant,
    Or seem so craftily; and that's not good.

ISABELLA    Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good,
    But graciously to know I am no better.

ANGELO    Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright
    When it doth tax itself; as these black masks
    Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder
    Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me;
    To be received plain, I'll speak more gross:
    Your brother is to die.

ISABELLA    So.

ANGELO    And his offence is so, as it appears,
    Accountant to the law upon that pain.

ISABELLA    True.

ANGELO    Admit no other way to save his life,--
    As I subscribe not that, nor any other,
    But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister,
    Finding yourself desired of such a person,
    Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
    Could fetch your brother from the manacles
    Of the all-building law; and that there were
    No earthly mean to save him, but that either
    You must lay down the treasures of your body
    To this supposed, or else to let him suffer;
    What would you do?

ISABELLA    As much for my poor brother as myself:
    That is, were I under the terms of death,
    The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as rubies,
    And strip myself to death, as to a bed
    That longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield
    My body up to shame.

ANGELO    Then must your brother die.

ISABELLA    And 'twere the cheaper way:
    Better it were a brother died at once,
    Than that a sister, by redeeming him,
    Should die for ever.

ANGELO    Were not you then as cruel as the sentence
    That you have slander'd so?

ISABELLA    Ignomy in ransom and free pardon
    Are of two houses: lawful mercy
    Is nothing kin to foul redemption.

ANGELO    You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant;
    And rather proved the sliding of your brother
    A merriment than a vice.

ISABELLA    O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out,
    To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean:
    I something do excuse the thing I hate,
    For his advantage that I dearly love.

ANGELO    We are all frail.

ISABELLA                      Else let my brother die,
    If not a feodary, but only he
    Owe and succeed thy weakness.

ANGELO    Nay, women are frail too.

ISABELLA    Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;
    Which are as easy broke as they make forms.
    Women! Help Heaven! men their creation mar
    In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail;
    For we are soft as our complexions are,
    And credulous to false prints.

ANGELO    I think it well:
    And from this testimony of your own sex,--
    Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger
    Than faults may shake our frames,--let me be bold;
    I do arrest your words. Be that you are,
    That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none;
    If you be one, as you are well express'd
    By all external warrants, show it now,
    By putting on the destined livery.

ISABELLA    I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord,
    Let me entreat you speak the former language.

ANGELO    Plainly conceive, I love you.

ISABELLA    My brother did love Juliet,
    And you tell me that he shall die for it.

ANGELO    He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love.

ISABELLA    I know your virtue hath a licence in't,
    Which seems a little fouler than it is,
    To pluck on others.

ANGELO    Believe me, on mine honour,
    My words express my purpose.

ISABELLA    Ha! little honour to be much believed,
    And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming!
    I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't:
    Sign me a present pardon for my brother,
    Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world aloud
    What man thou art.

ANGELO                      Who will believe thee, Isabel?
    My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
    My vouch against you, and my place i' the state,
    Will so your accusation overweigh,
    That you shall stifle in your own report
    And smell of calumny. I have begun,
    And now I give my sensual race the rein:
    Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
    Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
    That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother
    By yielding up thy body to my will;
    Or else he must not only die the death,
    But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
    To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,
    Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
    I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
    Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true.

    [Exit]

ISABELLA    To whom should I complain? Did I tell this,
    Who would believe me? O perilous mouths,
    That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
    Either of condemnation or approof;
    Bidding the law make court'sy to their will:
    Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite,
    To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother:
    Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood,
    Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour.
    That, had he twenty heads to tender down
    On twenty bloody blocks, he'ld yield them up,
    Before his sister should her body stoop
    To such abhorr'd pollution.
    Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die:
    More than our brother is our chastity.
    I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,
    And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest.

    [Exit]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT III


SCENE I    A room in the prison.


    [Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before, CLAUDIO,
    and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO    So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?

CLAUDIO    The miserable have no other medicine
    But only hope:
    I've hope to live, and am prepared to die.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Be absolute for death; either death or life
    Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life:
    If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
    That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
    Servile to all the skyey influences,
    That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st,
    Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
    For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun
    And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;
    For all the accommodations that thou bear'st
    Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant;
    For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
    Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
    And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st
    Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
    For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
    That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
    For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get,
    And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain;
    For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
    After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
    For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
    Thou bear's thy heavy riches but a journey,
    And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
    For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
    The mere effusion of thy proper loins,
    Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
    For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,
    But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
    Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
    Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
    Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,
    Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
    To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
    That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
    Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
    That makes these odds all even.

CLAUDIO    I humbly thank you.
    To sue to live, I find I seek to die;
    And, seeking death, find life: let it come on.

ISABELLA    [Within]  What, ho! Peace here; grace and good company!

Provost    Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

CLAUDIO    Most holy sir, I thank you.

    [Enter ISABELLA]

ISABELLA    My business is a word or two with Claudio.

Provost    And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Provost, a word with you.

Provost    As many as you please.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed.

    [Exeunt DUKE VINCENTIO and Provost]

CLAUDIO    Now, sister, what's the comfort?

ISABELLA    Why,
    As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed.
    Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
    Intends you for his swift ambassador,
    Where you shall be an everlasting leiger:
    Therefore your best appointment make with speed;
    To-morrow you set on.

CLAUDIO    Is there no remedy?

ISABELLA    None, but such remedy as, to save a head,
    To cleave a heart in twain.

CLAUDIO    But is there any?

ISABELLA    Yes, brother, you may live:
    There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
    If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
    But fetter you till death.

CLAUDIO    Perpetual durance?

ISABELLA    Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint,
    Though all the world's vastidity you had,
    To a determined scope.

CLAUDIO    But in what nature?

ISABELLA    In such a one as, you consenting to't,
    Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
    And leave you naked.

CLAUDIO    Let me know the point.

ISABELLA    O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
    Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain,
    And six or seven winters more respect
    Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die?
    The sense of death is most in apprehension;
    And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
    In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
    As when a giant dies.

CLAUDIO    Why give you me this shame?
    Think you I can a resolution fetch
    From flowery tenderness? If I must die,
    I will encounter darkness as a bride,
    And hug it in mine arms.

ISABELLA    There spake my brother; there my father's grave
    Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die:
    Thou art too noble to conserve a life
    In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,
    Whose settled visage and deliberate word
    Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew
    As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil
    His filth within being cast, he would appear
    A pond as deep as hell.

CLAUDIO    The prenzie Angelo!

ISABELLA    O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
    The damned'st body to invest and cover
    In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio?
    If I would yield him my virginity,
    Thou mightst be freed.

CLAUDIO    O heavens! it cannot be.

ISABELLA    Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence,
    So to offend him still. This night's the time
    That I should do what I abhor to name,
    Or else thou diest to-morrow.

CLAUDIO    Thou shalt not do't.

ISABELLA    O, were it but my life,
    I'ld throw it down for your deliverance
    As frankly as a pin.

CLAUDIO    Thanks, dear Isabel.

ISABELLA    Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow.

CLAUDIO    Yes. Has he affections in him,
    That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,
    When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin,
    Or of the deadly seven, it is the least.

ISABELLA    Which is the least?

CLAUDIO    If it were damnable, he being so wise,
    Why would he for the momentary trick
    Be perdurably fined? O Isabel!

ISABELLA    What says my brother?

CLAUDIO    Death is a fearful thing.

ISABELLA    And shamed life a hateful.

CLAUDIO    Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
    To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;
    This sensible warm motion to become
    A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
    To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
    In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
    To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
    And blown with restless violence round about
    The pendent world; or to be worse than worst
    Of those that lawless and incertain thought
    Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible!
    The weariest and most loathed worldly life
    That age, ache, penury and imprisonment
    Can lay on nature is a paradise
    To what we fear of death.

ISABELLA    Alas, alas!

CLAUDIO              Sweet sister, let me live:
    What sin you do to save a brother's life,
    Nature dispenses with the deed so far
    That it becomes a virtue.

ISABELLA    O you beast!
    O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!
    Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
    Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
    From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?
    Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair!
    For such a warped slip of wilderness
    Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance!
    Die, perish! Might but my bending down
    Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed:
    I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
    No word to save thee.

CLAUDIO    Nay, hear me, Isabel.

ISABELLA    O, fie, fie, fie!
    Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade.
    Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
    'Tis best thou diest quickly.

CLAUDIO    O hear me, Isabella!

    [Re-enter DUKE VINCENTIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.

ISABELLA    What is your will?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and
    by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I
    would require is likewise your own benefit.

ISABELLA    I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be
    stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile.

    [Walks apart]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you
    and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to
    corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her
    virtue to practise his judgment with the disposition
    of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her,
    hath made him that gracious denial which he is most
    glad to receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I
    know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to
    death: do not satisfy your resolution with hopes
    that are fallible: tomorrow you must die; go to
    your knees and make ready.

CLAUDIO    Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love
    with life that I will sue to be rid of it.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Hold you there: farewell.

    [Exit CLAUDIO]

    Provost, a word with you!

    [Re-enter Provost]

Provost    What's your will, father

DUKE VINCENTIO    That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me
    awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my
    habit no loss shall touch her by my company.

Provost    In good time.

    [Exit Provost. ISABELLA comes forward]

DUKE VINCENTIO    The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good:
    the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty
    brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of
    your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever
    fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you,
    fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but
    that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should
    wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this
    substitute, and to save your brother?

ISABELLA    I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my
    brother die by the law than my son should be
    unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good duke
    deceived in Angelo! If ever he return and I can
    speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or
    discover his government.

DUKE VINCENTIO    That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the matter
    now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made
    trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my
    advisings: to the love I have in doing good a
    remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe
    that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged
    lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from
    the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious
    person; and much please the absent duke, if
    peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of
    this business.

ISABELLA    Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do
    anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have
    you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of
    Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at sea?

ISABELLA    I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

DUKE VINCENTIO    She should this Angelo have married; was affianced
    to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between
    which time of the contract and limit of the
    solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea,
    having in that perished vessel the dowry of his
    sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the
    poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and
    renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most
    kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of
    her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her
    combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

ISABELLA    Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them
    with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole,
    pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few,
    bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet
    wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears,
    is washed with them, but relents not.

ISABELLA    What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid
    from the world! What corruption in this life, that
    it will let this man live! But how out of this can she avail?

DUKE VINCENTIO    It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the
    cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps
    you from dishonour in doing it.

ISABELLA    Show me how, good father.

DUKE VINCENTIO    This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance
    of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that
    in all reason should have quenched her love, hath,
    like an impediment in the current, made it more
    violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his
    requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with
    his demands to the point; only refer yourself to
    this advantage, first, that your stay with him may
    not be long; that the time may have all shadow and
    silence in it; and the place answer to convenience.
    This being granted in course,--and now follows
    all,--we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up
    your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter
    acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to
    her recompense: and here, by this, is your brother
    saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana
    advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid
    will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you
    think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness
    of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof.
    What think you of it?

ISABELLA    The image of it gives me content already; and I
    trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

DUKE VINCENTIO    It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily
    to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his
    bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will
    presently to Saint Luke's: there, at the moated
    grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that
    place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that
    it may be quickly.

ISABELLA    I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father.

    [Exeunt severally]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT III



SCENE II    The street before the prison.


    [Enter, on one side, DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as
    before; on the other, ELBOW, and Officers with POMPEY]

ELBOW    Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will
    needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we
    shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard.

DUKE VINCENTIO    O heavens! what stuff is here

POMPEY    'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the
    merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by
    order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and
    furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that
    craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing.

ELBOW    Come your way, sir. 'Bless you, good father friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO    And you, good brother father. What offence hath
    this man made you, sir?

ELBOW    Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we
    take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found
    upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have
    sent to the deputy.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Fie, sirrah! a bawd, a wicked bawd!
    The evil that thou causest to be done,
    That is thy means to live. Do thou but think
    What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back
    From such a filthy vice: say to thyself,
    From their abominable and beastly touches
    I drink, I eat, array myself, and live.
    Canst thou believe thy living is a life,
    So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend.

POMPEY    Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet,
    sir, I would prove--

DUKE VINCENTIO    Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin,
    Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer:
    Correction and instruction must both work
    Ere this rude beast will profit.

ELBOW    He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him
    warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if
    he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were
    as good go a mile on his errand.

DUKE VINCENTIO    That we were all, as some would seem to be,
    From our faults, as faults from seeming, free!

ELBOW    His neck will come to your waist,--a cord, sir.

POMPEY    I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman and a
    friend of mine.

    [Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO    How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of
    Caesar? art thou led in triumph? What, is there
    none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be
    had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and
    extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What
    sayest thou to this tune, matter and method? Is't
    not drowned i' the last rain, ha? What sayest
    thou, Trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is
    the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The
    trick of it?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Still thus, and thus; still worse!

LUCIO    How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she
    still, ha?

POMPEY    Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she
    is herself in the tub.

LUCIO    Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be
    so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd:
    an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going
    to prison, Pompey?

POMPEY    Yes, faith, sir.

LUCIO    Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I
    sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how?

ELBOW    For being a bawd, for being a bawd.

LUCIO    Well, then, imprison him: if imprisonment be the
    due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: bawd is he
    doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born.
    Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison,
    Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you
    will keep the house.

POMPEY    I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.

LUCIO    No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear.
    I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: If
    you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the
    more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. 'Bless you, friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO    And you.

LUCIO    Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha?

ELBOW    Come your ways, sir; come.

POMPEY    You will not bail me, then, sir?

LUCIO    Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar?
    what news?

ELBOW    Come your ways, sir; come.

LUCIO    Go to kennel, Pompey; go.

    [Exeunt ELBOW, POMPEY and Officers]

    What news, friar, of the duke?

DUKE VINCENTIO    I know none. Can you tell me of any?

LUCIO    Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other
    some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you?

DUKE VINCENTIO    I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well.

LUCIO    It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from
    the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born
    to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he
    puts transgression to 't.

DUKE VINCENTIO    He does well in 't.

LUCIO    A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in
    him: something too crabbed that way, friar.

DUKE VINCENTIO    It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it.

LUCIO    Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred;
    it is well allied: but it is impossible to extirp
    it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put
    down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and
    woman after this downright way of creation: is it
    true, think you?

DUKE VINCENTIO    How should he be made, then?

LUCIO    Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he
    was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is
    certain that when he makes water his urine is
    congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he is a
    motion generative; that's infallible.

DUKE VINCENTIO    You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace.

LUCIO    Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the
    rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a
    man! Would the duke that is absent have done this?
    Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a
    hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing
    a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport: he
    knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy.

DUKE VINCENTIO    I never heard the absent duke much detected for
    women; he was not inclined that way.

LUCIO    O, sir, you are deceived.

DUKE VINCENTIO    'Tis not possible.

LUCIO    Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and
    his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the
    duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too;
    that let me inform you.

DUKE VINCENTIO    You do him wrong, surely.

LUCIO    Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the
    duke: and I believe I know the cause of his
    withdrawing.

DUKE VINCENTIO    What, I prithee, might be the cause?

LUCIO    No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be locked within the
    teeth and the lips: but this I can let you
    understand, the greater file of the subject held the
    duke to be wise.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Wise! why, no question but he was.

LUCIO    A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Either this is the envy in you, folly, or mistaking:
    the very stream of his life and the business he hath
    helmed must upon a warranted need give him a better
    proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own
    bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the
    envious a scholar, a statesman and a soldier.
    Therefore you speak unskilfully: or if your
    knowledge be more it is much darkened in your malice.

LUCIO    Sir, I know him, and I love him.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with
    dearer love.

LUCIO    Come, sir, I know what I know.

DUKE VINCENTIO    I can hardly believe that, since you know not what
    you speak. But, if ever the duke return, as our
    prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your
    answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke,
    you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call
    upon you; and, I pray you, your name?

LUCIO    Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke.

DUKE VINCENTIO    He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to
    report you.

LUCIO    I fear you not.

DUKE VINCENTIO    O, you hope the duke will return no more; or you
    imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But indeed I
    can do you little harm; you'll forswear this again.

LUCIO    I'll be hanged first: thou art deceived in me,
    friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if
    Claudio die to-morrow or no?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Why should he die, sir?

LUCIO    Why? For filling a bottle with a tundish. I would
    the duke we talk of were returned again: the
    ungenitured agent will unpeople the province with
    continency; sparrows must not build in his
    house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke
    yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would
    never bring them to light: would he were returned!
    Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing.
    Farewell, good friar: I prithee, pray for me. The
    duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on
    Fridays. He's not past it yet, and I say to thee,
    he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown
    bread and garlic: say that I said so. Farewell.

    [Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO    No might nor greatness in mortality
    Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny
    The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong
    Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue?
    But who comes here?

    [Enter ESCALUS, Provost, and Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE]

ESCALUS    Go; away with her to prison!

MISTRESS OVERDONE    Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted
    a merciful man; good my lord.

ESCALUS    Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in
    the same kind! This would make mercy swear and play
    the tyrant.

Provost    A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please
    your honour.

MISTRESS OVERDONE    My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me.
    Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the
    duke's time; he promised her marriage: his child
    is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob:
    I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me!

ESCALUS    That fellow is a fellow of much licence: let him be
    called before us. Away with her to prison! Go to;
    no more words.

    [Exeunt Officers with MISTRESS OVERDONE]

    Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered;
    Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be furnished
    with divines, and have all charitable preparation.
    if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be
    so with him.

Provost    So please you, this friar hath been with him, and
    advised him for the entertainment of death.

ESCALUS    Good even, good father.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Bliss and goodness on you!

ESCALUS    Of whence are you?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Not of this country, though my chance is now
    To use it for my time: I am a brother
    Of gracious order, late come from the See
    In special business from his holiness.

ESCALUS    What news abroad i' the world?

DUKE VINCENTIO    None, but that there is so great a fever on
    goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it:
    novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous
    to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous
    to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce
    truth enough alive to make societies secure; but
    security enough to make fellowships accurst: much
    upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This
    news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I
    pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke?

ESCALUS    One that, above all other strifes, contended
    especially to know himself.

DUKE VINCENTIO    What pleasure was he given to?

ESCALUS    Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at
    any thing which professed to make him rejoice: a
    gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to
    his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous;
    and let me desire to know how you find Claudio
    prepared. I am made to understand that you have
    lent him visitation.

DUKE VINCENTIO    He professes to have received no sinister measure
    from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself
    to the determination of justice: yet had he framed
    to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many
    deceiving promises of life; which I by my good
    leisure have discredited to him, and now is he
    resolved to die.

ESCALUS    You have paid the heavens your function, and the
    prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have
    laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest
    shore of my modesty: but my brother justice have I
    found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him
    he is indeed Justice.

DUKE VINCENTIO    If his own life answer the straitness of his
    proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he
    chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself.

ESCALUS    I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Peace be with you!

    [Exeunt ESCALUS and Provost]

    He who the sword of heaven will bear
    Should be as holy as severe;
    Pattern in himself to know,
    Grace to stand, and virtue go;
    More nor less to others paying
    Than by self-offences weighing.
    Shame to him whose cruel striking
    Kills for faults of his own liking!
    Twice treble shame on Angelo,
    To weed my vice and let his grow!
    O, what may man within him hide,
    Though angel on the outward side!
    How may likeness made in crimes,
    Making practise on the times,
    To draw with idle spiders' strings
    Most ponderous and substantial things!
    Craft against vice I must apply:
    With Angelo to-night shall lie
    His old betrothed but despised;
    So disguise shall, by the disguised,
    Pay with falsehood false exacting,
    And perform an old contracting.

    [Exit]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE I    The moated grange at ST. LUKE's.


    [Enter MARIANA and a Boy]

    [Boy sings]

    Take, O, take those lips away,
    That so sweetly were forsworn;
    And those eyes, the break of day,
    Lights that do mislead the morn:
    But my kisses bring again, bring again;
    Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.

MARIANA    Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away:
    Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
    Hath often still'd my brawling discontent.

    [Exit Boy]

    [Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

    I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish
    You had not found me here so musical:
    Let me excuse me, and believe me so,
    My mirth it much displeased, but pleased my woe.

DUKE VINCENTIO    'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm
    To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
    I pray, you, tell me, hath any body inquired
    for me here to-day? much upon this time have
    I promised here to meet.

MARIANA    You have not been inquired after:
    I have sat here all day.

    [Enter ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO    I do constantly believe you. The time is come even
    now. I shall crave your forbearance a little: may
    be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself.

MARIANA    I am always bound to you.

    [Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Very well met, and well come.
    What is the news from this good deputy?

ISABELLA    He hath a garden circummured with brick,
    Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd;
    And to that vineyard is a planched gate,
    That makes his opening with this bigger key:
    This other doth command a little door
    Which from the vineyard to the garden leads;
    There have I made my promise
    Upon the heavy middle of the night
    To call upon him.

DUKE VINCENTIO    But shall you on your knowledge find this way?

ISABELLA    I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't:
    With whispering and most guilty diligence,
    In action all of precept, he did show me
    The way twice o'er.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Are there no other tokens
    Between you 'greed concerning her observance?

ISABELLA    No, none, but only a repair i' the dark;
    And that I have possess'd him my most stay
    Can be but brief; for I have made him know
    I have a servant comes with me along,
    That stays upon me, whose persuasion is
    I come about my brother.

DUKE VINCENTIO    'Tis well borne up.
    I have not yet made known to Mariana
    A word of this. What, ho! within! come forth!

    [Re-enter MARIANA]

    I pray you, be acquainted with this maid;
    She comes to do you good.

ISABELLA    I do desire the like.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Do you persuade yourself that I respect you?

MARIANA    Good friar, I know you do, and have found it.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Take, then, this your companion by the hand,
    Who hath a story ready for your ear.
    I shall attend your leisure: but make haste;
    The vaporous night approaches.

MARIANA    Will't please you walk aside?

    [Exeunt MARIANA and ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO    O place and greatness! millions of false eyes
    Are stuck upon thee: volumes of report
    Run with these false and most contrarious quests
    Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit
    Make thee the father of their idle dreams
    And rack thee in their fancies.

    [Re-enter MARIANA and ISABELLA]

                  Welcome, how agreed?

ISABELLA    She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,
    If you advise it.

DUKE VINCENTIO                      It is not my consent,
    But my entreaty too.

ISABELLA    Little have you to say
    When you depart from him, but, soft and low,
    'Remember now my brother.'

MARIANA    Fear me not.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all.
    He is your husband on a pre-contract:
    To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin,
    Sith that the justice of your title to him
    Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go:
    Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE II    A room in the prison.


    [Enter Provost and POMPEY]

Provost    Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head?

POMPEY    If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a
    married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never
    cut off a woman's head.

Provost    Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a
    direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio
    and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common
    executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if
    you will take it on you to assist him, it shall
    redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall have
    your full time of imprisonment and your deliverance
    with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a
    notorious bawd.

POMPEY    Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind;
    but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I
    would be glad to receive some instruction from my
    fellow partner.

Provost    What, ho! Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, there?

    [Enter ABHORSON]

ABHORSON    Do you call, sir?

Provost    Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in
    your execution. If you think it meet, compound with
    him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if
    not, use him for the present and dismiss him. He
    cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd.

ABHORSON    A bawd, sir? fie upon him! he will discredit our mystery.

Provost    Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn
    the scale.

    [Exit]

POMPEY    Pray, sir, by your good favour,--for surely, sir, a
    good favour you have, but that you have a hanging
    look,--do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery?

ABHORSON    Ay, sir; a mystery

POMPEY    Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and
    your whores, sir, being members of my occupation,
    using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery:
    but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I
    should be hanged, I cannot imagine.

ABHORSON    Sir, it is a mystery.

POMPEY    Proof?

ABHORSON    Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be
    too little for your thief, your true man thinks it
    big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your
    thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's
    apparel fits your thief.

    [Re-enter Provost]

Provost    Are you agreed?

POMPEY    Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is
    a more penitent trade than your bawd; he doth
    oftener ask forgiveness.

Provost    You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe
    to-morrow four o'clock.

ABHORSON    Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow.

POMPEY    I do desire to learn, sir: and I hope, if you have
    occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find
    me yare; for truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you
    a good turn.

Provost    Call hither Barnardine and Claudio:

    [Exeunt POMPEY and ABHORSON]

    The one has my pity; not a jot the other,
    Being a murderer, though he were my brother.

    [Enter CLAUDIO]

    Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death:
    'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow
    Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?

CLAUDIO    As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour
    When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones:
    He will not wake.

Provost                      Who can do good on him?
    Well, go, prepare yourself.

    [Knocking within]

              But, hark, what noise?
    Heaven give your spirits comfort!

    [Exit CLAUDIO]

                          By and by.
    I hope it is some pardon or reprieve
    For the most gentle Claudio.

    [Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

               Welcome father.

DUKE VINCENTIO    The best and wholesomest spirts of the night
    Envelope you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late?

Provost    None, since the curfew rung.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Not Isabel?

Provost              No.

DUKE VINCENTIO                      They will, then, ere't be long.

Provost    What comfort is for Claudio?

DUKE VINCENTIO    There's some in hope.

Provost    It is a bitter deputy.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd
    Even with the stroke and line of his great justice:
    He doth with holy abstinence subdue
    That in himself which he spurs on his power
    To qualify in others: were he meal'd with that
    Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous;
    But this being so, he's just.

    [Knocking within]

                Now are they come.

    [Exit Provost]

    This is a gentle provost: seldom when
    The steeled gaoler is the friend of men.

    [Knocking within]

    How now! what noise? That spirit's possessed with haste
    That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes.

    [Re-enter Provost]

Provost    There he must stay until the officer
    Arise to let him in: he is call'd up.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Have you no countermand for Claudio yet,
    But he must die to-morrow?

Provost    None, sir, none.

DUKE VINCENTIO    As near the dawning, provost, as it is,
    You shall hear more ere morning.

Provost    Happily
    You something know; yet I believe there comes
    No countermand; no such example have we:
    Besides, upon the very siege of justice
    Lord Angelo hath to the public ear
    Profess'd the contrary.

    [Enter a Messenger]

          This is his lordship's man.

DUKE VINCENTIO    And here comes Claudio's pardon.

Messenger    [Giving a paper]

    My lord hath sent you this note; and by me this
    further charge, that you swerve not from the
    smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or
    other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I take it,
    it is almost day.

Provost    I shall obey him.

    [Exit Messenger]

DUKE VINCENTIO    [Aside]  This is his pardon, purchased by such sin
    For which the pardoner himself is in.
    Hence hath offence his quick celerity,
    When it is born in high authority:
    When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended,
    That for the fault's love is the offender friended.
    Now, sir, what news?

Provost    I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss
    in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted
    putting-on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Pray you, let's hear.

Provost    [Reads]

    'Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, let
    Claudio be executed by four of the clock; and in the
    afternoon Barnardine: for my better satisfaction,
    let me have Claudio's head sent me by five. Let
    this be duly performed; with a thought that more
    depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail
    not to do your office, as you will answer it at your peril.'
    What say you to this, sir?

DUKE VINCENTIO    What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in the
    afternoon?

Provost    A Bohemian born, but here nursed un and bred; one
    that is a prisoner nine years old.

DUKE VINCENTIO    How came it that the absent duke had not either
    delivered him to his liberty or executed him? I
    have heard it was ever his manner to do so.

Provost    His friends still wrought reprieves for him: and,
    indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord
    Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.

DUKE VINCENTIO    It is now apparent?

Provost    Most manifest, and not denied by himself.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Hath he born himself penitently in prison? how
    seems he to be touched?

Provost    A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but
    as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless
    of what's past, present, or to come; insensible of
    mortality, and desperately mortal.

DUKE VINCENTIO    He wants advice.

Provost    He will hear none: he hath evermore had the liberty
    of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he
    would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days
    entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if
    to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming
    warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all.

DUKE VINCENTIO    More of him anon. There is written in your brow,
    provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not
    truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the
    boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard.
    Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is
    no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath
    sentenced him. To make you understand this in a
    manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite;
    for the which you are to do me both a present and a
    dangerous courtesy.

Provost    Pray, sir, in what?

DUKE VINCENTIO    In the delaying death.

Provost    A lack, how may I do it, having the hour limited,
    and an express command, under penalty, to deliver
    his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case
    as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest.

DUKE VINCENTIO    By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my
    instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine
    be this morning executed, and his head born to Angelo.

Provost    Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour.

DUKE VINCENTIO    O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it.
    Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say it was
    the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his
    death: you know the course is common. If any thing
    fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good
    fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead
    against it with my life.

Provost    Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy?

Provost    To him, and to his substitutes.

DUKE VINCENTIO    You will think you have made no offence, if the duke
    avouch the justice of your dealing?

Provost    But what likelihood is in that?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see
    you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor
    persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go
    further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you.
    Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the
    duke: you know the character, I doubt not; and the
    signet is not strange to you.

Provost    I know them both.

DUKE VINCENTIO    The contents of this is the return of the duke: you
    shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; where you
    shall find, within these two days he will be here.
    This is a thing that Angelo knows not; for he this
    very day receives letters of strange tenor;
    perchance of the duke's death; perchance entering
    into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what
    is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the
    shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these
    things should be: all difficulties are but easy
    when they are known. Call your executioner, and off
    with Barnardine's head: I will give him a present
    shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you
    are amazed; but this shall absolutely resolve you.
    Come away; it is almost clear dawn.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE III    Another room in the same.


    [Enter POMPEY]

POMPEY    I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house
    of profession: one would think it were Mistress
    Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old
    customers. First, here's young Master Rash; he's in
    for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,
    ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made
    five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not
    much in request, for the old women were all dead.
    Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of
    Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of
    peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a
    beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young
    Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master
    Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young
    Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master
    Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the
    great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed
    Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in
    our trade, and are now 'for the Lord's sake.'

    [Enter ABHORSON]

ABHORSON    Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

POMPEY    Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged.
    Master Barnardine!

ABHORSON    What, ho, Barnardine!

BARNARDINE    [Within]  A pox o' your throats! Who makes that
    noise there? What are you?

POMPEY    Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so
    good, sir, to rise and be put to death.

BARNARDINE    [Within]  Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy.

ABHORSON    Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.

POMPEY    Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are
    executed, and sleep afterwards.

ABHORSON    Go in to him, and fetch him out.

POMPEY    He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle.

ABHORSON    Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?

POMPEY    Very ready, sir.

    [Enter BARNARDINE]

BARNARDINE    How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you?

ABHORSON    Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your
    prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come.

BARNARDINE    You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not
    fitted for 't.

POMPEY    O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night,
    and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the
    sounder all the next day.

ABHORSON    Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do
    we jest now, think you?

    [Enter DUKE VINCENTIO disguised as before]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily
    you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort
    you and pray with you.

BARNARDINE    Friar, not I    I have been drinking hard all night,
    and I will have more time to prepare me, or they
    shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not
    consent to die this day, that's certain.

DUKE VINCENTIO    O, sir, you must: and therefore I beseech you
    Look forward on the journey you shall go.

BARNARDINE    I swear I will not die to-day for any man's
    persuasion.

DUKE VINCENTIO    But hear you.

BARNARDINE    Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me,
    come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day.

    [Exit]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Unfit to live or die: O gravel heart!
    After him, fellows; bring him to the block.

    [Exeunt ABHORSON and POMPEY]

    [Re-enter Provost]

Provost    Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner?

DUKE VINCENTIO    A creature unprepared, unmeet for death;
    And to transport him in the mind he is
    Were damnable.

Provost                      Here in the prison, father,
    There died this morning of a cruel fever
    One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,
    A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head
    Just of his colour. What if we do omit
    This reprobate till he were well inclined;
    And satisfy the deputy with the visage
    Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio?

DUKE VINCENTIO    O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides!
    Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on
    Prefix'd by Angelo: see this be done,
    And sent according to command; whiles I
    Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.

Provost    This shall be done, good father, presently.
    But Barnardine must die this afternoon:
    And how shall we continue Claudio,
    To save me from the danger that might come
    If he were known alive?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Let this be done.
    Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio:
    Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting
    To the under generation, you shall find
    Your safety manifested.

Provost    I am your free dependant.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo.

    [Exit Provost]

    Now will I write letters to Angelo,--
    The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents
    Shall witness to him I am near at home,
    And that, by great injunctions, I am bound
    To enter publicly: him I'll desire
    To meet me at the consecrated fount
    A league below the city; and from thence,
    By cold gradation and well-balanced form,
    We shall proceed with Angelo.

    [Re-enter Provost]

Provost    Here is the head; I'll carry it myself.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Convenient is it. Make a swift return;
    For I would commune with you of such things
    That want no ear but yours.

Provost    I'll make all speed.

    [Exit]

ISABELLA    [Within]  Peace, ho, be here!

DUKE VINCENTIO    The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know
    If yet her brother's pardon be come hither:
    But I will keep her ignorant of her good,
    To make her heavenly comforts of despair,
    When it is least expected.

    [Enter ISABELLA]

ISABELLA    Ho, by your leave!

DUKE VINCENTIO    Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

ISABELLA    The better, given me by so holy a man.
    Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon?

DUKE VINCENTIO    He hath released him, Isabel, from the world:
    His head is off and sent to Angelo.

ISABELLA    Nay, but it is not so.

DUKE VINCENTIO    It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter,
    In your close patience.

ISABELLA    O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes!

DUKE VINCENTIO    You shall not be admitted to his sight.

ISABELLA    Unhappy Claudio! wretched Isabel!
    Injurious world! most damned Angelo!

DUKE VINCENTIO    This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot;
    Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven.
    Mark what I say, which you shall find
    By every syllable a faithful verity:
    The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes;
    One of our convent, and his confessor,
    Gives me this instance: already he hath carried
    Notice to Escalus and Angelo,
    Who do prepare to meet him at the gates,
    There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom
    In that good path that I would wish it go,
    And you shall have your bosom on this wretch,
    Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart,
    And general honour.

ISABELLA                      I am directed by you.

DUKE VINCENTIO    This letter, then, to Friar Peter give;
    'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return:
    Say, by this token, I desire his company
    At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours
    I'll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you
    Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo
    Accuse him home and home. For my poor self,
    I am combined by a sacred vow
    And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter:
    Command these fretting waters from your eyes
    With a light heart; trust not my holy order,
    If I pervert your course. Who's here?

    [Enter LUCIO]

LUCIO    Good even. Friar, where's the provost?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Not within, sir.

LUCIO    O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see
    thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain
    to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for
    my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set
    me to 't. But they say the duke will be here
    to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother:
    if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been
    at home, he had lived.

    [Exit ISABELLA]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your
    reports; but the best is, he lives not in them.

LUCIO    Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do:
    he's a better woodman than thou takest him for.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well.

LUCIO    Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee
    I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.

DUKE VINCENTIO    You have told me too many of him already, sir, if
    they be true; if not true, none were enough.

LUCIO    I was once before him for getting a wench with child.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Did you such a thing?

LUCIO    Yes, marry, did I    but I was fain to forswear it;
    they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well.

LUCIO    By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end:
    if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of
    it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE IV    A room in ANGELO's house.


    [Enter ANGELO and ESCALUS]

ESCALUS    Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other.

ANGELO    In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions
    show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be
    not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and
    redeliver our authorities there

ESCALUS    I guess not.

ANGELO    And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his
    entering, that if any crave redress of injustice,
    they should exhibit their petitions in the street?

ESCALUS    He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of
    complaints, and to deliver us from devices
    hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand
    against us.

ANGELO    Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes
    i' the morn; I'll call you at your house: give
    notice to such men of sort and suit as are to meet
    him.

ESCALUS    I shall, sir. Fare you well.

ANGELO    Good night.

    [Exit ESCALUS]

    This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant
    And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid!
    And by an eminent body that enforced
    The law against it! But that her tender shame
    Will not proclaim against her maiden loss,
    How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no;
    For my authority bears of a credent bulk,
    That no particular scandal once can touch
    But it confounds the breather. He should have lived,
    Save that riotous youth, with dangerous sense,
    Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge,
    By so receiving a dishonour'd life
    With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived!
    A lack, when once our grace we have forgot,
    Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not.

    [Exit]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE V    Fields without the town.


    [Enter DUKE VINCENTIO in his own habit, and FRIAR PETER]

DUKE VINCENTIO    These letters at fit time deliver me

    [Giving letters]

    The provost knows our purpose and our plot.
    The matter being afoot, keep your instruction,
    And hold you ever to our special drift;
    Though sometimes you do blench from this to that,
    As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius' house,
    And tell him where I stay: give the like notice
    To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,
    And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate;
    But send me Flavius first.

FRIAR PETER    It shall be speeded well.

    [Exit]

    [Enter VARRIUS]

DUKE VINCENTIO    I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste:
    Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends
    Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius.

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT IV


SCENE VI    Street near the city gate.


    [Enter ISABELLA and MARIANA]

ISABELLA    To speak so indirectly I am loath:
    I would say the truth; but to accuse him so,
    That is your part: yet I am advised to do it;
    He says, to veil full purpose.

MARIANA    Be ruled by him.

ISABELLA    Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure
    He speak against me on the adverse side,
    I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic
    That's bitter to sweet end.

MARIANA    I would Friar Peter--

ISABELLA    O, peace! the friar is come.

    [Enter FRIAR PETER]

FRIAR PETER    Come, I have found you out a stand most fit,
    Where you may have such vantage on the duke,
    He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded;
    The generous and gravest citizens
    Have hent the gates, and very near upon
    The duke is entering: therefore, hence, away!

    [Exeunt]




    MEASURE FOR MEASURE


ACT V


SCENE I    The city gate.


    [MARIANA veiled, ISABELLA, and FRIAR PETER, at their
    stand. Enter DUKE VINCENTIO, VARRIUS, Lords,
    ANGELO, ESCALUS, LUCIO, Provost, Officers, and
    Citizens, at several doors]

DUKE VINCENTIO    My very worthy cousin, fairly met!
    Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.


ANGELO    |
    |  Happy return be to your royal grace!
ESCALUS    |


DUKE VINCENTIO    Many and hearty thankings to you both.
    We have made inquiry of you; and we hear
    Such goodness of your justice, that our soul
    Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,
    Forerunning more requital.

ANGELO    You make my bonds still greater.

DUKE VINCENTIO    O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it,
    To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
    When it deserves, with characters of brass,
    A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time
    And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand,
    And let the subject see, to make them know
    That outward courtesies would fain proclaim
    Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus,
    You must walk by us on our other hand;
    And good supporters are you.

    [FRIAR PETER and ISABELLA come forward]

FRIAR PETER    Now is your time: speak loud and kneel before him.

ISABELLA    Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard
    Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid!
    O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye
    By throwing it on any other object
    Till you have heard me in my true complaint
    And given me justice, justice, justice, justice!

DUKE VINCENTIO    Relate your wrongs; in what? by whom? be brief.
    Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice:
    Reveal yourself to him.

ISABELLA    O worthy duke,
    You bid me seek redemption of the devil:
    Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak
    Must either punish me, not being believed,
    Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here!

ANGELO    My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm:
    She hath been a suitor to me for her brother
    Cut off by course of justice,--

ISABELLA    By course of justice!

ANGELO    And she will speak most bitterly and strange.

ISABELLA    Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak:
    That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange?
    That Angelo's a murderer; is 't not strange?
    That Angelo is an adulterous thief,
    An hypocrite, a virgin-violator;
    Is it not strange and strange?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Nay, it is ten times strange.

ISABELLA    It is not truer he is Angelo
    Than this is all as true as it is strange:
    Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth
    To the end of reckoning.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Away with her! Poor soul,
    She speaks this in the infirmity of sense.

ISABELLA    O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest
    There is another comfort than this world,
    That thou neglect me not, with that opinion
    That I am touch'd with madness! Make not impossible
    That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible
    But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground,
    May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute
    As Angelo; even so may Angelo,
    In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms,
    Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince:
    If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more,
    Had I more name for badness.

DUKE VINCENTIO    By mine honesty,
    If she be mad,--as I believe no other,--
    Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense,
    Such a dependency of thing on thing,
    As e'er I heard in madness.

ISABELLA    O gracious duke,
    Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason
    For inequality; but let your reason serve
    To make the truth appear where it seems hid,
    And hide the false seems true.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Many that are not mad
    Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say?

ISABELLA    I am the sister of one Claudio,
    Condemn'd upon the act of fornication
    To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo:
    I, in probation of a sisterhood,
    Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio
    As then the messenger,--

LUCIO    That's I, an't like your grace:
    I came to her from Claudio, and desired her
    To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo
    For her poor brother's pardon.

ISABELLA    That's he indeed.

DUKE VINCENTIO    You were not bid to speak.

LUCIO    No, my good lord;
    Nor wish'd to hold my peace.

DUKE VINCENTIO    I wish you now, then;
    Pray you, take note of it: and when you have
    A business for yourself, pray heaven you then
    Be perfect.

LUCIO    I warrant your honour.

DUKE VINCENTIO    The warrants for yourself; take heed to't.

ISABELLA    This gentleman told somewhat of my tale,--

LUCIO    Right.

DUKE VINCENTIO    It may be right; but you are i' the wrong
    To speak before your time. Proceed.

ISABELLA    I went
    To this pernicious caitiff deputy,--

DUKE VINCENTIO    That's somewhat madly spoken.

ISABELLA    Pardon it;
    The phrase is to the matter.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Mended again. The matter; proceed.

ISABELLA    In brief, to set the needless process by,
    How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd,
    How he refell'd me, and how I replied,--
    For this was of much length,--the vile conclusion
    I now begin with grief and shame to utter:
    He would not, but by gift of my chaste body
    To his concupiscible intemperate lust,
    Release my brother; and, after much debatement,
    My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour,
    And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes,
    His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
    For my poor brother's head.

DUKE VINCENTIO    This is most likely!

ISABELLA    O, that it were as like as it is true!

DUKE VINCENTIO    By heaven, fond wretch, thou knowist not what thou speak'st,
    Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour
    In hateful practise. First, his integrity
    Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason
    That with such vehemency he should pursue
    Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,
    He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself
    And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on:
    Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
    Thou camest here to complain.

ISABELLA    And is this all?
    Then, O you blessed ministers above,
    Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time
    Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
    In countenance! Heaven shield your grace from woe,
    As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go!

DUKE VINCENTIO    I know you'ld fain be gone. An officer!
    To prison with her! Shall we thus permit
    A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
    On him so near us? This needs must be a practise.
    Who knew of Your intent and coming hither?

ISABELLA    One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick.

DUKE VINCENTIO    A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick?

LUCIO    My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar;
    I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord
    For certain words he spake against your grace
    In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Words against me? this is a good friar, belike!
    And to set on this wretched woman here
    Against our substitute! Let this friar be found.

LUCIO    But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar,
    I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar,
    A very scurvy fellow.

FRIAR PETER    Blessed be your royal grace!
    I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
    Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman
    Most wrongfully accused your substitute,
    Who is as free from touch or soil with her
    As she from one ungot.

DUKE VINCENTIO    We did believe no less.
    Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of?

FRIAR PETER    I know him for a man divine and holy;
    Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler,
    As he's reported by this gentleman;
    And, on my trust, a man that never yet
    Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.

LUCIO    My lord, most villanously; believe it.

FRIAR PETER    Well, he in time may come to clear himself;
    But at this instant he is sick my lord,
    Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request,
    Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
    Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither,
    To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know
    Is true and false; and what he with his oath
    And all probation will make up full clear,
    Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman.
    To justify this worthy nobleman,
    So vulgarly and personally accused,
    Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes,
    Till she herself confess it.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Good friar, let's hear it.

    [ISABELLA is carried off guarded; and MARIANA comes forward]

    Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo?
    O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools!
    Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo;
    In this I'll be impartial; be you judge
    Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar?
    First, let her show her face, and after speak.

MARIANA    Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face
    Until my husband bid me.

DUKE VINCENTIO    What, are you married?

MARIANA    No, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Are you a maid?

MARIANA    No, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    A widow, then?

MARIANA    Neither, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Why, you are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife?

LUCIO    My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are
    neither maid, widow, nor wife.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause
    To prattle for himself.

LUCIO    Well, my lord.

MARIANA    My lord; I do confess I ne'er was married;
    And I confess besides I am no maid:
    I have known my husband; yet my husband
    Knows not that ever he knew me.

LUCIO    He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no better.

DUKE VINCENTIO    For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too!

LUCIO    Well, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    This is no witness for Lord Angelo.

MARIANA    Now I come to't my lord
    She that accuses him of fornication,
    In self-same manner doth accuse my husband,
    And charges him my lord, with such a time
    When I'll depose I had him in mine arms
    With all the effect of love.

ANGELO    Charges she more than me?

MARIANA    Not that I know.

DUKE VINCENTIO    No? you say your husband.

MARIANA    Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo,
    Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body,
    But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's.

ANGELO    This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face.

MARIANA    My husband bids me; now I will unmask.

    [Unveiling]

    This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
    Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on;
    This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract,
    Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body
    That took away the match from Isabel,
    And did supply thee at thy garden-house
    In her imagined person.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Know you this woman?

LUCIO    Carnally, she says.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Sirrah, no more!

LUCIO    Enough, my lord.

ANGELO    My lord, I must confess I know this woman:
    And five years since there was some speech of marriage
    Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off,
    Partly for that her promised proportions
    Came short of composition, but in chief
    For that her reputation was disvalued
    In levity: since which time of five years
    I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her,
    Upon my faith and honour.

MARIANA    Noble prince,
    As there comes light from heaven and words from breath,
    As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue,
    I am affianced this man's wife as strongly
    As words could make up vows: and, my good lord,
    But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house
    He knew me as a wife. As this is true,
    Let me in safety raise me from my knees
    Or else for ever be confixed here,
    A marble monument!

ANGELO                      I did but smile till now:
    Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice
    My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive
    These poor informal women are no more
    But instruments of some more mightier member
    That sets them on: let me have way, my lord,
    To find this practise out.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Ay, with my heart
    And punish them to your height of pleasure.
    Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman,
    Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths,
    Though they would swear down each particular saint,
    Were testimonies against his worth and credit
    That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus,
    Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains
    To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived.
    There is another friar that set them on;
    Let him be sent for.

FRIAR PETER    Would he were here, my lord! for he indeed
    Hath set the women on to this complaint:
    Your provost knows the place where he abides
    And he may fetch him.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Go do it instantly.

    [Exit Provost]

    And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin,
    Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,
    Do with your injuries as seems you best,
    In any chastisement: I for a while will leave you;
    But stir not you till you have well determined
    Upon these slanderers.

ESCALUS    My lord, we'll do it throughly.

    [Exit DUKE]

    Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that
    Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person?

LUCIO    'Cucullus non facit monachum:' honest in nothing
    but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most
    villanous speeches of the duke.

ESCALUS    We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and
    enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a
    notable fellow.

LUCIO    As any in Vienna, on my word.

ESCALUS    Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with her.

    [Exit an Attendant]

    Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you
    shall see how I'll handle her.

LUCIO    Not better than he, by her own report.

ESCALUS    Say you?

LUCIO    Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately,
    she would sooner confess: perchance, publicly,
    she'll be ashamed.

ESCALUS    I will go darkly to work with her.

LUCIO    That's the way; for women are light at midnight.

    [Re-enter Officers with ISABELLA; and Provost with
    the DUKE VINCENTIO in his friar's habit]

ESCALUS    Come on, mistress: here's a gentlewoman denies all
    that you have said.

LUCIO    My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with
    the provost.

ESCALUS    In very good time: speak not you to him till we
    call upon you.

LUCIO    Mum.

ESCALUS    Come, sir: did you set these women on to slander
    Lord Angelo? they have confessed you did.

DUKE VINCENTIO    'Tis false.

ESCALUS    How! know you where you are?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Respect to your great place! and let the devil
    Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne!
    Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak.

ESCALUS    The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak:
    Look you speak justly.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls,
    Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox?
    Good night to your redress! Is the duke gone?
    Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust,
    Thus to retort your manifest appeal,
    And put your trial in the villain's mouth
    Which here you come to accuse.

LUCIO    This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of.

ESCALUS    Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar,
    Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women
    To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth
    And in the witness of his proper ear,
    To call him villain? and then to glance from him
    To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice?
    Take him hence; to the rack with him! We'll touse you
    Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose.
    What 'unjust'!

DUKE VINCENTIO                      Be not so hot; the duke
    Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he
    Dare rack his own: his subject am I not,
    Nor here provincial. My business in this state
    Made me a looker on here in Vienna,
    Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble
    Till it o'er-run the stew; laws for all faults,
    But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes
    Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop,
    As much in mock as mark.

ESCALUS    Slander to the state! Away with him to prison!

ANGELO    What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio?
    Is this the man that you did tell us of?

LUCIO    'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman baldpate:
    do you know me?

DUKE VINCENTIO    I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice: I
    met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke.

LUCIO    O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke?

DUKE VINCENTIO    Most notedly, sir.

LUCIO    Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a
    fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?

DUKE VINCENTIO    You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make
    that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and
    much more, much worse.

LUCIO    O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the
    nose for thy speeches?

DUKE VINCENTIO    I protest I love the duke as I love myself.

ANGELO    Hark, how the villain would close now, after his
    treasonable abuses!

ESCALUS    Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. Away with
    him to prison! Where is the provost? Away with him
    to prison! lay bolts enough upon him: let him
    speak no more. Away with those giglots too, and
    with the other confederate companion!

DUKE VINCENTIO    [To Provost]  Stay, sir; stay awhile.

ANGELO    What, resists he? Help him, Lucio.

LUCIO    Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you
    bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must
    you? Show your knave's visage, with a pox to you!
    show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour!
    Will't not off?

    [Pulls off the friar's hood, and discovers DUKE
    VINCENTIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Thou art the first knave that e'er madest a duke.
    First, provost, let me bail these gentle three.

    [To LUCIO]

    Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and you
    Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him.

LUCIO    This may prove worse than hanging.

DUKE VINCENTIO    [To ESCALUS]  What you have spoke I pardon: sit you down:
    We'll borrow place of him.

    [To ANGELO]

             Sir, by your leave.
    Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
    That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,
    Rely upon it till my tale be heard,
    And hold no longer out.

ANGELO    O my dread lord,
    I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
    To think I can be undiscernible,
    When I perceive your grace, like power divine,
    Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince,
    No longer session hold upon my shame,
    But let my trial be mine own confession:
    Immediate sentence then and sequent death
    Is all the grace I beg.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Come hither, Mariana.
    Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman?

ANGELO    I was, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Go take her hence, and marry her instantly.
    Do you the office, friar; which consummate,
    Return him here again. Go with him, provost.

    [Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER and Provost]

ESCALUS    My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour
    Than at the strangeness of it.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Come hither, Isabel.
    Your friar is now your prince: as I was then
    Advertising and holy to your business,
    Not changing heart with habit, I am still
    Attorney'd at your service.

ISABELLA    O, give me pardon,
    That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd
    Your unknown sovereignty!

DUKE VINCENTIO    You are pardon'd, Isabel:
    And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
    Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart;
    And you may marvel why I obscured myself,
    Labouring to save his life, and would not rather
    Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power
    Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,
    It was the swift celerity of his death,
    Which I did think with slower foot came on,
    That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with him!
    That life is better life, past fearing death,
    Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort,
    So happy is your brother.

ISABELLA    I do, my lord.

    [Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, FRIAR PETER, and Provost]

DUKE VINCENTIO    For this new-married man approaching here,
    Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd
    Your well defended honour, you must pardon
    For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother,--
    Being criminal, in double violation
    Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach
    Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,--
    The very mercy of the law cries out
    Most audible, even from his proper tongue,
    'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!'
    Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;
    Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE.
    Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested;
    Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage.
    We do condemn thee to the very block
    Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste.
    Away with him!

MARIANA                      O my most gracious lord,
    I hope you will not mock me with a husband.

DUKE VINCENTIO    It is your husband mock'd you with a husband.
    Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,
    I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,
    For that he knew you, might reproach your life
    And choke your good to come; for his possessions,
    Although by confiscation they are ours,
    We do instate and widow you withal,
    To buy you a better husband.

MARIANA    O my dear lord,
    I crave no other, nor no better man.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Never crave him; we are definitive.

MARIANA    Gentle my liege,--

    [Kneeling]

DUKE VINCENTIO                      You do but lose your labour.
    Away with him to death!

    [To LUCIO]

          Now, sir, to you.

MARIANA    O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part;
    Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
    I'll lend you all my life to do you service.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Against all sense you do importune her:
    Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact,
    Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break,
    And take her hence in horror.

MARIANA    Isabel,
    Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me;
    Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all.
    They say, best men are moulded out of faults;
    And, for the most, become much more the better
    For being a little bad: so may my husband.
    O Isabel, will you not lend a knee?

DUKE VINCENTIO    He dies for Claudio's death.

ISABELLA    Most bounteous sir,

    [Kneeling]

    Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd,
    As if my brother lived: I partly think
    A due sincerity govern'd his deeds,
    Till he did look on me: since it is so,
    Let him not die. My brother had but justice,
    In that he did the thing for which he died:
    For Angelo,
    His act did not o'ertake his bad intent,
    And must be buried but as an intent
    That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects;
    Intents but merely thoughts.

MARIANA    Merely, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say.
    I have bethought me of another fault.
    Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded
    At an unusual hour?

Provost    It was commanded so.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Had you a special warrant for the deed?

Provost    No, my good lord; it was by private message.

DUKE VINCENTIO    For which I do discharge you of your office:
    Give up your keys.

Provost                      Pardon me, noble lord:
    I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
    Yet did repent me, after more advice;
    For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
    That should by private order else have died,
    I have reserved alive.

DUKE VINCENTIO    What's he?

Provost    His name is Barnardine.

DUKE VINCENTIO    I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.
    Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him.

    [Exit Provost]

ESCALUS    I am sorry, one so learned and so wise
    As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd,
    Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood.
    And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

ANGELO    I am sorry that such sorrow I procure:
    And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart
    That I crave death more willingly than mercy;
    'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it.

    [Re-enter Provost, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO muffled,
    and JULIET]

DUKE VINCENTIO    Which is that Barnardine?

Provost    This, my lord.

DUKE VINCENTIO    There was a friar told me of this man.
    Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul.
    That apprehends no further than this world,
    And squarest thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd:
    But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all;
    And pray thee take this mercy to provide
    For better times to come. Friar, advise him;
    I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that?

Provost    This is another prisoner that I saved.
    Who should have died when Claudio lost his head;
    As like almost to Claudio as himself.

    [Unmuffles CLAUDIO]

DUKE VINCENTIO    [To ISABELLA]  If he be like your brother, for his sake
    Is he pardon'd; and, for your lovely sake,
    Give me your hand and say you will be mine.
    He is my brother too: but fitter time for that.
    By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe;
    Methinks I see a quickening in his eye.
    Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well:
    Look that you love your wife; her worth worth yours.
    I find an apt remission in myself;
    And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.

    [To LUCIO]

    You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool, a coward,
    One all of luxury, an ass, a madman;
    Wherein have I so deserved of you,
    That you extol me thus?

LUCIO    'Faith, my lord. I spoke it but according to the
    trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I
    had rather it would please you I might be whipt.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Whipt first, sir, and hanged after.
    Proclaim it, provost, round about the city.
    Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
    As I have heard him swear himself there's one
    Whom he begot with child, let her appear,
    And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd,
    Let him be whipt and hang'd.

LUCIO    I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore.
    Your highness said even now, I made you a duke:
    good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her.
    Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal
    Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison;
    And see our pleasure herein executed.

LUCIO    Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death,
    whipping, and hanging.

DUKE VINCENTIO    Slandering a prince deserves it.

    [Exit Officers with LUCIO]

    She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.
    Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo:
    I have confess'd her and I know her virtue.
    Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness:
    There's more behind that is more gratulate.
    Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy:
    We shill employ thee in a worthier place.
    Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
    The head of Ragozine for Claudio's:
    The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel,
    I have a motion much imports your good;
    Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
    What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine.
    So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show
    What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


KING OF FRANCE    (KING:)

DUKE OF FLORENCE    (DUKE:)

BERTRAM    Count of Rousillon.

LAFEU    an old lord.

PAROLLES    a follower of Bertram.


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


    A Page. (Page:)

COUNTESS OF
ROUSILLON    mother to Bertram. (COUNTESS:)

HELENA    a gentlewoman protected by the Countess.

    An old Widow of Florence. (Widow:)

DIANA    daughter to the Widow.


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


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



SCENE    Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles.




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE I    Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


    [Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS of Rousillon, HELENA,
    and LAFEU, all in black]

COUNTESS    In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.

BERTRAM    And I in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death
    anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to
    whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

LAFEU    You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you,
    sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times
    good must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose
    worthiness would stir it up where it wanted rather
    than lack it where there is such abundance.

COUNTESS    What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

LAFEU    He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose
    practises he hath persecuted time with hope, and
    finds no other advantage in the process but only the
    losing of hope by time.

COUNTESS    This young gentlewoman had a father,--O, that
    'had'! how sad a passage 'tis!--whose skill was
    almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so
    far, would have made nature immortal, and death
    should have play for lack of work. Would, for the
    king's sake, he were living! I think it would be
    the death of the king's disease.

LAFEU    How called you the man you speak of, madam?

COUNTESS    He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was
    his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon.

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

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

LAFEU    A fistula, my lord.

BERTRAM    I heard not of it before.

LAFEU    I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman
    the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

COUNTESS    His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my
    overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that
    her education promises; her dispositions she
    inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where
    an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
    commendations go with pity; they are virtues and
    traitors too; in her they are the better for their
    simpleness; she derives her honesty and achieves her goodness.

LAFEU    Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

COUNTESS    'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise
    in. The remembrance of her father never approaches
    her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all
    livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena;
    go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect
    a sorrow than have it.

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

LAFEU    Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead,
    excessive grief the enemy to the living.

COUNTESS    If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess
    makes it soon mortal.

BERTRAM    Madam, I desire your holy wishes.

LAFEU    How understand we that?

COUNTESS    Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
    In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue
    Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
    Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
    Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy
    Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
    Under thy own life's key: be cheque'd for silence,
    But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
    That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
    Fall on thy head! Farewell, my lord;
    'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
    Advise him.

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

COUNTESS    Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram.

    [Exit]

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

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

    [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU]

HELENA    O, were that all! I think not on my father;
    And these great tears grace his remembrance more
    Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
    I have forgot him: my imagination
    Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
    I am undone: there is no living, none,
    If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
    That I should love a bright particular star
    And think to wed it, he is so above me:
    In his bright radiance and collateral light
    Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
    The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
    The hind that would be mated by the lion
    Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though plague,
    To see him every hour; to sit and draw
    His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
    In our heart's table; heart too capable
    Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
    But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
    Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here?

    [Enter PAROLLES]

    [Aside]

    One that goes with him: I love him for his sake;
    And yet I know him a notorious liar,
    Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
    Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him,
    That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
    Look bleak i' the cold wind: withal, full oft we see
    Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.

PAROLLES    Save you, fair queen!

HELENA    And you, monarch!

PAROLLES    No.

HELENA    And no.

PAROLLES    Are you meditating on virginity?

HELENA    Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you: let me
    ask you a question. Man is enemy to virginity; how
    may we barricado it against him?

PAROLLES    Keep him out.

HELENA    But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant,
    in the defence yet is weak: unfold to us some
    warlike resistance.

PAROLLES    There is none: man, sitting down before you, will
    undermine you and blow you up.

HELENA    Bless our poor virginity from underminers and
    blowers up! Is there no military policy, how
    virgins might blow up men?

PAROLLES    Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be
    blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with
    the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It
    is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to
    preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational
    increase and there was never virgin got till
    virginity was first lost. That you were made of is
    metal to make virgins. Virginity by being once lost
    may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is
    ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't!

HELENA    I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.

PAROLLES    There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the
    rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity,
    is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible
    disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin:
    virginity murders itself and should be buried in
    highways out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate
    offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites,
    much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very
    paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach.
    Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of
    self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the
    canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but loose
    by't: out with 't! within ten year it will make
    itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the
    principal itself not much the worse: away with 't!

HELENA    How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking?

PAROLLES    Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it
    likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with
    lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't
    while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request.
    Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out
    of fashion: richly suited, but unsuitable: just
    like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not
    now. Your date is better in your pie and your
    porridge than in your cheek; and your virginity,
    your old virginity, is like one of our French
    withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry,
    'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better;
    marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you anything with it?

HELENA    Not my virginity yet [         ]
    There shall your master have a thousand loves,
    A mother and a mistress and a friend,
    A phoenix, captain and an enemy,
    A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
    A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear;
    His humble ambition, proud humility,
    His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet,
    His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world
    Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms,
    That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he--
    I know not what he shall. God send him well!
    The court's a learning place, and he is one--

PAROLLES    What one, i' faith?

HELENA    That I wish well. 'Tis pity--

PAROLLES    What's pity?

HELENA    That wishing well had not a body in't,
    Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born,
    Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,
    Might with effects of them follow our friends,
    And show what we alone must think, which never
    Return us thanks.

    [Enter Page]

Page    Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.

    [Exit]

PAROLLES    Little Helen, farewell; if I can remember thee, I
    will think of thee at court.

HELENA    Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star.

PAROLLES    Under Mars, I.

HELENA    I especially think, under Mars.

PAROLLES    Why under Mars?

HELENA    The wars have so kept you under that you must needs
    be born under Mars.

PAROLLES    When he was predominant.

HELENA    When he was retrograde, I think, rather.

PAROLLES    Why think you so?

HELENA    You go so much backward when you fight.

PAROLLES    That's for advantage.

HELENA    So is running away, when fear proposes the safety;
    but the composition that your valour and fear makes
    in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well.

PAROLLES    I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee
    acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the
    which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize
    thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's
    counsel and understand what advice shall thrust upon
    thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and
    thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When
    thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast
    none, remember thy friends; get thee a good husband,
    and use him as he uses thee; so, farewell.

    [Exit]

HELENA    Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
    Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky
    Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull
    Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull.
    What power is it which mounts my love so high,
    That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
    The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
    To join like likes and kiss like native things.
    Impossible be strange attempts to those
    That weigh their pains in sense and do suppose
    What hath been cannot be: who ever strove
    So show her merit, that did miss her love?
    The king's disease--my project may deceive me,
    But my intents are fix'd and will not leave me.

    [Exit]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE II    Paris. The KING's palace.


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

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

First Lord                      So 'tis reported, sir.

KING    Nay, 'tis most credible; we here received it
    A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
    With caution that the Florentine will move us
    For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
    Prejudicates the business and would seem
    To have us make denial.

First Lord    His love and wisdom,
    Approved so to your majesty, may plead
    For amplest credence.

KING    He hath arm'd our answer,
    And Florence is denied before he comes:
    Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
    The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
    To stand on either part.

Second Lord    It well may serve
    A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
    For breathing and exploit.

KING    What's he comes here?

    [Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

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

KING                      Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
    Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
    Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts
    Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.

BERTRAM    My thanks and duty are your majesty's.

KING    I would I had that corporal soundness now,
    As when thy father and myself in friendship
    First tried our soldiership! He did look far
    Into the service of the time and was
    Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long;
    But on us both did haggish age steal on
    And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
    To talk of your good father. In his youth
    He had the wit which I can well observe
    To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
    Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
    Ere they can hide their levity in honour;
    So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
    Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
    His equal had awaked them, and his honour,
    Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
    Exception bid him speak, and at this time
    His tongue obey'd his hand: who were below him
    He used as creatures of another place
    And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
    Making them proud of his humility,
    In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
    Might be a copy to these younger times;
    Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
    But goers backward.

BERTRAM    His good remembrance, sir,
    Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
    So in approof lives not his epitaph
    As in your royal speech.

KING    Would I were with him! He would always say--
    Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words
    He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
    To grow there and to bear,--'Let me not live,'--
    This his good melancholy oft began,
    On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
    When it was out,--'Let me not live,' quoth he,
    'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
    Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
    All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
    Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
    Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd;
    I after him do after him wish too,
    Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
    I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
    To give some labourers room.

Second Lord    You are loved, sir:
    They that least lend it you shall lack you first.

KING    I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, count,
    Since the physician at your father's died?
    He was much famed.

BERTRAM                      Some six months since, my lord.

KING    If he were living, I would try him yet.
    Lend me an arm; the rest have worn me out
    With several applications; nature and sickness
    Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count;
    My son's no dearer.

BERTRAM    Thank your majesty.

    [Exeunt. Flourish]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT I



SCENE III    Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


    [Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown]

COUNTESS    I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman?

Steward    Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I
    wish might be found in the calendar of my past
    endeavours; for then we wound our modesty and make
    foul the clearness of our deservings, when of
    ourselves we publish them.

COUNTESS    What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah:
    the complaints I have heard of you I do not all
    believe: 'tis my slowness that I do not; for I know
    you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability
    enough to make such knaveries yours.

Clown    'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow.

COUNTESS    Well, sir.

Clown    No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though
    many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have
    your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel
    the woman and I will do as we may.

COUNTESS    Wilt thou needs be a beggar?

Clown    I do beg your good will in this case.

COUNTESS    In what case?

Clown    In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no
    heritage: and I think I shall never have the
    blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for
    they say barnes are blessings.

COUNTESS    Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry.

Clown    My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on
    by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives.

COUNTESS    Is this all your worship's reason?

Clown    Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons such as they
    are.

COUNTESS    May the world know them?

Clown    I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and
    all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry
    that I may repent.

COUNTESS    Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.

Clown    I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have
    friends for my wife's sake.

COUNTESS    Such friends are thine enemies, knave.

Clown    You're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the
    knaves come to do that for me which I am aweary of.
    He that ears my land spares my team and gives me
    leave to in the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my
    drudge: he that comforts my wife is the cherisher
    of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh
    and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my
    flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses
    my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to
    be what they are, there were no fear in marriage;
    for young Charbon the Puritan and old Poysam the
    Papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in
    religion, their heads are both one; they may jowl
    horns together, like any deer i' the herd.

COUNTESS    Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calumnious knave?

Clown    A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next
    way:
    For I the ballad will repeat,
    Which men full true shall find;
    Your marriage comes by destiny,
    Your cuckoo sings by kind.

COUNTESS    Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon.

Steward    May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to
    you: of her I am to speak.

COUNTESS    Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her;
    Helen, I mean.

Clown         Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
    Why the Grecians sacked Troy?
    Fond done, done fond,
    Was this King Priam's joy?
    With that she sighed as she stood,
    With that she sighed as she stood,
    And gave this sentence then;
    Among nine bad if one be good,
    Among nine bad if one be good,
    There's yet one good in ten.

COUNTESS    What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah.

Clown    One good woman in ten, madam; which is a purifying
    o' the song: would God would serve the world so all
    the year! we'ld find no fault with the tithe-woman,
    if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth a'! An we
    might have a good woman born but one every blazing
    star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery
    well: a man may draw his heart out, ere a' pluck
    one.

COUNTESS    You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you.

Clown    That man should be at woman's command, and yet no
    hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it
    will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of
    humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
    going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither.

    [Exit]

COUNTESS    Well, now.

Steward    I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely.

COUNTESS    Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and
    she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully
    make title to as much love as she finds: there is
    more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid
    her than she'll demand.

Steward    Madam, I was very late more near her than I think
    she wished me: alone she was, and did communicate
    to herself her own words to her own ears; she
    thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any
    stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son:
    Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had put
    such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
    god, that would not extend his might, only where
    qualities were level; Dian no queen of virgins, that
    would suffer her poor knight surprised, without
    rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward.
    This she delivered in the most bitter touch of
    sorrow that e'er I heard virgin exclaim in: which I
    held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal;
    sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns
    you something to know it.

COUNTESS    You have discharged this honestly; keep it to
    yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this
    before, which hung so tottering in the balance that
    I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you,
    leave me: stall this in your bosom; and I thank you
    for your honest care: I will speak with you further anon.

    [Exit Steward]

    [Enter HELENA]

    Even so it was with me when I was young:
    If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
    Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
    Our blood to us, this to our blood is born;
    It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
    Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth:
    By our remembrances of days foregone,
    Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
    Her eye is sick on't: I observe her now.

HELENA    What is your pleasure, madam?

COUNTESS    You know, Helen,
    I am a mother to you.

HELENA    Mine honourable mistress.

COUNTESS    Nay, a mother:
    Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
    Methought you saw a serpent: what's in 'mother,'
    That you start at it? I say, I am your mother;
    And put you in the catalogue of those
    That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen
    Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds
    A native slip to us from foreign seeds:
    You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
    Yet I express to you a mother's care:
    God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
    To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
    That this distemper'd messenger of wet,
    The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
    Why? that you are my daughter?

HELENA    That I am not.

COUNTESS    I say, I am your mother.

HELENA    Pardon, madam;
    The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
    I am from humble, he from honour'd name;
    No note upon my parents, his all noble:
    My master, my dear lord he is; and I
    His servant live, and will his vassal die:
    He must not be my brother.

COUNTESS    Nor I your mother?

HELENA    You are my mother, madam; would you were,--
    So that my lord your son were not my brother,--
    Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers,
    I care no more for than I do for heaven,
    So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
    But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?

COUNTESS    Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law:
    God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother
    So strive upon your pulse. What, pale again?
    My fear hath catch'd your fondness: now I see
    The mystery of your loneliness, and find
    Your salt tears' head: now to all sense 'tis gross
    You love my son; invention is ashamed,
    Against the proclamation of thy passion,
    To say thou dost not: therefore tell me true;
    But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look thy cheeks
    Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
    See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors
    That in their kind they speak it: only sin
    And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
    That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
    If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
    If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee,
    As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
    Tell me truly.

HELENA                      Good madam, pardon me!

COUNTESS    Do you love my son?

HELENA    Your pardon, noble mistress!

COUNTESS    Love you my son?

HELENA                      Do not you love him, madam?

COUNTESS    Go not about; my love hath in't a bond,
    Whereof the world takes note: come, come, disclose
    The state of your affection; for your passions
    Have to the full appeach'd.

HELENA    Then, I confess,
    Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
    That before you, and next unto high heaven,
    I love your son.
    My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love:
    Be not offended; for it hurts not him
    That he is loved of me: I follow him not
    By any token of presumptuous suit;
    Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
    Yet never know how that desert should be.
    I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
    Yet in this captious and intenible sieve
    I still pour in the waters of my love
    And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
    Religious in mine error, I adore
    The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
    But knows of him no more. My dearest madam,
    Let not your hate encounter with my love
    For loving where you do: but if yourself,
    Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
    Did ever in so true a flame of liking
    Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian
    Was both herself and love: O, then, give pity
    To her, whose state is such that cannot choose
    But lend and give where she is sure to lose;
    That seeks not to find that her search implies,
    But riddle-like lives sweetly where she dies!

COUNTESS    Had you not lately an intent,--speak truly,--
    To go to Paris?

HELENA                      Madam, I had.

COUNTESS    Wherefore? tell true.

HELENA    I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
    You know my father left me some prescriptions
    Of rare and proved effects, such as his reading
    And manifest experience had collected
    For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
    In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
    As notes whose faculties inclusive were
    More than they were in note: amongst the rest,
    There is a remedy, approved, set down,
    To cure the desperate languishings whereof
    The king is render'd lost.

COUNTESS    This was your motive
    For Paris, was it? speak.

HELENA    My lord your son made me to think of this;
    Else Paris and the medicine and the king
    Had from the conversation of my thoughts
    Haply been absent then.

COUNTESS    But think you, Helen,
    If you should tender your supposed aid,
    He would receive it? he and his physicians
    Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him,
    They, that they cannot help: how shall they credit
    A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
    Embowell'd of their doctrine, have left off
    The danger to itself?

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

COUNTESS    Dost thou believe't?

HELENA    Ay, madam, knowingly.

COUNTESS    Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
    Means and attendants and my loving greetings
    To those of mine in court: I'll stay at home
    And pray God's blessing into thy attempt:
    Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
    What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE I    Paris. The KING's palace.


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

KING    Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles
    Do not throw from you: and you, my lords, farewell:
    Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain, all
    The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received,
    And is enough for both.

First Lord    'Tis our hope, sir,
    After well enter'd soldiers, to return
    And find your grace in health.

KING    No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
    Will not confess he owes the malady
    That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
    Whether I live or die, be you the sons
    Of worthy Frenchmen: let higher Italy,--
    Those bated that inherit but the fall
    Of the last monarchy,--see that you come
    Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
    The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
    That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell.

Second Lord    Health, at your bidding, serve your majesty!

KING    Those girls of Italy, take heed of them:
    They say, our French lack language to deny,
    If they demand: beware of being captives,
    Before you serve.

Both                      Our hearts receive your warnings.

KING    Farewell. Come hither to me.

    [Exit, attended]

First Lord    O, my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!

PAROLLES    'Tis not his fault, the spark.

Second Lord    O, 'tis brave wars!

PAROLLES    Most admirable: I have seen those wars.

BERTRAM    I am commanded here, and kept a coil with
    'Too young' and 'the next year' and ''tis too early.'

PAROLLES    An thy mind stand to't, boy, steal away bravely.

BERTRAM    I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock,
    Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry,
    Till honour be bought up and no sword worn
    But one to dance with! By heaven, I'll steal away.

First Lord    There's honour in the theft.

PAROLLES    Commit it, count.

Second Lord    I am your accessary; and so, farewell.

BERTRAM    I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured body.

First Lord    Farewell, captain.

Second Lord    Sweet Monsieur Parolles!

PAROLLES    Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good
    sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: you shall
    find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain
    Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here
    on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword
    entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his
    reports for me.

First Lord    We shall, noble captain.

    [Exeunt Lords]

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

BERTRAM    Stay: the king.

    [Re-enter KING. BERTRAM and PAROLLES retire]

PAROLLES    [To BERTRAM]  Use a more spacious ceremony to the
    noble lords; you have restrained yourself within the
    list of too cold an adieu: be more expressive to
    them: for they wear themselves in the cap of the
    time, there do muster true gait, eat, speak, and
    move under the influence of the most received star;
    and though the devil lead the measure, such are to
    be followed: after them, and take a more dilated farewell.

BERTRAM    And I will do so.

PAROLLES    Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men.

    [Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES]

    [Enter LAFEU]

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

KING    I'll fee thee to stand up.

LAFEU    Then here's a man stands, that has brought his pardon.
    I would you had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy,
    And that at my bidding you could so stand up.

KING    I would I had; so I had broke thy pate,
    And ask'd thee mercy for't.

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

KING    No.

LAFEU    O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox?
    Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if
    My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine
    That's able to breathe life into a stone,
    Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary
    With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch,
    Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay,
    To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand,
    And write to her a love-line.

KING    What 'her' is this?

LAFEU    Why, Doctor She: my lord, there's one arrived,
    If you will see her: now, by my faith and honour,
    If seriously I may convey my thoughts
    In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
    With one that, in her sex, her years, profession,
    Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more
    Than I dare blame my weakness: will you see her
    For that is her demand, and know her business?
    That done, laugh well at me.

KING    Now, good Lafeu,
    Bring in the admiration; that we with thee
    May spend our wonder too, or take off thine
    By wondering how thou took'st it.

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

    [Exit]

KING    Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.

    [Re-enter LAFEU, with HELENA]

LAFEU    Nay, come your ways.

KING    This haste hath wings indeed.

LAFEU    Nay, come your ways:
    This is his majesty; say your mind to him:
    A traitor you do look like; but such traitors
    His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid's uncle,
    That dare leave two together; fare you well.

    [Exit]

KING    Now, fair one, does your business follow us?

HELENA    Ay, my good lord.
    Gerard de Narbon was my father;
    In what he did profess, well found.

KING    I knew him.

HELENA    The rather will I spare my praises towards him:
    Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death
    Many receipts he gave me: chiefly one.
    Which, as the dearest issue of his practise,
    And of his old experience the oily darling,
    He bade me store up, as a triple eye,
    Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so;
    And hearing your high majesty is touch'd
    With that malignant cause wherein the honour
    Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
    I come to tender it and my appliance
    With all bound humbleness.

KING    We thank you, maiden;
    But may not be so credulous of cure,
    When our most learned doctors leave us and
    The congregated college have concluded
    That labouring art can never ransom nature
    From her inaidible estate; I say we must not
    So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
    To prostitute our past-cure malady
    To empirics, or to dissever so
    Our great self and our credit, to esteem
    A senseless help when help past sense we deem.

HELENA    My duty then shall pay me for my pains:
    I will no more enforce mine office on you.
    Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
    A modest one, to bear me back a again.

KING    I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:
    Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give
    As one near death to those that wish him live:
    But what at full I know, thou know'st no part,
    I knowing all my peril, thou no art.

HELENA    What I can do can do no hurt to try,
    Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.
    He that of greatest works is finisher
    Oft does them by the weakest minister:
    So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
    When judges have been babes; great floods have flown
    From simple sources, and great seas have dried
    When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
    Oft expectation fails and most oft there
    Where most it promises, and oft it hits
    Where hope is coldest and despair most fits.

KING    I must not hear thee; fare thee well, kind maid;
    Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid:
    Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.

HELENA    Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd:
    It is not so with Him that all things knows
    As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;
    But most it is presumption in us when
    The help of heaven we count the act of men.
    Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
    Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
    I am not an impostor that proclaim
    Myself against the level of mine aim;
    But know I think and think I know most sure
    My art is not past power nor you past cure.

KING    Are thou so confident? within what space
    Hopest thou my cure?

HELENA    The great'st grace lending grace
    Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
    Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,
    Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
    Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp,
    Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
    Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
    What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly,
    Health shall live free and sickness freely die.

KING    Upon thy certainty and confidence
    What darest thou venture?

HELENA    Tax of impudence,
    A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame
    Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's name
    Sear'd otherwise; nay, worse--if worse--extended
    With vilest torture let my life be ended.

KING    Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak
    His powerful sound within an organ weak:
    And what impossibility would slay
    In common sense, sense saves another way.
    Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate
    Worth name of life in thee hath estimate,
    Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all
    That happiness and prime can happy call:
    Thou this to hazard needs must intimate
    Skill infinite or monstrous desperate.
    Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try,
    That ministers thine own death if I die.

HELENA    If I break time, or flinch in property
    Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die,
    And well deserved: not helping, death's my fee;
    But, if I help, what do you promise me?

KING    Make thy demand.

HELENA                      But will you make it even?

KING    Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.

HELENA    Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand
    What husband in thy power I will command:
    Exempted be from me the arrogance
    To choose from forth the royal blood of France,
    My low and humble name to propagate
    With any branch or image of thy state;
    But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
    Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.

KING    Here is my hand; the premises observed,
    Thy will by my performance shall be served:
    So make the choice of thy own time, for I,
    Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely.
    More should I question thee, and more I must,
    Though more to know could not be more to trust,
    From whence thou camest, how tended on: but rest
    Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest.
    Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed
    As high as word, my deed shall match thy meed.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE II    Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


    [Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS    Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of
    your breeding.

Clown    I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught: I
    know my business is but to the court.

COUNTESS    To the court! why, what place make you special,
    when you put off that with such contempt? But to the court!

Clown    Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he
    may easily put it off at court: he that cannot make
    a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand and say nothing,
    has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed
    such a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the
    court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all
    men.

COUNTESS    Marry, that's a bountiful answer that fits all
    questions.

Clown    It is like a barber's chair that fits all buttocks,
    the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the brawn
    buttock, or any buttock.

COUNTESS    Will your answer serve fit to all questions?

Clown    As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney,
    as your French crown for your taffeta punk, as Tib's
    rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove
    Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his
    hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen
    to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the
    friar's mouth, nay, as the pudding to his skin.

COUNTESS    Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all
    questions?

Clown    From below your duke to beneath your constable, it
    will fit any question.

COUNTESS    It must be an answer of most monstrous size that
    must fit all demands.

Clown    But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned
    should speak truth of it: here it is, and all that
    belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall
    do you no harm to learn.

COUNTESS    To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in
    question, hoping to be the wiser by your answer. I
    pray you, sir, are you a courtier?

Clown    O Lord, sir! There's a simple putting off. More,
    more, a hundred of them.

COUNTESS    Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.

Clown    O Lord, sir! Thick, thick, spare not me.

COUNTESS    I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.

Clown    O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to't, I warrant you.

COUNTESS    You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.

Clown    O Lord, sir! spare not me.

COUNTESS    Do you cry, 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and
    'spare not me?' Indeed your 'O Lord, sir!' is very
    sequent to your whipping: you would answer very well
    to a whipping, if you were but bound to't.

Clown    I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord,
    sir!' I see things may serve long, but not serve ever.

COUNTESS    I play the noble housewife with the time
    To entertain't so merrily with a fool.

Clown    O Lord, sir! why, there't serves well again.

COUNTESS    An end, sir; to your business. Give Helen this,
    And urge her to a present answer back:
    Commend me to my kinsmen and my son:
    This is not much.

Clown    Not much commendation to them.

COUNTESS    Not much employment for you: you understand me?

Clown    Most fruitfully: I am there before my legs.

COUNTESS    Haste you again.

    [Exeunt severally]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE III    Paris. The KING's palace.


    [Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES]

LAFEU    They say miracles are past; and we have our
    philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar,
    things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that
    we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves
    into seeming knowledge, when we should submit
    ourselves to an unknown fear.

PAROLLES    Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath
    shot out in our latter times.

BERTRAM    And so 'tis.

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

PAROLLES    So I say.

LAFEU    Both of Galen and Paracelsus.

PAROLLES    So I say.

LAFEU    Of all the learned and authentic fellows,--

PAROLLES    Right; so I say.

LAFEU    That gave him out incurable,--

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

LAFEU    Not to be helped,--

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

LAFEU    Uncertain life, and sure death.

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

LAFEU    I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.

PAROLLES    It is, indeed: if you will have it in showing, you
    shall read it in--what do you call there?

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

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

LAFEU    Why, your dolphin is not lustier: 'fore me,
    I speak in respect--

PAROLLES    Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the
    brief and the tedious of it; and he's of a most
    facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it to be the--

LAFEU    Very hand of heaven.

PAROLLES    Ay, so I say.

LAFEU    In a most weak--

    [pausing]

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

    [pausing]

    generally thankful.

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

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

LAFEU    Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll like a maid the
    better, whilst I have a tooth in my head: why, he's
    able to lead her a coranto.

PAROLLES    Mort du vinaigre! is not this Helen?

LAFEU    'Fore God, I think so.

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

    [Enter three or four Lords]

    Fair maid, send forth thine eye: this youthful parcel
    Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing,
    O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
    I have to use: thy frank election make;
    Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.

HELENA    To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
    Fall, when Love please! marry, to each, but one!

LAFEU    I'ld give bay Curtal and his furniture,
    My mouth no more were broken than these boys',
    And writ as little beard.

KING    Peruse them well:
    Not one of those but had a noble father.

HELENA    Gentlemen,
    Heaven hath through me restored the king to health.

All    We understand it, and thank heaven for you.

HELENA    I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest,
    That I protest I simply am a maid.
    Please it your majesty, I have done already:
    The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
    'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused,
    Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever;
    We'll ne'er come there again.'

KING    Make choice; and, see,
    Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me.

HELENA    Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly,
    And to imperial Love, that god most high,
    Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit?

First Lord    And grant it.

HELENA                      Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute.

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

HELENA    The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
    Before I speak, too threateningly replies:
    Love make your fortunes twenty times above
    Her that so wishes and her humble love!

Second Lord    No better, if you please.

HELENA    My wish receive,
    Which great Love grant! and so, I take my leave.

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

HELENA    Be not afraid that I your hand should take;
    I'll never do you wrong for your own sake:
    Blessing upon your vows! and in your bed
    Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed!

LAFEU    These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have her:
    sure, they are bastards to the English; the French
    ne'er got 'em.

HELENA    You are too young, too happy, and too good,
    To make yourself a son out of my blood.

Fourth Lord    Fair one, I think not so.

LAFEU    There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk
    wine: but if thou be'st not an ass, I am a youth
    of fourteen; I have known thee already.

HELENA    [To BERTRAM]  I dare not say I take you; but I give
    Me and my service, ever whilst I live,
    Into your guiding power. This is the man.

KING    Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife.

BERTRAM    My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness,
    In such a business give me leave to use
    The help of mine own eyes.

KING    Know'st thou not, Bertram,
    What she has done for me?

BERTRAM    Yes, my good lord;
    But never hope to know why I should marry her.

KING    Thou know'st she has raised me from my sickly bed.

BERTRAM    But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
    Must answer for your raising? I know her well:
    She had her breeding at my father's charge.
    A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain
    Rather corrupt me ever!

KING    'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which
    I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods,
    Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
    Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
    In differences so mighty. If she be
    All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest,
    A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest
    Of virtue for the name: but do not so:
    From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
    The place is dignified by the doer's deed:
    Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,
    It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
    Is good without a name. Vileness is so:
    The property by what it is should go,
    Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
    In these to nature she's immediate heir,
    And these breed honour: that is honour's scorn,
    Which challenges itself as honour's born
    And is not like the sire: honours thrive,
    When rather from our acts we them derive
    Than our foregoers: the mere word's a slave
    Debosh'd on every tomb, on every grave
    A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb
    Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
    Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
    If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
    I can create the rest: virtue and she
    Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.

BERTRAM    I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.

KING    Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose.

HELENA    That you are well restored, my lord, I'm glad:
    Let the rest go.

KING    My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
    I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
    Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift;
    That dost in vile misprision shackle up
    My love and her desert; that canst not dream,
    We, poising us in her defective scale,
    Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know,
    It is in us to plant thine honour where
    We please to have it grow. Cheque thy contempt:
    Obey our will, which travails in thy good:
    Believe not thy disdain, but presently
    Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
    Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;
    Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
    Into the staggers and the careless lapse
    Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate
    Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice,
    Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.

BERTRAM    Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
    My fancy to your eyes: when I consider
    What great creation and what dole of honour
    Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late
    Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
    The praised of the king; who, so ennobled,
    Is as 'twere born so.

KING    Take her by the hand,
    And tell her she is thine: to whom I promise
    A counterpoise, if not to thy estate
    A balance more replete.

BERTRAM    I take her hand.

KING    Good fortune and the favour of the king
    Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
    Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
    And be perform'd to-night: the solemn feast
    Shall more attend upon the coming space,
    Expecting absent friends. As thou lovest her,
    Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.

    [Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES]

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

PAROLLES    Your pleasure, sir?

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

PAROLLES    Recantation! My lord! my master!

LAFEU    Ay; is it not a language I speak?

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

LAFEU    Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?

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

LAFEU    To what is count's man: count's master is of
    another style.

PAROLLES    You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old.

LAFEU    I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which
    title age cannot bring thee.

PAROLLES    What I dare too well do, I dare not do.

LAFEU    I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty
    wise fellow; thou didst make tolerable vent of thy
    travel; it might pass: yet the scarfs and the
    bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from
    believing thee a vessel of too great a burthen. I
    have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care
    not: yet art thou good for nothing but taking up; and
    that thou't scarce worth.

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

LAFEU    Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou
    hasten thy trial; which if--Lord have mercy on thee
    for a hen! So, my good window of lattice, fare thee
    well: thy casement I need not open, for I look
    through thee. Give me thy hand.

PAROLLES    My lord, you give me most egregious indignity.

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

PAROLLES    I have not, my lord, deserved it.

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

PAROLLES    Well, I shall be wiser.

LAFEU    Even as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at
    a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st bound
    in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is
    to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold
    my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge,
    that I may say in the default, he is a man I know.

PAROLLES    My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation.

LAFEU    I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor
    doing eternal: for doing I am past: as I will by
    thee, in what motion age will give me leave.

    [Exit]

PAROLLES    Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off
    me; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must
    be patient; there is no fettering of authority.
    I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with
    any convenience, an he were double and double a
    lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I
    would of--I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again.

    [Re-enter LAFEU]

LAFEU    Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news
    for you: you have a new mistress.

PAROLLES    I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make
    some reservation of your wrongs: he is my good
    lord: whom I serve above is my master.

LAFEU    Who? God?

PAROLLES    Ay, sir.

LAFEU    The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou
    garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make hose of
    sleeves? do other servants so? Thou wert best set
    thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine
    honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'ld beat
    thee: methinks, thou art a general offence, and
    every man should beat thee: I think thou wast
    created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.

PAROLLES    This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord.

LAFEU    Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a
    kernel out of a pomegranate; you are a vagabond and
    no true traveller: you are more saucy with lords
    and honourable personages than the commission of your
    birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not
    worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. I leave you.

    [Exit]

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

    [Re-enter BERTRAM]

BERTRAM    Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever!

PAROLLES    What's the matter, sweet-heart?

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

PAROLLES    What, what, sweet-heart?

BERTRAM    O my Parolles, they have married me!
    I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.

PAROLLES    France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits
    The tread of a man's foot: to the wars!

BERTRAM    There's letters from my mother: what the import is,
    I know not yet.

PAROLLES    Ay, that would be known. To the wars, my boy, to the wars!
    He wears his honour in a box unseen,
    That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home,
    Spending his manly marrow in her arms,
    Which should sustain the bound and high curvet
    Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions
    France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades;
    Therefore, to the war!

BERTRAM    It shall be so: I'll send her to my house,
    Acquaint my mother with my hate to her,
    And wherefore I am fled; write to the king
    That which I durst not speak; his present gift
    Shall furnish me to those Italian fields,
    Where noble fellows strike: war is no strife
    To the dark house and the detested wife.

PAROLLES    Will this capriccio hold in thee? art sure?

BERTRAM    Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
    I'll send her straight away: to-morrow
    I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.

PAROLLES    Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard:
    A young man married is a man that's marr'd:
    Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go:
    The king has done you wrong: but, hush, 'tis so.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE IV    Paris. The KING's palace.


    [Enter HELENA and Clown]

HELENA    My mother greets me kindly; is she well?

Clown    She is not well; but yet she has her health: she's
    very merry; but yet she is not well: but thanks be
    given, she's very well and wants nothing i', the
    world; but yet she is not well.

HELENA    If she be very well, what does she ail, that she's
    not very well?

Clown    Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things.

HELENA    What two things?

Clown    One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her
    quickly! the other that she's in earth, from whence
    God send her quickly!

    [Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES    Bless you, my fortunate lady!

HELENA    I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own
    good fortunes.

PAROLLES    You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them
    on, have them still. O, my knave, how does my old lady?

Clown    So that you had her wrinkles and I her money,
    I would she did as you say.

PAROLLES    Why, I say nothing.

Clown    Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's
    tongue shakes out his master's undoing: to say
    nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have
    nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which
    is within a very little of nothing.

PAROLLES    Away! thou'rt a knave.

Clown    You should have said, sir, before a knave thou'rt a
    knave; that's, before me thou'rt a knave: this had
    been truth, sir.

PAROLLES    Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee.

Clown    Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you
    taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;
    and much fool may you find in you, even to the
    world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.

PAROLLES    A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
    Madam, my lord will go away to-night;
    A very serious business calls on him.
    The great prerogative and rite of love,
    Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
    But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;
    Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,
    Which they distil now in the curbed time,
    To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
    And pleasure drown the brim.

HELENA    What's his will else?

PAROLLES    That you will take your instant leave o' the king
    And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
    Strengthen'd with what apology you think
    May make it probable need.

HELENA    What more commands he?

PAROLLES    That, having this obtain'd, you presently
    Attend his further pleasure.

HELENA    In every thing I wait upon his will.

PAROLLES    I shall report it so.

HELENA    I pray you.

    [Exit PAROLLES]

    Come, sirrah.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT II



SCENE V    Paris. The KING's palace.


    [Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM]

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

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

LAFEU    You have it from his own deliverance.

BERTRAM    And by other warranted testimony.

LAFEU    Then my dial goes not true: I took this lark for a bunting.

BERTRAM    I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
    knowledge and accordingly valiant.

LAFEU    I have then sinned against his experience and
    transgressed against his valour; and my state that
    way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my
    heart to repent. Here he comes: I pray you, make
    us friends; I will pursue the amity.

    [Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES    [To BERTRAM]  These things shall be done, sir.

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

PAROLLES    Sir?

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

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

PAROLLES    She is.

BERTRAM    Will she away to-night?

PAROLLES    As you'll have her.

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

LAFEU    A good traveller is something at the latter end of a
    dinner; but one that lies three thirds and uses a
    known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, should
    be once heard and thrice beaten. God save you, captain.

BERTRAM    Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur?

PAROLLES    I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's
    displeasure.

LAFEU    You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs
    and all, like him that leaped into the custard; and
    out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer
    question for your residence.

BERTRAM    It may be you have mistaken him, my lord.

LAFEU    And shall do so ever, though I took him at 's
    prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe this
    of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut; the
    soul of this man is his clothes. Trust him not in
    matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them
    tame, and know their natures. Farewell, monsieur:
    I have spoken better of you than you have or will to
    deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil.

    [Exit]

PAROLLES    An idle lord. I swear.

BERTRAM    I think so.

PAROLLES    Why, do you not know him?

BERTRAM    Yes, I do know him well, and common speech
    Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.

    [Enter HELENA]

HELENA    I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
    Spoke with the king and have procured his leave
    For present parting; only he desires
    Some private speech with you.

BERTRAM    I shall obey his will.
    You must not marvel, Helen, at my course,
    Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
    The ministration and required office
    On my particular. Prepared I was not
    For such a business; therefore am I found
    So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you
    That presently you take our way for home;
    And rather muse than ask why I entreat you,
    For my respects are better than they seem
    And my appointments have in them a need
    Greater than shows itself at the first view
    To you that know them not. This to my mother:

    [Giving a letter]

    'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so
    I leave you to your wisdom.

HELENA    Sir, I can nothing say,
    But that I am your most obedient servant.

BERTRAM    Come, come, no more of that.

HELENA    And ever shall
    With true observance seek to eke out that
    Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
    To equal my great fortune.

BERTRAM    Let that go:
    My haste is very great: farewell; hie home.

HELENA    Pray, sir, your pardon.

BERTRAM    Well, what would you say?

HELENA    I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
    Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is;
    But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
    What law does vouch mine own.

BERTRAM    What would you have?

HELENA    Something; and scarce so much: nothing, indeed.
    I would not tell you what I would, my lord:
    Faith yes;
    Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss.

BERTRAM    I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.

HELENA    I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.

BERTRAM    Where are my other men, monsieur? Farewell.

    [Exit HELENA]

    Go thou toward home; where I will never come
    Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.
    Away, and for our flight.

PAROLLES    Bravely, coragio!

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE I    Florence. The DUKE's palace.


    [Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence attended;
    the two Frenchmen, with a troop of soldiers.

DUKE    So that from point to point now have you heard
    The fundamental reasons of this war,
    Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
    And more thirsts after.

First Lord    Holy seems the quarrel
    Upon your grace's part; black and fearful
    On the opposer.

DUKE    Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
    Would in so just a business shut his bosom
    Against our borrowing prayers.

Second Lord    Good my lord,
    The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
    But like a common and an outward man,
    That the great figure of a council frames
    By self-unable motion: therefore dare not
    Say what I think of it, since I have found
    Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
    As often as I guess'd.

DUKE    Be it his pleasure.

First Lord    But I am sure the younger of our nature,
    That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
    Come here for physic.

DUKE    Welcome shall they be;
    And all the honours that can fly from us
    Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
    When better fall, for your avails they fell:
    To-morrow to the field.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE II    Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


    [Enter COUNTESS and Clown]

COUNTESS    It hath happened all as I would have had it, save
    that he comes not along with her.

Clown    By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very
    melancholy man.

COUNTESS    By what observance, I pray you?

Clown    Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the
    ruff and sing; ask questions and sing; pick his
    teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of
    melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song.

COUNTESS    Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.

    [Opening a letter]

Clown    I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court: our
    old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing
    like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court:
    the brains of my Cupid's knocked out, and I begin to
    love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach.

COUNTESS    What have we here?

Clown    E'en that you have there.

    [Exit]

COUNTESS    [Reads]  I have sent you a daughter-in-law: she hath
    recovered the king, and undone me. I have wedded
    her, not bedded her; and sworn to make the 'not'
    eternal. You shall hear I am run away: know it
    before the report come. If there be breadth enough
    in the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty
    to you.    Your unfortunate son,
                 BERTRAM.
    This is not well, rash and unbridled boy.
    To fly the favours of so good a king;
    To pluck his indignation on thy head
    By the misprising of a maid too virtuous
    For the contempt of empire.

    [Re-enter Clown]

Clown    O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two
    soldiers and my young lady!

COUNTESS    What is the matter?

Clown    Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some
    comfort; your son will not be killed so soon as I
    thought he would.

COUNTESS    Why should he be killed?

Clown    So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does:
    the danger is in standing to't; that's the loss of
    men, though it be the getting of children. Here
    they come will tell you more: for my part, I only
    hear your son was run away.

    [Exit]

    [Enter HELENA, and two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman    Save you, good madam.

HELENA    Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.

Second Gentleman    Do not say so.

COUNTESS    Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,
    I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
    That the first face of neither, on the start,
    Can woman me unto't: where is my son, I pray you?

Second Gentleman    Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of Florence:
    We met him thitherward; for thence we came,
    And, after some dispatch in hand at court,
    Thither we bend again.

HELENA    Look on his letter, madam; here's my passport.

    [Reads]

    When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
    never shall come off, and show me a child begotten
    of thy body that I am father to, then call me
    husband: but in such a 'then' I write a 'never.'
    This is a dreadful sentence.

COUNTESS    Brought you this letter, gentlemen?

First Gentleman    Ay, madam;
    And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pain.

COUNTESS    I prithee, lady, have a better cheer;
    If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine,
    Thou robb'st me of a moiety: he was my son;
    But I do wash his name out of my blood,
    And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he?

Second Gentleman    Ay, madam.

COUNTESS             And to be a soldier?

Second Gentleman    Such is his noble purpose; and believe 't,
    The duke will lay upon him all the honour
    That good convenience claims.

COUNTESS    Return you thither?

First Gentleman    Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed.

HELENA    [Reads]  Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.
    'Tis bitter.

COUNTESS                      Find you that there?

HELENA    Ay, madam.

First Gentleman    'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, which his
    heart was not consenting to.

COUNTESS    Nothing in France, until he have no wife!
    There's nothing here that is too good for him
    But only she; and she deserves a lord
    That twenty such rude boys might tend upon
    And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him?

First Gentleman    A servant only, and a gentleman
    Which I have sometime known.

COUNTESS    Parolles, was it not?

First Gentleman    Ay, my good lady, he.

COUNTESS    A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness.
    My son corrupts a well-derived nature
    With his inducement.

First Gentleman    Indeed, good lady,
    The fellow has a deal of that too much,
    Which holds him much to have.

COUNTESS    You're welcome, gentlemen.
    I will entreat you, when you see my son,
    To tell him that his sword can never win
    The honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you
    Written to bear along.

Second Gentleman    We serve you, madam,
    In that and all your worthiest affairs.

COUNTESS    Not so, but as we change our courtesies.
    Will you draw near!

    [Exeunt COUNTESS and Gentlemen]

HELENA    'Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.'
    Nothing in France, until he has no wife!
    Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France;
    Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't I
    That chase thee from thy country and expose
    Those tender limbs of thine to the event
    Of the none-sparing war? and is it I
    That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
    Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
    Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
    That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
    Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air,
    That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
    Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
    Whoever charges on his forward breast,
    I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
    And, though I kill him not, I am the cause
    His death was so effected: better 'twere
    I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
    With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
    That all the miseries which nature owes
    Were mine at once. No, come thou home, Rousillon,
    Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
    As oft it loses all: I will be gone;
    My being here it is that holds thee hence:
    Shall I stay here to do't?  no, no, although
    The air of paradise did fan the house
    And angels officed all: I will be gone,
    That pitiful rumour may report my flight,
    To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day!
    For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away.

    [Exit]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE III    Florence. Before the DUKE's palace.


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

DUKE    The general of our horse thou art; and we,
    Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
    Upon thy promising fortune.

BERTRAM    Sir, it is
    A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
    We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
    To the extreme edge of hazard.

DUKE    Then go thou forth;
    And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
    As thy auspicious mistress!

BERTRAM    This very day,
    Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
    Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
    A lover of thy drum, hater of love.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE IV    Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


    [Enter COUNTESS and Steward]

COUNTESS    Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
    Might you not know she would do as she has done,
    By sending me a letter? Read it again.

Steward    [Reads]

    I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone:
    Ambitious love hath so in me offended,
    That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,
    With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
    Write, write, that from the bloody course of war
    My dearest master, your dear son, may hie:
    Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
    His name with zealous fervor sanctify:
    His taken labours bid him me forgive;
    I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
    From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
    Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth:
    He is too good and fair for death and me:
    Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.

COUNTESS    Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words!
    Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much,
    As letting her pass so: had I spoke with her,
    I could have well diverted her intents,
    Which thus she hath prevented.

Steward    Pardon me, madam:
    If I had given you this at over-night,
    She might have been o'erta'en; and yet she writes,
    Pursuit would be but vain.

COUNTESS    What angel shall
    Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
    Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear
    And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
    Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo,
    To this unworthy husband of his wife;
    Let every word weigh heavy of her worth
    That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief.
    Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
    Dispatch the most convenient messenger:
    When haply he shall hear that she is gone,
    He will return; and hope I may that she,
    Hearing so much, will speed her foot again,
    Led hither by pure love: which of them both
    Is dearest to me. I have no skill in sense
    To make distinction: provide this messenger:
    My heart is heavy and mine age is weak;
    Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



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


    [Enter an old Widow of Florence, DIANA, VIOLENTA,
    and MARIANA, with other Citizens]

Widow    Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we
    shall lose all the sight.

DIANA    They say the French count has done most honourable service.

Widow    It is reported that he has taken their greatest
    commander; and that with his own hand he slew the
    duke's brother.

    [Tucket]

    We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary
    way: hark! you may know by their trumpets.

MARIANA    Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with
    the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed of this
    French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; and
    no legacy is so rich as honesty.

Widow    I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited
    by a gentleman his companion.

MARIANA    I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles: a
    filthy officer he is in those suggestions for the
    young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their promises,
    enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of
    lust, are not the things they go under: many a maid
    hath been seduced by them; and the misery is,
    example, that so terrible shows in the wreck of
    maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession,
    but that they are limed with the twigs that threaten
    them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but
    I hope your own grace will keep you where you are,
    though there were no further danger known but the
    modesty which is so lost.

DIANA    You shall not need to fear me.

Widow    I hope so.

    [Enter HELENA, disguised like a Pilgrim]

    Look, here comes a pilgrim: I know she will lie at
    my house; thither they send one another: I'll
    question her. God save you, pilgrim! whither are you bound?

HELENA    To Saint Jaques le Grand.
    Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?

Widow    At the Saint Francis here beside the port.

HELENA    Is this the way?

Widow    Ay, marry, is't.

    [A march afar]

    Hark you! they come this way.
    If you will tarry, holy pilgrim,
    But till the troops come by,
    I will conduct you where you shall be lodged;
    The rather, for I think I know your hostess
    As ample as myself.

HELENA    Is it yourself?

Widow    If you shall please so, pilgrim.

HELENA    I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.

Widow    You came, I think, from France?

HELENA    I did so.

Widow    Here you shall see a countryman of yours
    That has done worthy service.

HELENA    His name, I pray you.

DIANA    The Count Rousillon: know you such a one?

HELENA    But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him:
    His face I know not.

DIANA    Whatsome'er he is,
    He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
    As 'tis reported, for the king had married him
    Against his liking: think you it is so?

HELENA    Ay, surely, mere the truth: I know his lady.

DIANA    There is a gentleman that serves the count
    Reports but coarsely of her.

HELENA    What's his name?

DIANA    Monsieur Parolles.

HELENA                      O, I believe with him,
    In argument of praise, or to the worth
    Of the great count himself, she is too mean
    To have her name repeated: all her deserving
    Is a reserved honesty, and that
    I have not heard examined.

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

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

HELENA    How do you mean?
    May be the amorous count solicits her
    In the unlawful purpose.

Widow    He does indeed;
    And brokes with all that can in such a suit
    Corrupt the tender honour of a maid:
    But she is arm'd for him and keeps her guard
    In honestest defence.

MARIANA    The gods forbid else!

Widow    So, now they come:

    [Drum and Colours]

    [Enter BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the whole army]

    That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son;
    That, Escalus.

HELENA                      Which is the Frenchman?

DIANA    He;
    That with the plume: 'tis a most gallant fellow.
    I would he loved his wife: if he were honester
    He were much goodlier: is't not a handsome gentleman?

HELENA    I like him well.

DIANA    'Tis pity he is not honest: yond's that same knave
    That leads him to these places: were I his lady,
    I would Poison that vile rascal.

HELENA    Which is he?

DIANA    That jack-an-apes with scarfs: why is he melancholy?

HELENA    Perchance he's hurt i' the battle.

PAROLLES    Lose our drum! well.

MARIANA    He's shrewdly vexed at something: look, he has spied us.

Widow    Marry, hang you!

MARIANA    And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!

    [Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and army]

Widow    The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you
    Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents
    There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
    Already at my house.

HELENA    I humbly thank you:
    Please it this matron and this gentle maid
    To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking
    Shall be for me; and, to requite you further,
    I will bestow some precepts of this virgin
    Worthy the note.

BOTH                      We'll take your offer kindly.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VI    Camp before Florence.


    [Enter BERTRAM and the two French Lords]

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

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

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

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

Second Lord    Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge,
    without any malice, but to speak of him as my
    kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and
    endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner
    of no one good quality worthy your lordship's
    entertainment.

First Lord    It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in
    his virtue, which he hath not, he might at some
    great and trusty business in a main danger fail you.

BERTRAM    I would I knew in what particular action to try him.

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

Second Lord    I, with a troop of Florentines, will suddenly
    surprise him; such I will have, whom I am sure he
    knows not from the enemy: we will bind and hoodwink
    him so, that he shall suppose no other but that he
    is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, when
    we bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship
    present at his examination: if he do not, for the
    promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of
    base fear, offer to betray you and deliver all the
    intelligence in his power against you, and that with
    the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never
    trust my judgment in any thing.

First Lord    O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum;
    he says he has a stratagem for't: when your
    lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to
    what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be
    melted, if you give him not John Drum's
    entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed.
    Here he comes.

    [Enter PAROLLES]

Second Lord    [Aside to BERTRAM]  O, for the love of laughter,
    hinder not the honour of his design: let him fetch
    off his drum in any hand.

BERTRAM    How now, monsieur! this drum sticks sorely in your
    disposition.

First Lord    A pox on't, let it go; 'tis but a drum.

PAROLLES    'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A drum so lost!
    There was excellent command,--to charge in with our
    horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers!

First Lord    That was not to be blamed in the command of the
    service: it was a disaster of war that Caesar
    himself could not have prevented, if he had been
    there to command.

BERTRAM    Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some
    dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is
    not to be recovered.

PAROLLES    It might have been recovered.

BERTRAM    It might; but it is not now.

PAROLLES    It is to be recovered: but that the merit of
    service is seldom attributed to the true and exact
    performer, I would have that drum or another, or
    'hic jacet.'

BERTRAM    Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur: if you
    think your mystery in stratagem can bring this
    instrument of honour again into his native quarter,
    be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on; I will
    grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you
    speed well in it, the duke shall both speak of it.
    and extend to you what further becomes his
    greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your
    worthiness.

PAROLLES    By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.

BERTRAM    But you must not now slumber in it.

PAROLLES    I'll about it this evening: and I will presently
    pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in my
    certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation;
    and by midnight look to hear further from me.

BERTRAM    May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it?

PAROLLES    I know not what the success will be, my lord; but
    the attempt I vow.

BERTRAM    I know thou'rt valiant; and, to the possibility of
    thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell.

PAROLLES    I love not many words.

    [Exit]

Second Lord    No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a
    strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems
    to undertake this business, which he knows is not to
    be done; damns himself to do and dares better be
    damned than to do't?

First Lord    You do not know him, my lord, as we do: certain it
    is that he will steal himself into a man's favour and
    for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but
    when you find him out, you have him ever after.

BERTRAM    Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of
    this that so seriously he does address himself unto?

Second Lord    None in the world; but return with an invention and
    clap upon you two or three probable lies: but we
    have almost embossed him; you shall see his fall
    to-night; for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect.

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

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

BERTRAM    Your brother he shall go along with me.

Second Lord    As't please your lordship: I'll leave you.

    [Exit]

BERTRAM    Now will I lead you to the house, and show you
    The lass I spoke of.

First Lord    But you say she's honest.

BERTRAM    That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once
    And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her,
    By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind,
    Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
    And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature:
    Will you go see her?

First Lord    With all my heart, my lord.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT III



SCENE VII    Florence. The Widow's house.


    [Enter HELENA and Widow]

HELENA    If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
    I know not how I shall assure you further,
    But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.

Widow    Though my estate be fallen, I was well born,
    Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
    And would not put my reputation now
    In any staining act.

HELENA    Nor would I wish you.
    First, give me trust, the count he is my husband,
    And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken
    Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,
    By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
    Err in bestowing it.

Widow    I should believe you:
    For you have show'd me that which well approves
    You're great in fortune.

HELENA    Take this purse of gold,
    And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
    Which I will over-pay and pay again
    When I have found it. The count he wooes your daughter,
    Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
    Resolved to carry her: let her in fine consent,
    As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
    Now his important blood will nought deny
    That she'll demand: a ring the county wears,
    That downward hath succeeded in his house
    From son to son, some four or five descents
    Since the first father wore it: this ring he holds
    In most rich choice; yet in his idle fire,
    To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
    Howe'er repented after.

Widow    Now I see
    The bottom of your purpose.

HELENA    You see it lawful, then: it is no more,
    But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
    Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
    In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
    Herself most chastely absent: after this,
    To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
    To what is passed already.

Widow    I have yielded:
    Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
    That time and place with this deceit so lawful
    May prove coherent. Every night he comes
    With musics of all sorts and songs composed
    To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us
    To chide him from our eaves; for he persists
    As if his life lay on't.

HELENA    Why then to-night
    Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
    Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed
    And lawful meaning in a lawful act,
    Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact:
    But let's about it.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE I    Without the Florentine camp.


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

Second Lord    He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner.
    When you sally upon him, speak what terrible
    language you will: though you understand it not
    yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to
    understand him, unless some one among us whom we
    must produce for an interpreter.

First Soldier    Good captain, let me be the interpreter.

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

First Soldier    No, sir, I warrant you.

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

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

Second Lord    He must think us some band of strangers i' the
    adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a smack of
    all neighbouring languages; therefore we must every
    one be a man of his own fancy, not to know what we
    speak one to another; so we seem to know, is to
    know straight our purpose: choughs' language,
    gabble enough, and good enough. As for you,
    interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch,
    ho! here he comes, to beguile two hours in a sleep,
    and then to return and swear the lies he forges.

    [Enter PAROLLES]

PAROLLES    Ten o'clock: within these three hours 'twill be
    time enough to go home. What shall I say I have
    done? It must be a very plausive invention that
    carries it: they begin to smoke me; and disgraces
    have of late knocked too often at my door. I find
    my tongue is too foolhardy; but my heart hath the
    fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, not
    daring the reports of my tongue.

Second Lord    This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue
    was guilty of.

PAROLLES    What the devil should move me to undertake the
    recovery of this drum, being not ignorant of the
    impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I
    must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in
    exploit: yet slight ones will not carry it; they
    will say, 'Came you off with so little?' and great
    ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the
    instance? Tongue, I must put you into a
    butter-woman's mouth and buy myself another of
    Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils.

Second Lord    Is it possible he should know what he is, and be
    that he is?

PAROLLES    I would the cutting of my garments would serve the
    turn, or the breaking of my Spanish sword.

Second Lord    We cannot afford you so.

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

Second Lord    'Twould not do.

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

Second Lord    Hardly serve.

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

Second Lord    How deep?

PAROLLES    Thirty fathom.

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

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

Second Lord    You shall hear one anon.

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

    [Alarum within]

Second Lord    Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.

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

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

    [They seize and blindfold him]

First Soldier    Boskos thromuldo boskos.

PAROLLES    I know you are the Muskos' regiment:
    And I shall lose my life for want of language;
    If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
    Italian, or French, let him speak to me; I'll
    Discover that which shall undo the Florentine.

First Soldier    Boskos vauvado: I understand thee, and can speak
    thy tongue. Kerely bonto, sir, betake thee to thy
    faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom.

PAROLLES    O!

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

Second Lord    Oscorbidulchos volivorco.

First Soldier    The general is content to spare thee yet;
    And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
    To gather from thee: haply thou mayst inform
    Something to save thy life.

PAROLLES    O, let me live!
    And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,
    Their force, their purposes; nay, I'll speak that
    Which you will wonder at.

First Soldier    But wilt thou faithfully?

PAROLLES    If I do not, damn me.

First Soldier    Acordo linta.
    Come on; thou art granted space.

    [Exit, with PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within]

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

Second Soldier    Captain, I will.

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

Second Soldier                      So I will, sir.

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

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE II    Florence. The Widow's house.


    [Enter BERTRAM and DIANA]

BERTRAM    They told me that your name was Fontibell.

DIANA    No, my good lord, Diana.

BERTRAM    Titled goddess;
    And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
    In your fine frame hath love no quality?
    If quick fire of youth light not your mind,
    You are no maiden, but a monument:
    When you are dead, you should be such a one
    As you are now, for you are cold and stem;
    And now you should be as your mother was
    When your sweet self was got.

DIANA    She then was honest.

BERTRAM    So should you be.

DIANA    No:
    My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
    As you owe to your wife.

BERTRAM    No more o' that;
    I prithee, do not strive against my vows:
    I was compell'd to her; but I love thee
    By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
    Do thee all rights of service.

DIANA    Ay, so you serve us
    Till we serve you; but when you have our roses,
    You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves
    And mock us with our bareness.

BERTRAM    How have I sworn!

DIANA    'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
    But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.
    What is not holy, that we swear not by,
    But take the High'st to witness: then, pray you, tell me,
    If I should swear by God's great attributes,
    I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths,
    When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
    To swear by him whom I protest to love,
    That I will work against him: therefore your oaths
    Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'd,
    At least in my opinion.

BERTRAM    Change it, change it;
    Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy;
    And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts
    That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,
    But give thyself unto my sick desires,
    Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever
    My love as it begins shall so persever.

DIANA    I see that men make ropes in such a scarre
    That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

BERTRAM    I'll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power
    To give it from me.

DIANA    Will you not, my lord?

BERTRAM    It is an honour 'longing to our house,
    Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
    Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world
    In me to lose.

DIANA                      Mine honour's such a ring:
    My chastity's the jewel of our house,
    Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
    Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world
    In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom
    Brings in the champion Honour on my part,
    Against your vain assault.

BERTRAM    Here, take my ring:
    My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,
    And I'll be bid by thee.

DIANA    When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window:
    I'll order take my mother shall not hear.
    Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
    When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
    Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
    My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them
    When back again this ring shall be deliver'd:
    And on your finger in the night I'll put
    Another ring, that what in time proceeds
    May token to the future our past deeds.
    Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won
    A wife of me, though there my hope be done.

BERTRAM    A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.

    [Exit]

DIANA    For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
    You may so in the end.
    My mother told me just how he would woo,
    As if she sat in 's heart; she says all men
    Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me
    When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
    When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
    Marry that will, I live and die a maid:
    Only in this disguise I think't no sin
    To cozen him that would unjustly win.

    [Exit]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE III    The Florentine camp.


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

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

Second Lord    I have delivered it an hour since: there is
    something in't that stings his nature; for on the
    reading it he changed almost into another man.

First Lord    He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking
    off so good a wife and so sweet a lady.

Second Lord    Especially he hath incurred the everlasting
    displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his
    bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a
    thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.

First Lord    When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the
    grave of it.

Second Lord    He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in
    Florence, of a most chaste renown; and this night he
    fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour: he hath
    given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself
    made in the unchaste composition.

First Lord    Now, God delay our rebellion! as we are ourselves,
    what things are we!

Second Lord    Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course
    of all treasons, we still see them reveal
    themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends,
    so he that in this action contrives against his own
    nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.

First Lord    Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of
    our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his
    company to-night?

Second Lord    Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.

First Lord    That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see
    his company anatomized, that he might take a measure
    of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had
    set this counterfeit.

Second Lord    We will not meddle with him till he come; for his
    presence must be the whip of the other.

First Lord    In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?

Second Lord    I hear there is an overture of peace.

First Lord    Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.

Second Lord    What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel
    higher, or return again into France?

First Lord    I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether
    of his council.

Second Lord    Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal
    of his act.

First Lord    Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his
    house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques
    le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere
    sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the
    tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her
    grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and
    now she sings in heaven.

Second Lord    How is this justified?

First Lord    The stronger part of it by her own letters, which
    makes her story true, even to the point of her
    death: her death itself, which could not be her
    office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by
    the rector of the place.

Second Lord    Hath the count all this intelligence?

First Lord    Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from
    point, so to the full arming of the verity.

Second Lord    I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.

First Lord    How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!

Second Lord    And how mightily some other times we drown our gain
    in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath
    here acquired for him shall at home be encountered
    with a shame as ample.

First Lord    The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and
    ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our
    faults whipped them not; and our crimes would
    despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.

    [Enter a Messenger]

    How now! where's your master?

Servant    He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath
    taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next
    morning for France. The duke hath offered him
    letters of commendations to the king.

Second Lord    They shall be no more than needful there, if they
    were more than they can commend.

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

    [Enter BERTRAM]

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

BERTRAM    I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, a
    month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success:
    I have congied with the duke, done my adieu with his
    nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her; writ to my
    lady mother I am returning; entertained my convoy;
    and between these main parcels of dispatch effected
    many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but
    that I have not ended yet.

Second Lord    If the business be of any difficulty, and this
    morning your departure hence, it requires haste of
    your lordship.

BERTRAM    I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing to
    hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this
    dialogue between the fool and the soldier? Come,
    bring forth this counterfeit module, he has deceived
    me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

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

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

Second Lord    I have told your lordship already, the stocks carry
    him. But to answer you as you would be understood;
    he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk: he
    hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes
    to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to
    this very instant disaster of his setting i' the
    stocks: and what think you he hath confessed?

BERTRAM    Nothing of me, has a'?

Second Lord    His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his
    face: if your lordship be in't, as I believe you
    are, you must have the patience to hear it.

    [Enter PAROLLES guarded, and First Soldier]

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

First Lord    Hoodman comes! Portotartarosa

First Soldier    He calls for the tortures: what will you say
    without 'em?

PAROLLES    I will confess what I know without constraint: if
    ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more.

First Soldier    Bosko chimurcho.

First Lord    Boblibindo chicurmurco.

First Soldier    You are a merciful general. Our general bids you
    answer to what I shall ask you out of a note.

PAROLLES    And truly, as I hope to live.

First Soldier    [Reads]  'First demand of him how many horse the
    duke is strong.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES    Five or six thousand; but very weak and
    unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and
    the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation
    and credit and as I hope to live.

First Soldier    Shall I set down your answer so?

PAROLLES    Do: I'll take the sacrament on't, how and which way you will.

BERTRAM    All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this!

First Lord    You're deceived, my lord: this is Monsieur
    Parolles, the gallant militarist,--that was his own
    phrase,--that had the whole theoric of war in the
    knot of his scarf, and the practise in the chape of
    his dagger.

Second Lord    I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword
    clean. nor believe he can have every thing in him
    by wearing his apparel neatly.

First Soldier    Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES    Five or six thousand horse, I said,-- I will say
    true,--or thereabouts, set down, for I'll speak truth.

First Lord    He's very near the truth in this.

BERTRAM    But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature he
    delivers it.

PAROLLES    Poor rogues, I pray you, say.

First Soldier    Well, that's set down.

PAROLLES    I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, the
    rogues are marvellous poor.

First Soldier    [Reads]  'Demand of him, of what strength they are
    a-foot.' What say you to that?

PAROLLES    By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present
    hour, I will tell true. Let me see: Spurio, a
    hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so
    many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick,
    and Gratii, two hundred and fifty each; mine own
    company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and
    fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and
    sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand
    poll; half of the which dare not shake snow from off
    their cassocks, lest they shake themselves to pieces.

BERTRAM    What shall be done to him?

First Lord    Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my
    condition, and what credit I have with the duke.

First Soldier    Well, that's set down.

    [Reads]

    'You shall demand of him, whether one Captain Dumain
    be i' the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is
    with the duke; what his valour, honesty, and
    expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not
    possible, with well-weighing sums of gold, to
    corrupt him to revolt.' What say you to this? what
    do you know of it?

PAROLLES    I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of
    the inter'gatories: demand them singly.

First Soldier    Do you know this Captain Dumain?

PAROLLES    I know him: a' was a botcher's 'prentice in Paris,
    from whence he was whipped for getting the shrieve's
    fool with child,--a dumb innocent, that could not
    say him nay.

BERTRAM    Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know
    his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls.

First Soldier    Well, is this captain in the duke of Florence's camp?

PAROLLES    Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.

First Lord    Nay look not so upon me; we shall hear of your
    lordship anon.

First Soldier    What is his reputation with the duke?

PAROLLES    The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer
    of mine; and writ to me this other day to turn him
    out o' the band: I think I have his letter in my pocket.

First Soldier    Marry, we'll search.

PAROLLES    In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there,
    or it is upon a file with the duke's other letters
    in my tent.

First Soldier    Here 'tis; here's a paper: shall I read it to you?

PAROLLES    I do not know if it be it or no.

BERTRAM    Our interpreter does it well.

First Lord    Excellently.

First Soldier    [Reads]  'Dian, the count's a fool, and full of gold,'--

PAROLLES    That is not the duke's letter, sir; that is an
    advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one
    Diana, to take heed of the allurement of one Count
    Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very
    ruttish: I pray you, sir, put it up again.

First Soldier    Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.

PAROLLES    My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the
    behalf of the maid; for I knew the young count to be
    a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to
    virginity and devours up all the fry it finds.

BERTRAM    Damnable both-sides rogue!

First Soldier    [Reads]  'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
    After he scores, he never pays the score:
    Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;
    He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before;
    And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
    Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss:
    For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it,
    Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
    Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear,
              PAROLLES.'

BERTRAM    He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme
    in's forehead.

Second Lord    This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold
    linguist and the armipotent soldier.

BERTRAM    I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now
    he's a cat to me.

First Soldier    I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we shall be
    fain to hang you.

PAROLLES    My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to
    die; but that, my offences being many, I would
    repent out the remainder of nature: let me live,
    sir, in a dungeon, i' the stocks, or any where, so I may live.

First Soldier    We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely;
    therefore, once more to this Captain Dumain: you
    have answered to his reputation with the duke and to
    his valour: what is his honesty?

PAROLLES    He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for
    rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus: he
    professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he
    is stronger than Hercules: he will lie, sir, with
    such volubility, that you would think truth were a
    fool: drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will
    be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does little
    harm, save to his bed-clothes about him; but they
    know his conditions and lay him in straw. I have but
    little more to say, sir, of his honesty: he has
    every thing that an honest man should not have; what
    an honest man should have, he has nothing.

First Lord    I begin to love him for this.

BERTRAM    For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon
    him for me, he's more and more a cat.

First Soldier    What say you to his expertness in war?

PAROLLES    Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the English
    tragedians; to belie him, I will not, and more of
    his soldiership I know not; except, in that country
    he had the honour to be the officer at a place there
    called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of
    files: I would do the man what honour I can, but of
    this I am not certain.

First Lord    He hath out-villained villany so far, that the
    rarity redeems him.

BERTRAM    A pox on him, he's a cat still.

First Soldier    His qualities being at this poor price, I need not
    to ask you if gold will corrupt him to revolt.

PAROLLES    Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple
    of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and cut the
    entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
    succession for it perpetually.

First Soldier    What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain?

Second Lord    Why does be ask him of me?

First Soldier    What's he?

PAROLLES    E'en a crow o' the same nest; not altogether so
    great as the first in goodness, but greater a great
    deal in evil: he excels his brother for a coward,
    yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is:
    in a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming
    on he has the cramp.

First Soldier    If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray
    the Florentine?

PAROLLES    Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rousillon.

First Soldier    I'll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure.

PAROLLES    [Aside]  I'll no more drumming; a plague of all
    drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to
    beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy
    the count, have I run into this danger. Yet who
    would have suspected an ambush where I was taken?

First Soldier    There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: the
    general says, you that have so traitorously
    discovered the secrets of your army and made such
    pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can
    serve the world for no honest use; therefore you
    must die. Come, headsman, off with his head.

PAROLLES    O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death!

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

    [Unblinding him]

    So, look about you: know you any here?

BERTRAM    Good morrow, noble captain.

Second Lord    God bless you, Captain Parolles.

First Lord    God save you, noble captain.

Second Lord    Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu?
    I am for France.

First Lord    Good captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet
    you writ to Diana in behalf of the Count Rousillon?
    an I were not a very coward, I'ld compel it of you:
    but fare you well.

    [Exeunt BERTRAM and Lords]

First Soldier    You are undone, captain, all but your scarf; that
    has a knot on't yet

PAROLLES    Who cannot be crushed with a plot?

First Soldier    If you could find out a country where but women were
    that had received so much shame, you might begin an
    impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France
    too: we shall speak of you there.

    [Exit with Soldiers]

PAROLLES    Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great,
    'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more;
    But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
    As captain shall: simply the thing I am
    Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
    Let him fear this, for it will come to pass
    that every braggart shall be found an ass.
    Rust, sword? cool, blushes! and, Parolles, live
    Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive!
    There's place and means for every man alive.
    I'll after them.

    [Exit]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE IV    Florence. The Widow's house.


    [Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA]

HELENA    That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you,
    One of the greatest in the Christian world
    Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful,
    Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel:
    Time was, I did him a desired office,
    Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
    Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,
    And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd
    His grace is at Marseilles; to which place
    We have convenient convoy. You must know
    I am supposed dead: the army breaking,
    My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
    And by the leave of my good lord the king,
    We'll be before our welcome.

Widow    Gentle madam,
    You never had a servant to whose trust
    Your business was more welcome.

HELENA    Nor you, mistress,
    Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour
    To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven
    Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,
    As it hath fated her to be my motive
    And helper to a husband. But, O strange men!
    That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
    When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts
    Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play
    With what it loathes for that which is away.
    But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,
    Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
    Something in my behalf.

DIANA    Let death and honesty
    Go with your impositions, I am yours
    Upon your will to suffer.

HELENA    Yet, I pray you:
    But with the word the time will bring on summer,
    When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,
    And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
    Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us:
    All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown;
    Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT IV



SCENE V    Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


    [Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and Clown]

LAFEU    No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta
    fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have
    made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in
    his colour: your daughter-in-law had been alive at
    this hour, and your son here at home, more advanced
    by the king than by that red-tailed humble-bee I speak of.

COUNTESS    I would I had not known him; it was the death of the
    most virtuous gentlewoman that ever nature had
    praise for creating. If she had partaken of my
    flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I
    could not have owed her a more rooted love.

LAFEU    'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady: we may pick a
    thousand salads ere we light on such another herb.

Clown    Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the
    salad, or rather, the herb of grace.

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

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

LAFEU    Whether dost thou profess thyself, a knave or a fool?

Clown    A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a knave at a man's.

LAFEU    Your distinction?

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

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

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

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

Clown    At your service.

LAFEU    No, no, no.

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

LAFEU    Who's that? a Frenchman?

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

LAFEU    What prince is that?

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

LAFEU    Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee not this
    to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest of;
    serve him still.

Clown    I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a
    great fire; and the master I speak of ever keeps a
    good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the
    world; let his nobility remain in's court. I am for
    the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be
    too little for pomp to enter: some that humble
    themselves may; but the many will be too chill and
    tender, and they'll be for the flowery way that
    leads to the broad gate and the great fire.

LAFEU    Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I
    tell thee so before, because I would not fall out
    with thee. Go thy ways: let my horses be well
    looked to, without any tricks.

Clown    If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be
    jades' tricks; which are their own right by the law of nature.

    [Exit]

LAFEU    A shrewd knave and an unhappy.

COUNTESS    So he is. My lord that's gone made himself much
    sport out of him: by his authority he remains here,
    which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and,
    indeed, he has no pace, but runs where he will.

LAFEU    I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to
    tell you, since I heard of the good lady's death and
    that my lord your son was upon his return home, I
    moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of
    my daughter; which, in the minority of them both,
    his majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, did
    first propose: his highness hath promised me to do
    it: and, to stop up the displeasure he hath
    conceived against your son, there is no fitter
    matter. How does your ladyship like it?

COUNTESS    With very much content, my lord; and I wish it
    happily effected.

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

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

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

COUNTESS    You need but plead your honourable privilege.

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

    [Re-enter Clown]

Clown    O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of
    velvet on's face: whether there be a scar under't
    or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of
    velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a
    half, but his right cheek is worn bare.

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

Clown    But it is your carbonadoed face.

LAFEU    Let us go see your son, I pray you: I long to talk
    with the young noble soldier.

Clown    Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine
    hats and most courteous feathers, which bow the head
    and nod at every man.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V


SCENE I    Marseilles. A street.


    [Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA, with two
    Attendants]

HELENA    But this exceeding posting day and night
    Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it:
    But since you have made the days and nights as one,
    To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
    Be bold you do so grow in my requital
    As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;

    [Enter a Gentleman]

    This man may help me to his majesty's ear,
    If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.

Gentleman    And you.

HELENA    Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.

Gentleman    I have been sometimes there.

HELENA    I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
    From the report that goes upon your goodness;
    An therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
    Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
    The use of your own virtues, for the which
    I shall continue thankful.

Gentleman    What's your will?

HELENA    That it will please you
    To give this poor petition to the king,
    And aid me with that store of power you have
    To come into his presence.

Gentleman    The king's not here.

HELENA    Not here, sir!

Gentleman    Not, indeed:
    He hence removed last night and with more haste
    Than is his use.

Widow                      Lord, how we lose our pains!

HELENA    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL yet,
    Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.
    I do beseech you, whither is he gone?

Gentleman    Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon;
    Whither I am going.

HELENA    I do beseech you, sir,
    Since you are like to see the king before me,
    Commend the paper to his gracious hand,
    Which I presume shall render you no blame
    But rather make you thank your pains for it.
    I will come after you with what good speed
    Our means will make us means.

Gentleman    This I'll do for you.

HELENA    And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd,
    Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again.
    Go, go, provide.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE II    Rousillon. Before the COUNT's palace.


    [Enter Clown, and PAROLLES, following]

PAROLLES    Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this
    letter: I have ere now, sir, been better known to
    you, when I have held familiarity with fresher
    clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's
    mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong
    displeasure.

Clown    Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it
    smell so strongly as thou speakest of: I will
    henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering.
    Prithee, allow the wind.

PAROLLES    Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake
    but by a metaphor.

Clown    Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my
    nose; or against any man's metaphor. Prithee, get
    thee further.

PAROLLES    Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

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

    [Enter LAFEU]

    Here is a purr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's
    cat,--but not a musk-cat,--that has fallen into the
    unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he
    says, is muddied withal: pray you, sir, use the
    carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed,
    ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his
    distress in my similes of comfort and leave him to
    your lordship.

    [Exit]

PAROLLES    My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly
    scratched.

LAFEU    And what would you have me to do? 'Tis too late to
    pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the
    knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who
    of herself is a good lady and would not have knaves
    thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for
    you: let the justices make you and fortune friends:
    I am for other business.

PAROLLES    I beseech your honour to hear me one single word.

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

PAROLLES    My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

LAFEU    You beg more than 'word,' then. Cox my passion!
    give me your hand. How does your drum?

PAROLLES    O my good lord, you were the first that found me!

LAFEU    Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.

PAROLLES    It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace,
    for you did bring me out.

LAFEU    Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once
    both the office of God and the devil? One brings
    thee in grace and the other brings thee out.

    [Trumpets sound]

    The king's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah,
    inquire further after me; I had talk of you last
    night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall
    eat; go to, follow.

PAROLLES    I praise God for you.

    [Exeunt]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL


ACT V



SCENE III    Rousillon. The COUNT's palace.


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

KING    We lost a jewel of her; and our esteem
    Was made much poorer by it: but your son,
    As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
    Her estimation home.

COUNTESS    'Tis past, my liege;
    And I beseech your majesty to make it
    Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth;
    When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
    O'erbears it and burns on.

KING    My honour'd lady,
    I have forgiven and forgotten all;
    Though my revenges were high bent upon him,
    And watch'd the time to shoot.

LAFEU    This I must say,
    But first I beg my pardon, the young lord
    Did to his majesty, his mother and his lady
    Offence of mighty note; but to himself
    The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
    Whose beauty did astonish the survey
    Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took captive,
    Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve
    Humbly call'd mistress.

KING    Praising what is lost
    Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
    We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill
    All repetition: let him not ask our pardon;
    The nature of his great offence is dead,
    And deeper than oblivion we do bury
    The incensing relics of it: let him approach,
    A stranger, no offender; and inform him
    So 'tis our will he should.

Gentleman    I shall, my liege.

    [Exit]

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

LAFEU    All that he is hath reference to your highness.

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

    [Enter BERTRAM]

LAFEU    He looks well on't.

KING    I am not a day of season,
    For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
    In me at once: but to the brightest beams
    Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;
    The time is fair again.

BERTRAM    My high-repented blames,
    Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

KING    All is whole;
    Not one word more of the consumed time.
    Let's take the instant by the forward top;
    For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
    The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
    Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
    The daughter of this lord?

BERTRAM    Admiringly, my liege, at first
    I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
    Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue
    Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
    Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
    Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
    Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen;
    Extended or contracted all proportions
    To a most hideous object: thence it came
    That she whom all men praised and whom myself,
    Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye
    The dust that did offend it.

KING    Well excused:
    That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
    From the great compt: but love that comes too late,
    Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
    To the great sender turns a sour offence,
    Crying, 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults
    Make trivial price of serious things we have,
    Not knowing them until we know their grave:
    Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
    Destroy our friends and after weep their dust
    Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
    While shame full late sleeps out the afternoon.
    Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
    Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
    The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
    To see our widower's second marriage-day.

COUNTESS    Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless!
    Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse!

LAFEU    Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
    Must be digested, give a favour from you
    To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
    That she may quickly come.

    [BERTRAM gives a ring]

             By my old beard,
    And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
    Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this,
    The last that e'er I took her at court,
    I saw upon her finger.

BERTRAM    Hers it was not.

KING    Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye,
    While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't.
    This ring was mine; and, when I gave it Helen,
    I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
    Necessitied to help, that by this token
    I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to reave
    her
    Of what should stead her most?

BERTRAM    My gracious sovereign,
    Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
    The ring was never hers.

COUNTESS    Son, on my life,
    I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it
    At her life's rate.

LAFEU    I am sure I saw her wear it.

BERTRAM    You are deceived, my lord; she never saw it:
    In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
    Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
    Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
    I stood engaged: but when I had subscribed
    To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully
    I could not answer in that course of honour
    As she had made the overture, she ceased
    In heavy satisfaction and would never
    Receive the ring again.

KING    Plutus himself,
    That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
    Hath not in nature's mystery more science
    Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
    Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know
    That you are well acquainted with yourself,
    Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
    You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety
    That she would never put it from her finger,
    Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
    Where you have never come, or sent it us
    Upon her great disaster.

BERTRAM    She never saw it.

KING    Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour;
    And makest conjectural fears to come into me
    Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove
    That thou art so inhuman,--'twill not prove so;--
    And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,
    And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
    Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
    More than to see this ring. Take him away.

    [Guards seize BERTRAM]

    My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
    Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
    Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him!
    We'll sift this matter further.

BERTRAM    If you shall prove
    This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
    Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
    Where yet she never was.

    [Exit, guarded]

KING    I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.

    [Enter a Gentleman]

Gentleman    Gracious sovereign,
    Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not:
    Here's a petition from a Florentine,
    Who hath for four or five removes come short
    To tender it herself. I undertook it,
    Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
    Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know
    Is here attending: her business looks in her
    With an importing visage; and she told me,
    In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
    Your highness with herself.

KING    [Reads]  Upon his many protestations to marry me
    when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won
    me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower: his vows
    are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He
    stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow
    him to his country for justice: grant it me, O
    king! in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer
    flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
                          DIANA CAPILET.

LAFEU    I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for
    this: I'll none of him.

KING    The heavens have thought well on thee Lafeu,
    To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors:
    Go speedily and bring again the count.
    I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
    Was foully snatch'd.

COUNTESS    Now, justice on the doers!

    [Re-enter BERTRAM, guarded]

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

    [Enter Widow and DIANA]

           What woman's that?

DIANA    I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
    Derived from the ancient Capilet:
    My suit, as I do understand, you know,
    And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Widow    I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
    Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
    And both shall cease, without your remedy.

KING    Come hither, count; do you know these women?

BERTRAM    My lord, I neither can nor will deny
    But that I know them: do they charge me further?

DIANA    Why do you look so strange upon your wife?

BERTRAM    She's none of mine, my lord.

DIANA    If you shall marry,
    You give away this hand, and that is mine;
    You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
    You give away myself, which is known mine;
    For I by vow am so embodied yours,
    That she which marries you must marry me,
    Either both or none.

LAFEU    Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you
    are no husband for her.

BERTRAM    My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
    Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let your highness
    Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
    Than for to think that I would sink it here.

KING    Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
    Till your deeds gain them: fairer prove your honour
    Than in my thought it lies.

DIANA    Good my lord,
    Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
    He had not my virginity.

KING    What say'st thou to her?

BERTRAM    She's impudent, my lord,
    And was a common gamester to the camp.

DIANA    He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so,
    He might have bought me at a common price:
    Do not believe him. O, behold this ring,
    Whose high respect and rich validity
    Did lack a parallel; yet for all that
    He gave it to a commoner o' the camp,
    If I be one.

COUNTESS                      He blushes, and 'tis it:
    Of six preceding ancestors, that gem,
    Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
    Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife;
    That ring's a thousand proofs.

KING    Methought you said
    You saw one here in court could witness it.

DIANA    I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
    So bad an instrument: his name's Parolles.

LAFEU    I saw the man to-day, if man he be.

KING    Find him, and bring him hither.

    [Exit an Attendant]

BERTRAM    What of him?
    He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
    With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd;
    Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
    Am I or that or this for what he'll utter,
    That will speak any thing?

KING    She hath that ring of yours.

BERTRAM    I think she has: certain it is I liked her,
    And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth:
    She knew her distance and did angle for me,
    Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
    As all impediments in fancy's course
    Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
    Her infinite cunning, with her modern grace,
    Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;
    And I had that which any inferior might
    At market-price have bought.

DIANA    I must be patient:
    You, that have turn'd off a first so noble wife,
    May justly diet me. I pray you yet;
    Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband;
    Send for your ring, I will return it home,
    And give me mine again.

BERTRAM    I have it not.

KING    What ring was yours, I pray you?

DIANA    Sir, much like
    The same upon your finger.

KING    Know you this ring? this ring was his of late.

DIANA    And this was it I gave him, being abed.

KING    The story then goes false, you threw it him
    Out of a casement.

DIANA                      I have spoke the truth.

    [Enter PAROLLES]

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

KING    You boggle shrewdly, every feather stars you.
    Is this the man you speak of?

DIANA    Ay, my lord.

KING    Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge you,
    Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
    Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off,
    By him and by this woman here what know you?

PAROLLES    So please your majesty, my master hath been an
    honourable gentleman: tricks he hath had in him,
    which gentlemen have.

KING    Come, come, to the purpose: did he love this woman?

PAROLLES    Faith, sir, he did love her; but how?

KING    How, I pray you?

PAROLLES    He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman.

KING    How is that?

PAROLLES    He loved her, sir, and loved her not.

KING    As thou art a knave, and no knave. What an
    equivocal companion is this!

PAROLLES    I am a poor man, and at your majesty's command.

LAFEU    He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator.

DIANA    Do you know he promised me marriage?

PAROLLES    Faith, I know more than I'll speak.

KING    But wilt thou not speak all thou knowest?

PAROLLES    Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them,
    as I said; but more than that, he loved her: for
    indeed he was mad for her, and talked of Satan and
    of Limbo and of Furies and I know not what: yet I
    was in that credit with them at that time that I
    knew of their going to bed, and of other motions,
    as promising her marriage, and things which would
    derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not
    speak what I know.

KING    Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say
    they are married: but thou art too fine in thy
    evidence; therefore stand aside.
    This ring, you say, was yours?

DIANA    Ay, my good lord.

KING    Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?

DIANA    It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.

KING    Who lent it you?

DIANA                      It was not lent me neither.

KING    Where did you find it, then?

DIANA    I found it not.

KING    If it were yours by none of all these ways,
    How could you give it him?

DIANA    I never gave it him.

LAFEU    This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off
    and on at pleasure.

KING    This ring was mine; I gave it his first wife.

DIANA    It might be yours or hers, for aught I know.

KING    Take her away; I do not like her now;
    To prison with her: and away with him.
    Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
    Thou diest within this hour.

DIANA    I'll never tell you.

KING    Take her away.

DIANA                      I'll put in bail, my liege.

KING    I think thee now some common customer.

DIANA    By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.

KING    Wherefore hast thou accused him all this while?

DIANA    Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty:
    He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't;
    I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
    Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
    I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.

KING    She does abuse our ears: to prison with her.

DIANA    Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir:

    [Exit Widow]

    The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
    And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
    Who hath abused me, as he knows himself,
    Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
    He knows himself my bed he hath defiled;
    And at that time he got his wife with child:
    Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick:
    So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick:
    And now behold the meaning.

    [Re-enter Widow, with HELENA]

KING    Is there no exorcist
    Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
    Is't real that I see?

HELENA    No, my good lord;
    'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
    The name and not the thing.

BERTRAM    Both, both. O, pardon!

HELENA    O my good lord, when I was like this maid,
    I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring;
    And, look you, here's your letter; this it says:
    'When from my finger you can get this ring
    And are by me with child,' &c. This is done:
    Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?

BERTRAM    If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly,
    I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.

HELENA    If it appear not plain and prove untrue,
    Deadly divorce step between me and you!
    O my dear mother, do I see you living?

LAFEU    Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon:

    [To PAROLLES]

    Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher: so,
    I thank thee: wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee:
    Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.

KING    Let us from point to point this story know,
    To make the even truth in pleasure flow.

    [To DIANA]

    If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower,
    Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
    For I can guess that by thy honest aid
    Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.
    Of that and all the progress, more or less,
    Resolvedly more leisure shall express:
    All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
    The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

    [Flourish]




    ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

    EPILOGUE


KING    The king's a beggar, now the play is done:
    All is well ended, if this suit be won,
    That you express content; which we will pay,
    With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
    Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
    Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ANTIOCHUS    king of Antioch.

PERICLES    prince of Tyre.


HELICANUS    |
    |  two lords of Tyre.
ESCANES    |


SIMONIDES    king of Pentapolis.

CLEON    governor of Tarsus.

LYSIMACHUS    governor of Mytilene.

CERIMON    a lord of Ephesus.

THALIARD    a lord of Antioch.

PHILEMON    servant to Cerimon.

LEONINE    servant to Dionyza.

    Marshal. (Marshal:)

    A Pandar. (Pandar:)

BOULT    his servant.

    The Daughter of Antiochus. (Daughter:)

DIONYZA    wife to Cleon.

THAISA    daughter to Simonides.

MARINA    daughter to Pericles and Thaisa.

LYCHORIDA    nurse to Marina.

    A Bawd. (Bawd:)

    Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates,
    Fishermen, and Messengers. (Lord:)
    (First Lord:)
    (Second Lord:)
    (Third Lord:)
    (First Knight:)
    (Second Knight:)
    (Third Knight:)
    (First Gentleman:)
    (Second Gentleman:)
    (First Sailor:)
    (Second Sailor:)
    (First Pirate:)
    (Second Pirate:)
    (Third Pirate:)
    (First Fisherman:)
    (Second Fisherman:)
    (Third Fisherman:)
    (Messenger:)

DIANA:

GOWER    as Chorus.



SCENE    Dispersedly in various countries.




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I


    [Enter GOWER]

    [Before the palace of Antioch]

    To sing a song that old was sung,
    From ashes ancient Gower is come;
    Assuming man's infirmities,
    To glad your ear, and please your eyes.
    It hath been sung at festivals,
    On ember-eves and holy-ales;
    And lords and ladies in their lives
    Have read it for restoratives:
    The purchase is to make men glorious;
    Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius.
    If you, born in these latter times,
    When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes.
    And that to hear an old man sing
    May to your wishes pleasure bring
    I life would wish, and that I might
    Waste it for you, like taper-light.
    This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great
    Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat:
    The fairest in all Syria,
    I tell you what mine authors say:
    This king unto him took a fere,
    Who died and left a female heir,
    So buxom, blithe, and full of face,
    As heaven had lent her all his grace;
    With whom the father liking took,
    And her to incest did provoke:
    Bad child; worse father! to entice his own
    To evil should be done by none:
    But custom what they did begin
    Was with long use account no sin.
    The beauty of this sinful dame
    Made many princes thither frame,
    To seek her as a bed-fellow,
    In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:
    Which to prevent he made a law,
    To keep her still, and men in awe,
    That whoso ask'd her for his wife,
    His riddle told not, lost his life:
    So for her many a wight did die,
    As yon grim looks do testify.
    What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye
    I give, my cause who best can justify.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE I    Antioch. A room in the palace.


    [Enter ANTIOCHUS, Prince PERICLES, and followers]

ANTIOCHUS    Young prince of Tyre, you have at large received
    The danger of the task you undertake.

PERICLES    I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul
    Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,
    Think death no hazard in this enterprise.

ANTIOCHUS    Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,
    For the embracements even of Jove himself;
    At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd,
    Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,
    The senate-house of planets all did sit,
    To knit in her their best perfections.

    [Music. Enter the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

PERICLES    See where she comes, apparell'd like the spring,
    Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
    Of every virtue gives renown to men!
    Her face the book of praises, where is read
    Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence
    Sorrow were ever razed and testy wrath
    Could never be her mild companion.
    You gods that made me man, and sway in love,
    That have inflamed desire in my breast
    To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,
    Or die in the adventure, be my helps,
    As I am son and servant to your will,
    To compass such a boundless happiness!

ANTIOCHUS    Prince Pericles,--

PERICLES    That would be son to great Antiochus.

ANTIOCHUS    Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,
    With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;
    For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:
    Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view
    Her countless glory, which desert must gain;
    And which, without desert, because thine eye
    Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.
    Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,
    Drawn by report, adventurous by desire,
    Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,
    That without covering, save yon field of stars,
    Here they stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;
    And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist
    For going on death's net, whom none resist.

PERICLES    Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught
    My frail mortality to know itself,
    And by those fearful objects to prepare
    This body, like to them, to what I must;
    For death remember'd should be like a mirror,
    Who tells us life's but breath, to trust it error.
    I'll make my will then, and, as sick men do
    Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,
    Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;
    So I bequeath a happy peace to you
    And all good men, as every prince should do;
    My riches to the earth from whence they came;
    But my unspotted fire of love to you.

    [To the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

    Thus ready for the way of life or death,
    I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.

ANTIOCHUS    Scorning advice, read the conclusion then:
    Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed,
    As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.

Daughter    Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!
    Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness!

PERICLES    Like a bold champion, I assume the lists,
    Nor ask advice of any other thought
    But faithfulness and courage.

    [He reads the riddle]

    I am no viper, yet I feed
    On mother's flesh which did me breed.
    I sought a husband, in which labour
    I found that kindness in a father:
    He's father, son, and husband mild;
    I mother, wife, and yet his child.
    How they may be, and yet in two,
    As you will live, resolve it you.

    Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers
    That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts,
    Why cloud they not their sights perpetually,
    If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?
    Fair glass of light, I loved you, and could still,

    [Takes hold of the hand of the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS]

    Were not this glorious casket stored with ill:
    But I must tell you, now my thoughts revolt
    For he's no man on whom perfections wait
    That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate.
    You are a fair viol, and your sense the strings;
    Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music,
    Would draw heaven down, and all the gods, to hearken:
    But being play'd upon before your time,
    Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime.
    Good sooth, I care not for you.

ANTIOCHUS    Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life.
    For that's an article within our law,
    As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expired:
    Either expound now, or receive your sentence.

PERICLES    Great king,
    Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
    'Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.
    Who has a book of all that monarchs do,
    He's more secure to keep it shut than shown:
    For vice repeated is like the wandering wind.
    Blows dust in other's eyes, to spread itself;
    And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,
    The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear:
    To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts
    Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng'd
    By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die for't.
    Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's
    their will;
    And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?
    It is enough you know; and it is fit,
    What being more known grows worse, to smother it.
    All love the womb that their first being bred,
    Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.

ANTIOCHUS    [Aside]  Heaven, that I had thy head! he has found
    the meaning:
    But I will gloze with him.--Young prince of Tyre,
    Though by the tenor of our strict edict,
    Your exposition misinterpreting,
    We might proceed to cancel of your days;
    Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree
    As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:
    Forty days longer we do respite you;
    If by which time our secret be undone,
    This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son:
    And until then your entertain shall be
    As doth befit our honour and your worth.

    [Exeunt all but PERICLES]

PERICLES    How courtesy would seem to cover sin,
    When what is done is like an hypocrite,
    The which is good in nothing but in sight!
    If it be true that I interpret false,
    Then were it certain you were not so bad
    As with foul incest to abuse your soul;
    Where now you're both a father and a son,
    By your untimely claspings with your child,
    Which pleasure fits an husband, not a father;
    And she an eater of her mother's flesh,
    By the defiling of her parent's bed;
    And both like serpents are, who though they feed
    On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.
    Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men
    Blush not in actions blacker than the night,
    Will shun no course to keep them from the light.
    One sin, I know, another doth provoke;
    Murder's as near to lust as flame to smoke:
    Poison and treason are the hands of sin,
    Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:
    Then, lest my lie be cropp'd to keep you clear,
    By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter ANTIOCHUS]

ANTIOCHUS    He hath found the meaning, for which we mean
    To have his head.
    He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,
    Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin
    In such a loathed manner;
    And therefore instantly this prince must die:
    For by his fall my honour must keep high.
    Who attends us there?

    [Enter THALIARD]

THALIARD    Doth your highness call?

ANTIOCHUS    Thaliard,
    You are of our chamber, and our mind partakes
    Her private actions to your secrecy;
    And for your faithfulness we will advance you.
    Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold;
    We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:
    It fits thee not to ask the reason why,
    Because we bid it. Say, is it done?

THALIARD    My lord,
    'Tis done.

ANTIOCHUS             Enough.

    [Enter a Messenger]

    Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.

Messenger    My lord, prince Pericles is fled.

    [Exit]

ANTIOCHUS    As thou
    Wilt live, fly after: and like an arrow shot
    From a well-experienced archer hits the mark
    His eye doth level at, so thou ne'er return
    Unless thou say 'Prince Pericles is dead.'

THALIARD    My lord,
    If I can get him within my pistol's length,
    I'll make him sure enough: so, farewell to your highness.

ANTIOCHUS    Thaliard, adieu!

    [Exit THALIARD]

    Till Pericles be dead,
    My heart can lend no succor to my head.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE II    Tyre. A room in the palace.


    [Enter PERICLES]

PERICLES    [To Lords without]  Let none disturb us.--Why should
    this change of thoughts,
    The sad companion, dull-eyed melancholy,
    Be my so used a guest as not an hour,
    In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night,
    The tomb where grief should sleep, can breed me quiet?
    Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,
    And danger, which I fear'd, is at Antioch,
    Whose aim seems far too short to hit me here:
    Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits,
    Nor yet the other's distance comfort me.
    Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,
    That have their first conception by mis-dread,
    Have after-nourishment and life by care;
    And what was first but fear what might be done,
    Grows elder now and cares it be not done.
    And so with me: the great Antiochus,
    'Gainst whom I am too little to contend,
    Since he's so great can make his will his act,
    Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;
    Nor boots it me to say I honour him.
    If he suspect I may dishonour him:
    And what may make him blush in being known,
    He'll stop the course by which it might be known;
    With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land,
    And with the ostent of war will look so huge,
    Amazement shall drive courage from the state;
    Our men be vanquish'd ere they do resist,
    And subjects punish'd that ne'er thought offence:
    Which care of them, not pity of myself,
    Who am no more but as the tops of trees,
    Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them,
    Makes both my body pine and soul to languish,
    And punish that before that he would punish.

    [Enter HELICANUS, with other Lords]

First Lord    Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!

Second Lord    And keep your mind, till you return to us,
    Peaceful and comfortable!

HELICANUS    Peace, peace, and give experience tongue.
    They do abuse the king that flatter him:
    For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;
    The thing which is flatter'd, but a spark,
    To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing;
    Whereas reproof, obedient and in order,
    Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err.
    When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace,
    He flatters you, makes war upon your life.
    Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;
    I cannot be much lower than my knees.

PERICLES    All leave us else; but let your cares o'erlook
    What shipping and what lading's in our haven,
    And then return to us.

    [Exeunt Lords]

         Helicanus, thou
    Hast moved us: what seest thou in our looks?

HELICANUS    An angry brow, dread lord.

PERICLES    If there be such a dart in princes' frowns,
    How durst thy tongue move anger to our face?

HELICANUS    How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence
    They have their nourishment?

PERICLES    Thou know'st I have power
    To take thy life from thee.

HELICANUS    [Kneeling]

             I have ground the axe myself;
    Do you but strike the blow.

PERICLES    Rise, prithee, rise.
    Sit down: thou art no flatterer:
    I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid
    That kings should let their ears hear their
    faults hid!
    Fit counsellor and servant for a prince,
    Who by thy wisdom makest a prince thy servant,
    What wouldst thou have me do?

HELICANUS    To bear with patience
    Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.

PERICLES    Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus,
    That minister'st a potion unto me
    That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself.
    Attend me, then: I went to Antioch,
    Where as thou know'st, against the face of death,
    I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty.
    From whence an issue I might propagate,
    Are arms to princes, and bring joys to subjects.
    Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;
    The rest--hark in thine ear--as black as incest:
    Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father
    Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: but thou
    know'st this,
    'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.
    Such fear so grew in me, I hither fled,
    Under the covering of a careful night,
    Who seem'd my good protector; and, being here,
    Bethought me what was past, what might succeed.
    I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants' fears
    Decrease not, but grow faster than the years:
    And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth,
    That I should open to the listening air
    How many worthy princes' bloods were shed,
    To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,
    To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms,
    And make pretence of wrong that I have done him:
    When all, for mine, if I may call offence,
    Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence:
    Which love to all, of which thyself art one,
    Who now reprovest me for it,--

HELICANUS    Alas, sir!

PERICLES    Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,
    Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts
    How I might stop this tempest ere it came;
    And finding little comfort to relieve them,
    I thought it princely charity to grieve them.

HELICANUS    Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak.
    Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,
    And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,
    Who either by public war or private treason
    Will take away your life.
    Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while,
    Till that his rage and anger be forgot,
    Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.
    Your rule direct to any; if to me.
    Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be.

PERICLES    I do not doubt thy faith;
    But should he wrong my liberties in my absence?

HELICANUS    We'll mingle our bloods together in the earth,
    From whence we had our being and our birth.

PERICLES    Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus
    Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee;
    And by whose letters I'll dispose myself.
    The care I had and have of subjects' good
    On thee I lay whose wisdom's strength can bear it.
    I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath:
    Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both:
    But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe,
    That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince,
    Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE III    Tyre. An ante-chamber in the palace.


    [Enter THALIARD]

THALIARD    So, this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I
    kill King Pericles; and if I do it not, I am sure to
    be hanged at home: 'tis dangerous. Well, I perceive
    he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that,
    being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired
    he might know none of his secrets: now do I see he
    had some reason for't; for if a king bid a man be a
    villain, he's bound by the indenture of his oath to
    be one! Hush! here come the lords of Tyre.

    [Enter HELICANUS and ESCANES, with other Lords of Tyre]

HELICANUS    You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,
    Further to question me of your king's departure:
    His seal'd commission, left in trust with me,
    Doth speak sufficiently he's gone to travel.

THALIARD    [Aside]  How! the king gone!

HELICANUS    If further yet you will be satisfied,
    Why, as it were unlicensed of your loves,
    He would depart, I'll give some light unto you.
    Being at Antioch--

THALIARD    [Aside]          What from Antioch?

HELICANUS    Royal Antiochus--on what cause I know not--
    Took some displeasure at him; at least he judged so:
    And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd,
    To show his sorrow, he'ld correct himself;
    So puts himself unto the shipman's toil,
    With whom each minute threatens life or death.

THALIARD    [Aside]  Well, I perceive
    I shall not be hang'd now, although I would;
    But since he's gone, the king's seas must please:
    He 'scaped the land, to perish at the sea.
    I'll present myself. Peace to the lords of Tyre!

HELICANUS    Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.

THALIARD    From him I come
    With message unto princely Pericles;
    But since my landing I have understood
    Your lord has betook himself to unknown travels,
    My message must return from whence it came.

HELICANUS    We have no reason to desire it,
    Commended to our master, not to us:
    Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,
    As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT I



SCENE IV    Tarsus. A room in the Governor's house.


    [Enter CLEON, the governor of Tarsus, with DIONYZA,
    and others]

CLEON    My Dionyza, shall we rest us here,
    And by relating tales of others' griefs,
    See if 'twill teach us to forget our own?

DIONYZA    That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;
    For who digs hills because they do aspire
    Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher.
    O my distressed lord, even such our griefs are;
    Here they're but felt, and seen with mischief's eyes,
    But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise.

CLEON    O Dionyza,
    Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it,
    Or can conceal his hunger till he famish?
    Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep
    Our woes into the air; our eyes do weep,
    Till tongues fetch breath that may proclaim them louder;
    That, if heaven slumber while their creatures want,
    They may awake their helps to comfort them.
    I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years,
    And wanting breath to speak help me with tears.

DIONYZA    I'll do my best, sir.

CLEON    This Tarsus, o'er which I have the government,
    A city on whom plenty held full hand,
    For riches strew'd herself even in the streets;
    Whose towers bore heads so high they kiss'd the clouds,
    And strangers ne'er beheld but wondered at;
    Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd,
    Like one another's glass to trim them by:
    Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight,
    And not so much to feed on as delight;
    All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great,
    The name of help grew odious to repeat.

DIONYZA    O, 'tis too true.

CLEON    But see what heaven can do! By this our change,
    These mouths, who but of late, earth, sea, and air,
    Were all too little to content and please,
    Although they gave their creatures in abundance,
    As houses are defiled for want of use,
    They are now starved for want of exercise:
    Those palates who, not yet two summers younger,
    Must have inventions to delight the taste,
    Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it:
    Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes,
    Thought nought too curious, are ready now
    To eat those little darlings whom they loved.
    So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife
    Draw lots who first shall die to lengthen life:
    Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping;
    Here many sink, yet those which see them fall
    Have scarce strength left to give them burial.
    Is not this true?

DIONYZA    Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it.

CLEON    O, let those cities that of plenty's cup
    And her prosperities so largely taste,
    With their superfluous riots, hear these tears!
    The misery of Tarsus may be theirs.

    [Enter a Lord]

Lord    Where's the lord governor?

CLEON    Here.
    Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste,
    For comfort is too far for us to expect.

Lord    We have descried, upon our neighbouring shore,
    A portly sail of ships make hitherward.

CLEON    I thought as much.
    One sorrow never comes but brings an heir,
    That may succeed as his inheritor;
    And so in ours: some neighbouring nation,
    Taking advantage of our misery,
    Hath stuff'd these hollow vessels with their power,
    To beat us down, the which are down already;
    And make a conquest of unhappy me,
    Whereas no glory's got to overcome.

Lord    That's the least fear; for, by the semblance
    Of their white flags display'd, they bring us peace,
    And come to us as favourers, not as foes.

CLEON    Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat:
    Who makes the fairest show means most deceit.
    But bring they what they will and what they can,
    What need we fear?
    The ground's the lowest, and we are half way there.
    Go tell their general we attend him here,
    To know for what he comes, and whence he comes,
    And what he craves.

Lord    I go, my lord.

    [Exit]

CLEON    Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist;
    If wars, we are unable to resist.

    [Enter PERICLES with Attendants]

PERICLES    Lord governor, for so we hear you are,
    Let not our ships and number of our men
    Be like a beacon fired to amaze your eyes.
    We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre,
    And seen the desolation of your streets:
    Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears,
    But to relieve them of their heavy load;
    And these our ships, you happily may think
    Are like the Trojan horse was stuff'd within
    With bloody veins, expecting overthrow,
    Are stored with corn to make your needy bread,
    And give them life whom hunger starved half dead.

All    The gods of Greece protect you!
    And we'll pray for you.

PERICLES    Arise, I pray you, rise:
    We do not look for reverence, but to love,
    And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men.

CLEON    The which when any shall not gratify,
    Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought,
    Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves,
    The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!
    Till when,--the which I hope shall ne'er be seen,--
    Your grace is welcome to our town and us.

PERICLES    Which welcome we'll accept; feast here awhile,
    Until our stars that frown lend us a smile.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II


    [Enter GOWER]

GOWER    Here have you seen a mighty king
    His child, I wis, to incest bring;
    A better prince and benign lord,
    That will prove awful both in deed and word.
    Be quiet then as men should be,
    Till he hath pass'd necessity.
    I'll show you those in troubles reign,
    Losing a mite, a mountain gain.
    The good in conversation,
    To whom I give my benison,
    Is still at Tarsus, where each man
    Thinks all is writ he speken can;
    And, to remember what he does,
    Build his statue to make him glorious:
    But tidings to the contrary
    Are brought your eyes; what need speak I?

    DUMB SHOW.

    [Enter at one door PERICLES talking with CLEON; all
    the train with them. Enter at another door a
    Gentleman, with a letter to PERICLES; PERICLES
    shows the letter to CLEON; gives the Messenger a
    reward, and knights him. Exit PERICLES at one
    door, and CLEON at another]

    Good Helicane, that stay'd at home,
    Not to eat honey like a drone
    From others' labours; for though he strive
    To killen bad, keep good alive;
    And to fulfil his prince' desire,
    Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:
    How Thaliard came full bent with sin
    And had intent to murder him;
    And that in Tarsus was not best
    Longer for him to make his rest.
    He, doing so, put forth to seas,
    Where when men been, there's seldom ease;
    For now the wind begins to blow;
    Thunder above and deeps below
    Make such unquiet, that the ship
    Should house him safe is wreck'd and split;
    And he, good prince, having all lost,
    By waves from coast to coast is tost:
    All perishen of man, of pelf,
    Ne aught escapen but himself;
    Till fortune, tired with doing bad,
    Threw him ashore, to give him glad:
    And here he comes. What shall be next,
    Pardon old Gower,--this longs the text.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE I    Pentapolis. An open place by the sea-side.


    [Enter PERICLES, wet]

PERICLES    Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!
    Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man
    Is but a substance that must yield to you;
    And I, as fits my nature, do obey you:
    Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,
    Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath
    Nothing to think on but ensuing death:
    Let it suffice the greatness of your powers
    To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;
    And having thrown him from your watery grave,
    Here to have death in peace is all he'll crave.

    [Enter three FISHERMEN]

First Fisherman    What, ho, Pilch!

Second Fisherman    Ha, come and bring away the nets!

First Fisherman    What, Patch-breech, I say!

Third Fisherman    What say you, master?

First Fisherman    Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I'll
    fetch thee with a wanion.

Third Fisherman    Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that
    were cast away before us even now.

First Fisherman    Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what
    pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when,
    well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

Third Fisherman    Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the
    porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say
    they're half fish, half flesh: a plague on them,
    they ne'er come but I look to be washed. Master, I
    marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

First Fisherman    Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the
    little ones: I can compare our rich misers to
    nothing so fitly as to a whale; a' plays and
    tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at
    last devours them all at a mouthful: such whales
    have I heard on o' the land, who never leave gaping
    till they've swallowed the whole parish, church,
    steeple, bells, and all.

PERICLES    [Aside]  A pretty moral.

Third Fisherman    But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have
    been that day in the belfry.

Second Fisherman    Why, man?

Third Fisherman    Because he should have swallowed me too: and when I
    had been in his belly, I would have kept such a
    jangling of the bells, that he should never have
    left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and
    parish up again. But if the good King Simonides
    were of my mind,--

PERICLES    [Aside]  Simonides!

Third Fisherman    We would purge the land of these drones, that rob
    the bee of her honey.

PERICLES    [Aside]  How from the finny subject of the sea
    These fishers tell the infirmities of men;
    And from their watery empire recollect
    All that may men approve or men detect!
    Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen.

Second Fisherman    Honest! good fellow, what's that? If it be a day
    fits you, search out of the calendar, and nobody
    look after it.

PERICLES    May see the sea hath cast upon your coast.

Second Fisherman    What a drunken knave was the sea to cast thee in our
    way!

PERICLES    A man whom both the waters and the wind,
    In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball
    For them to play upon, entreats you pity him:
    He asks of you, that never used to beg.

First Fisherman    No, friend, cannot you beg? Here's them in our
    country Greece gets more with begging than we can do
    with working.

Second Fisherman    Canst thou catch any fishes, then?

PERICLES    I never practised it.

Second Fisherman    Nay, then thou wilt starve, sure; for here's nothing
    to be got now-a-days, unless thou canst fish for't.

PERICLES    What I have been I have forgot to know;
    But what I am, want teaches me to think on:
    A man throng'd up with cold: my veins are chill,
    And have no more of life than may suffice
    To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;
    Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,
    For that I am a man, pray see me buried.

First Fisherman    Die quoth-a? Now gods forbid! I have a gown here;
    come, put it on; keep thee warm. Now, afore me, a
    handsome fellow! Come, thou shalt go home, and
    we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for
    fasting-days, and moreo'er puddings and flap-jacks,
    and thou shalt be welcome.

PERICLES    I thank you, sir.

Second Fisherman    Hark you, my friend; you said you could not beg.

PERICLES    I did but crave.

Second Fisherman    But crave! Then I'll turn craver too, and so I
    shall 'scape whipping.

PERICLES    Why, are all your beggars whipped, then?

Second Fisherman    O, not all, my friend, not all; for if all your
    beggars were whipped, I would wish no better office
    than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go draw up the
    net.

    [Exit with Third Fisherman]

PERICLES    [Aside]  How well this honest mirth becomes their labour!

First Fisherman    Hark you, sir, do you know where ye are?

PERICLES    Not well.

First Fisherman    Why, I'll tell you: this is called Pentapolis, and
    our king the good Simonides.

PERICLES    The good King Simonides, do you call him.

First Fisherman    Ay, sir; and he deserves so to be called for his
    peaceable reign and good government.

PERICLES    He is a happy king, since he gains from his subjects
    the name of good by his government. How far is his
    court distant from this shore?

First Fisherman    Marry, sir, half a day's journey: and I'll tell
    you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is her
    birth-day; and there are princes and knights come
    from all parts of the world to just and tourney for her love.

PERICLES    Were my fortunes equal to my desires, I could wish
    to make one there.

First Fisherman    O, sir, things must be as they may; and what a man
    cannot get, he may lawfully deal for--his wife's soul.

    [Re-enter Second and Third Fishermen, drawing up a net]

Second Fisherman    Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net,
    like a poor man's right in the law; 'twill hardly
    come out. Ha! bots on't, 'tis come at last, and
    'tis turned to a rusty armour.

PERICLES    An armour, friends! I pray you, let me see it.
    Thanks, fortune, yet, that, after all my crosses,
    Thou givest me somewhat to repair myself;
    And though it was mine own, part of my heritage,
    Which my dead father did bequeath to me.
    With this strict charge, even as he left his life,
    'Keep it, my Pericles; it hath been a shield
    Twixt me and death;'--and pointed to this brace;--
    'For that it saved me, keep it; in like necessity--
    The which the gods protect thee from!--may
    defend thee.'
    It kept where I kept, I so dearly loved it;
    Till the rough seas, that spare not any man,
    Took it in rage, though calm'd have given't again:
    I thank thee for't: my shipwreck now's no ill,
    Since I have here my father's gift in's will.

First Fisherman    What mean you, sir?

PERICLES    To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worth,
    For it was sometime target to a king;
    I know it by this mark. He loved me dearly,
    And for his sake I wish the having of it;
    And that you'ld guide me to your sovereign's court,
    Where with it I may appear a gentleman;
    And if that ever my low fortune's better,
    I'll pay your bounties; till then rest your debtor.

First Fisherman    Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady?

PERICLES    I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms.

First Fisherman    Why, do 'e take it, and the gods give thee good on't!

Second Fisherman    Ay, but hark you, my friend; 'twas we that made up
    this garment through the rough seams of the waters:
    there are certain condolements, certain vails. I
    hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remember from
    whence you had it.

PERICLES    Believe 't, I will.
    By your furtherance I am clothed in steel;
    And, spite of all the rapture of the sea,
    This jewel holds his building on my arm:
    Unto thy value I will mount myself
    Upon a courser, whose delightful steps
    Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread.
    Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided
    Of a pair of bases.

Second Fisherman    We'll sure provide: thou shalt have my best gown to
    make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee to the court myself.

PERICLES    Then honour be but a goal to my will,
    This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE II    The same. A public way or platform leading to the
    lists. A pavilion by the side of it for the
    reception of King, Princess, Lords, &c.


    [Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, and Attendants]

SIMONIDES    Are the knights ready to begin the triumph?

First Lord    They are, my liege;
    And stay your coming to present themselves.

SIMONIDES    Return them, we are ready; and our daughter,
    In honour of whose birth these triumphs are,
    Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat
    For men to see, and seeing wonder at.

    [Exit a Lord]

THAISA    It pleaseth you, my royal father, to express
    My commendations great, whose merit's less.

SIMONIDES    It's fit it should be so; for princes are
    A model which heaven makes like to itself:
    As jewels lose their glory if neglected,
    So princes their renowns if not respected.
    'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain
    The labour of each knight in his device.

THAISA    Which, to preserve mine honour, I'll perform.

    [Enter a Knight; he passes over, and his Squire
    presents his shield to the Princess]

SIMONIDES    Who is the first that doth prefer himself?

THAISA    A knight of Sparta, my renowned father;
    And the device he bears upon his shield
    Is a black Ethiope reaching at the sun
    The word, 'Lux tua vita mihi.'

SIMONIDES    He loves you well that holds his life of you.

    [The Second Knight passes over]

    Who is the second that presents himself?

THAISA    A prince of Macedon, my royal father;
    And the device he bears upon his shield
    Is an arm'd knight that's conquer'd by a lady;
    The motto thus, in Spanish, 'Piu por dulzura que por fuerza.'

    [The Third Knight passes over]

SIMONIDES    And what's the third?

THAISA    The third of Antioch;
    And his device, a wreath of chivalry;
    The word, 'Me pompae provexit apex.'

    [The Fourth Knight passes over]

SIMONIDES    What is the fourth?

THAISA    A burning torch that's turned upside down;
    The word, 'Quod me alit, me extinguit.'

SIMONIDES    Which shows that beauty hath his power and will,
    Which can as well inflame as it can kill.

    [The Fifth Knight passes over]

THAISA    The fifth, an hand environed with clouds,
    Holding out gold that's by the touchstone tried;
    The motto thus, 'Sic spectanda fides.'

    [The Sixth Knight, PERICLES, passes over]

SIMONIDES    And what's
    The sixth and last, the which the knight himself
    With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd?

THAISA    He seems to be a stranger; but his present is
    A wither'd branch, that's only green at top;
    The motto, 'In hac spe vivo.'

SIMONIDES    A pretty moral;
    From the dejected state wherein he is,
    He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish.

First Lord    He had need mean better than his outward show
    Can any way speak in his just commend;
    For by his rusty outside he appears
    To have practised more the whipstock than the lance.

Second Lord    He well may be a stranger, for he comes
    To an honour'd triumph strangely furnished.

Third Lord    And on set purpose let his armour rust
    Until this day, to scour it in the dust.

SIMONIDES    Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan
    The outward habit by the inward man.
    But stay, the knights are coming: we will withdraw
    Into the gallery.

    [Exeunt]

    [Great shouts within and all cry 'The mean knight!']




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE III    The same. A hall of state: a banquet prepared.


    [Enter SIMONIDES, THAISA, Lords, Attendants, and
    Knights, from tilting]

SIMONIDES    Knights,
    To say you're welcome were superfluous.
    To place upon the volume of your deeds,
    As in a title-page, your worth in arms,
    Were more than you expect, or more than's fit,
    Since every worth in show commends itself.
    Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast:
    You are princes and my guests.

THAISA    But you, my knight and guest;
    To whom this wreath of victory I give,
    And crown you king of this day's happiness.

PERICLES    'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit.

SIMONIDES    Call it by what you will, the day is yours;
    And here, I hope, is none that envies it.
    In framing an artist, art hath thus decreed,
    To make some good, but others to exceed;
    And you are her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o'
    the feast,--
    For, daughter, so you are,--here take your place:
    Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace.

KNIGHTS    We are honour'd much by good Simonides.

SIMONIDES    Your presence glads our days: honour we love;
    For who hates honour hates the gods above.

Marshal    Sir, yonder is your place.

PERICLES    Some other is more fit.

First Knight    Contend not, sir; for we are gentlemen
    That neither in our hearts nor outward eyes
    Envy the great nor do the low despise.

PERICLES    You are right courteous knights.

SIMONIDES    Sit, sir, sit.

PERICLES    By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts,
    These cates resist me, she but thought upon.

THAISA    By Juno, that is queen of marriage,
    All viands that I eat do seem unsavoury.
    Wishing him my meat. Sure, he's a gallant gentleman.

SIMONIDES    He's but a country gentleman;
    Has done no more than other knights have done;
    Has broken a staff or so; so let it pass.

THAISA    To me he seems like diamond to glass.

PERICLES    Yon king's to me like to my father's picture,
    Which tells me in that glory once he was;
    Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne,
    And he the sun, for them to reverence;
    None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights,
    Did vail their crowns to his supremacy:
    Where now his son's like a glow-worm in the night,
    The which hath fire in darkness, none in light:
    Whereby I see that Time's the king of men,
    He's both their parent, and he is their grave,
    And gives them what he will, not what they crave.

SIMONIDES    What, are you merry, knights?

Knights    Who can be other in this royal presence?

SIMONIDES    Here, with a cup that's stored unto the brim,--
    As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,--
    We drink this health to you.

KNIGHTS    We thank your grace.

SIMONIDES    Yet pause awhile:
    Yon knight doth sit too melancholy,
    As if the entertainment in our court
    Had not a show might countervail his worth.
    Note it not you, Thaisa?

THAISA    What is it
    To me, my father?

SIMONIDES                      O, attend, my daughter:
    Princes in this should live like gods above,
    Who freely give to every one that comes
    To honour them:
    And princes not doing so are like to gnats,
    Which make a sound, but kill'd are wonder'd at.
    Therefore to make his entrance more sweet,
    Here, say we drink this standing-bowl of wine to him.

THAISA    Alas, my father, it befits not me
    Unto a stranger knight to be so bold:
    He may my proffer take for an offence,
    Since men take women's gifts for impudence.

SIMONIDES    How!
    Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else.

THAISA    [Aside]  Now, by the gods, he could not please me better.

SIMONIDES    And furthermore tell him, we desire to know of him,
    Of whence he is, his name and parentage.

THAISA    The king my father, sir, has drunk to you.

PERICLES    I thank him.

THAISA    Wishing it so much blood unto your life.

PERICLES    I thank both him and you, and pledge him freely.

THAISA    And further he desires to know of you,
    Of whence you are, your name and parentage.

PERICLES    A gentleman of Tyre; my name, Pericles;
    My education been in arts and arms;
    Who, looking for adventures in the world,
    Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men,
    And after shipwreck driven upon this shore.

THAISA    He thanks your grace; names himself Pericles,
    A gentleman of Tyre,
    Who only by misfortune of the seas
    Bereft of ships and men, cast on this shore.

SIMONIDES    Now, by the gods, I pity his misfortune,
    And will awake him from his melancholy.
    Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles,
    And waste the time, which looks for other revels.
    Even in your armours, as you are address'd,
    Will very well become a soldier's dance.
    I will not have excuse, with saying this
    Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads,
    Since they love men in arms as well as beds.

    [The Knights dance]

    So, this was well ask'd,'twas so well perform'd.
    Come, sir;
    Here is a lady that wants breathing too:
    And I have heard, you knights of Tyre
    Are excellent in making ladies trip;
    And that their measures are as excellent.

PERICLES    In those that practise them they are, my lord.

SIMONIDES    O, that's as much as you would be denied
    Of your fair courtesy.

    [The Knights and Ladies dance]

         Unclasp, unclasp:
    Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well.

    [To PERICLES]

    But you the best. Pages and lights, to conduct
    These knights unto their several lodgings!

    [To PERICLES]

             Yours, sir,
    We have given order to be next our own.

PERICLES    I am at your grace's pleasure.

SIMONIDES    Princes, it is too late to talk of love;
    And that's the mark I know you level at:
    Therefore each one betake him to his rest;
    To-morrow all for speeding do their best.

    [Exeunt]



    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE IV    Tyre. A room in the Governor's house.


    [Enter HELICANUS and ESCANES]

HELICANUS    No, Escanes, know this of me,
    Antiochus from incest lived not free:
    For which, the most high gods not minding longer
    To withhold the vengeance that they had in store,
    Due to this heinous capital offence,
    Even in the height and pride of all his glory,
    When he was seated in a chariot
    Of an inestimable value, and his daughter with him,
    A fire from heaven came and shrivell'd up
    Their bodies, even to loathing; for they so stunk,
    That all those eyes adored them ere their fall
    Scorn now their hand should give them burial.

ESCANES    'Twas very strange.

HELICANUS    And yet but justice; for though
    This king were great, his greatness was no guard
    To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward.

ESCANES    'Tis very true.

    [Enter two or three Lords]

First Lord    See, not a man in private conference
    Or council has respect with him but he.

Second Lord    It shall no longer grieve without reproof.

Third Lord    And cursed be he that will not second it.

First Lord    Follow me, then. Lord Helicane, a word.

HELICANUS    With me? and welcome: happy day, my lords.

First Lord    Know that our griefs are risen to the top,
    And now at length they overflow their banks.

HELICANUS    Your griefs! for what? wrong not your prince you love.

First Lord    Wrong not yourself, then, noble Helicane;
    But if the prince do live, let us salute him,
    Or know what ground's made happy by his breath.
    If in the world he live, we'll seek him out;
    If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there;
    And be resolved he lives to govern us,
    Or dead, give's cause to mourn his funeral,
    And leave us to our free election.

Second Lord    Whose death indeed's the strongest in our censure:
    And knowing this kingdom is without a head,--
    Like goodly buildings left without a roof
    Soon fall to ruin,--your noble self,
    That best know how to rule and how to reign,
    We thus submit unto,--our sovereign.

All    Live, noble Helicane!

HELICANUS    For honour's cause, forbear your suffrages:
    If that you love Prince Pericles, forbear.
    Take I your wish, I leap into the seas,
    Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease.
    A twelvemonth longer, let me entreat you to
    Forbear the absence of your king:
    If in which time expired, he not return,
    I shall with aged patience bear your yoke.
    But if I cannot win you to this love,
    Go search like nobles, like noble subjects,
    And in your search spend your adventurous worth;
    Whom if you find, and win unto return,
    You shall like diamonds sit about his crown.

First Lord    To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield;
    And since Lord Helicane enjoineth us,
    We with our travels will endeavour us.

HELICANUS    Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp hands:
    When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT II



SCENE V    Pentapolis. A room in the palace.


    [Enter SIMONIDES, reading a letter, at one door:
    the Knights meet him]

First Knight    Good morrow to the good Simonides.

SIMONIDES    Knights, from my daughter this I let you know,
    That for this twelvemonth she'll not undertake
    A married life.
    Her reason to herself is only known,
    Which yet from her by no means can I get.

Second Knight    May we not get access to her, my lord?

SIMONIDES    'Faith, by no means; she has so strictly tied
    Her to her chamber, that 'tis impossible.
    One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery;
    This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd
    And on her virgin honour will not break it.

Third Knight    Loath to bid farewell, we take our leaves.

    [Exeunt Knights]

SIMONIDES    So,
    They are well dispatch'd; now to my daughter's letter:
    She tells me here, she'd wed the stranger knight,
    Or never more to view nor day nor light.
    'Tis well, mistress; your choice agrees with mine;
    I like that well: nay, how absolute she's in't,
    Not minding whether I dislike or no!
    Well, I do commend her choice;
    And will no longer have it be delay'd.
    Soft! here he comes: I must dissemble it.

    [Enter PERICLES]

PERICLES    All fortune to the good Simonides!

SIMONIDES    To you as much, sir! I am beholding to you
    For your sweet music this last night: I do
    Protest my ears were never better fed
    With such delightful pleasing harmony.

PERICLES    It is your grace's pleasure to commend;
    Not my desert.

SIMONIDES    Sir, you are music's master.

PERICLES    The worst of all her scholars, my good lord.

SIMONIDES    Let me ask you one thing:
    What do you think of my daughter, sir?

PERICLES    A most virtuous princess.

SIMONIDES    And she is fair too, is she not?

PERICLES    As a fair day in summer, wondrous fair.

SIMONIDES    Sir, my daughter thinks very well of you;
    Ay, so well, that you must be her master,
    And she will be your scholar: therefore look to it.

PERICLES    I am unworthy for her schoolmaster.

SIMONIDES    She thinks not so; peruse this writing else.

PERICLES    [Aside]  What's here?
    A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre!
    'Tis the king's subtlety to have my life.
    O, seek not to entrap me, gracious lord,
    A stranger and distressed gentleman,
    That never aim'd so high to love your daughter,
    But bent all offices to honour her.

SIMONIDES    Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art
    A villain.

PERICLES    By the gods, I have not:
    Never did thought of mine levy offence;
    Nor never did my actions yet commence
    A deed might gain her love or your displeasure.

SIMONIDES    Traitor, thou liest.

PERICLES    Traitor!

SIMONIDES    Ay, traitor.

PERICLES    Even in his throat--unless it be the king--
    That calls me traitor, I return the lie.

SIMONIDES    [Aside]  Now, by the gods, I do applaud his courage.

PERICLES    My actions are as noble as my thoughts,
    That never relish'd of a base descent.
    I came unto your court for honour's cause,
    And not to be a rebel to her state;
    And he that otherwise accounts of me,
    This sword shall prove he's honour's enemy.

SIMONIDES    No?
    Here comes my daughter, she can witness it.

    [Enter THAISA]

PERICLES    Then, as you are as virtuous as fair,
    Resolve your angry father, if my tongue
    Did ere solicit, or my hand subscribe
    To any syllable that made love to you.

THAISA    Why, sir, say if you had,
    Who takes offence at that would make me glad?

SIMONIDES    Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory?

    [Aside]

    I am glad on't with all my heart.--
    I'll tame you; I'll bring you in subjection.
    Will you, not having my consent,
    Bestow your love and your affections
    Upon a stranger?

    [Aside]

    who, for aught I know,
    May be, nor can I think the contrary,
    As great in blood as I myself.--
    Therefore hear you, mistress; either frame
    Your will to mine,--and you, sir, hear you,
    Either be ruled by me, or I will make you--
    Man and wife:
    Nay, come, your hands and lips must seal it too:
    And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy;
    And for a further grief,--God give you joy!--
    What, are you both pleased?

THAISA    Yes, if you love me, sir.

PERICLES    Even as my life, or blood that fosters it.

SIMONIDES    What, are you both agreed?

BOTH    Yes, if it please your majesty.

SIMONIDES    It pleaseth me so well, that I will see you wed;
    And then with what haste you can get you to bed.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III


    [Enter GOWER]

GOWER    Now sleep y-slaked hath the rout;
    No din but snores the house about,
    Made louder by the o'er-fed breast
    Of this most pompous marriage-feast.
    The cat, with eyne of burning coal,
    Now crouches fore the mouse's hole;
    And crickets sing at the oven's mouth,
    E'er the blither for their drouth.
    Hymen hath brought the bride to bed.
    Where, by the loss of maidenhead,
    A babe is moulded. Be attent,
    And time that is so briefly spent
    With your fine fancies quaintly eche:
    What's dumb in show I'll plain with speech.

        DUMB SHOW.

    [Enter, PERICLES and SIMONIDES at one door, with
    Attendants; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and
    gives PERICLES a letter: PERICLES shows it
    SIMONIDES; the Lords kneel to him. Then enter
    THAISA with child, with LYCHORIDA a nurse. The
    KING shows her the letter; she rejoices: she and
    PERICLES takes leave of her father, and depart with
    LYCHORIDA and their Attendants. Then exeunt
    SIMONIDES and the rest]

    By many a dern and painful perch
    Of Pericles the careful search,
    By the four opposing coigns
    Which the world together joins,
    Is made with all due diligence
    That horse and sail and high expense
    Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre,
    Fame answering the most strange inquire,
    To the court of King Simonides
    Are letters brought, the tenor these:
    Antiochus and his daughter dead;
    The men of Tyrus on the head
    Of Helicanus would set on
    The crown of Tyre, but he will none:
    The mutiny he there hastes t' oppress;
    Says to 'em, if King Pericles
    Come not home in twice six moons,
    He, obedient to their dooms,
    Will take the crown. The sum of this,
    Brought hither to Pentapolis,
    Y-ravished the regions round,
    And every one with claps can sound,
    'Our heir-apparent is a king!
    Who dream'd, who thought of such a thing?'
    Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre:
    His queen with child makes her desire--
    Which who shall cross?--along to go:
    Omit we all their dole and woe:
    Lychorida, her nurse, she takes,
    And so to sea. Their vessel shakes
    On Neptune's billow; half the flood
    Hath their keel cut: but fortune's mood
    Varies again; the grisly north
    Disgorges such a tempest forth,
    That, as a duck for life that dives,
    So up and down the poor ship drives:
    The lady shrieks, and well-a-near
    Does fall in travail with her fear:
    And what ensues in this fell storm
    Shall for itself itself perform.
    I nill relate, action may
    Conveniently the rest convey;
    Which might not what by me is told.
    In your imagination hold
    This stage the ship, upon whose deck
    The sea-tost Pericles appears to speak.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE I:


    [Enter PERICLES, on shipboard]

PERICLES    Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges,
    Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou, that hast
    Upon the winds command, bind them in brass,
    Having call'd them from the deep! O, still
    Thy deafening, dreadful thunders; gently quench
    Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes! O, how, Lychorida,
    How does my queen? Thou stormest venomously;
    Wilt thou spit all thyself? The seaman's whistle
    Is as a whisper in the ears of death,
    Unheard. Lychorida!--Lucina, O
    Divinest patroness, and midwife gentle
    To those that cry by night, convey thy deity
    Aboard our dancing boat; make swift the pangs
    Of my queen's travails!

    [Enter LYCHORIDA, with an Infant]

          Now, Lychorida!

LYCHORIDA    Here is a thing too young for such a place,
    Who, if it had conceit, would die, as I
    Am like to do: take in your arms this piece
    Of your dead queen.

PERICLES    How, how, Lychorida!

LYCHORIDA    Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm.
    Here's all that is left living of your queen,
    A little daughter: for the sake of it,
    Be manly, and take comfort.

PERICLES    O you gods!
    Why do you make us love your goodly gifts,
    And snatch them straight away? We here below
    Recall not what we give, and therein may
    Use honour with you.

LYCHORIDA    Patience, good sir,
    Even for this charge.

PERICLES    Now, mild may be thy life!
    For a more blustrous birth had never babe:
    Quiet and gentle thy conditions! for
    Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world
    That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows!
    Thou hast as chiding a nativity
    As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make,
    To herald thee from the womb: even at the first
    Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit,
    With all thou canst find here. Now, the good gods
    Throw their best eyes upon't!

    [Enter two Sailors]

First Sailor    What courage, sir? God save you!

PERICLES    Courage enough: I do not fear the flaw;
    It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love
    Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer,
    I would it would be quiet.

First Sailor    Slack the bolins there! Thou wilt not, wilt thou?
    Blow, and split thyself.

Second Sailor    But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy billow kiss
    the moon, I care not.

First Sailor    Sir, your queen must overboard: the sea works high,
    the wind is loud, and will not lie till the ship be
    cleared of the dead.

PERICLES    That's your superstition.

First Sailor    Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it hath been still
    observed: and we are strong in custom. Therefore
    briefly yield her; for she must overboard straight.

PERICLES    As you think meet. Most wretched queen!

LYCHORIDA    Here she lies, sir.

PERICLES    A terrible childbed hast thou had, my dear;
    No light, no fire: the unfriendly elements
    Forgot thee utterly: nor have I time
    To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight
    Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze;
    Where, for a monument upon thy bones,
    And e'er-remaining lamps, the belching whale
    And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse,
    Lying with simple shells. O Lychorida,
    Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper,
    My casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander
    Bring me the satin coffer: lay the babe
    Upon the pillow: hie thee, whiles I say
    A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman.

    [Exit LYCHORIDA]

Second Sailor    Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, caulked
    and bitumed ready.

PERICLES    I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this?

Second Sailor    We are near Tarsus.

PERICLES    Thither, gentle mariner.
    Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach it?

Second Sailor    By break of day, if the wind cease.

PERICLES    O, make for Tarsus!
    There will I visit Cleon, for the babe
    Cannot hold out to Tyrus: there I'll leave it
    At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner:
    I'll bring the body presently.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE II    Ephesus. A room in CERIMON's house.


    [Enter CERIMON, with a Servant, and some Persons who
    have been shipwrecked]

CERIMON    Philemon, ho!

    [Enter PHILEMON]

PHILEMON    Doth my lord call?

CERIMON    Get fire and meat for these poor men:
    'T has been a turbulent and stormy night.

Servant    I have been in many; but such a night as this,
    Till now, I ne'er endured.

CERIMON    Your master will be dead ere you return;
    There's nothing can be minister'd to nature
    That can recover him.

    [To PHILEMON]

        Give this to the 'pothecary,
    And tell me how it works.

    [Exeunt all but CERIMON]

    [Enter two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman    Good morrow.

Second Gentleman    Good morrow to your lordship.

CERIMON    Gentlemen,
    Why do you stir so early?

First Gentleman    Sir,
    Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea,
    Shook as the earth did quake;
    The very principals did seem to rend,
    And all-to topple: pure surprise and fear
    Made me to quit the house.

Second Gentleman    That is the cause we trouble you so early;
    'Tis not our husbandry.

CERIMON    O, you say well.

First Gentleman    But I much marvel that your lordship, having
    Rich tire about you, should at these early hours
    Shake off the golden slumber of repose.
    'Tis most strange,
    Nature should be so conversant with pain,
    Being thereto not compell'd.

CERIMON    I hold it ever,
    Virtue and cunning were endowments greater
    Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs
    May the two latter darken and expend;
    But immortality attends the former.
    Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever
    Have studied physic, through which secret art,
    By turning o'er authorities, I have,
    Together with my practise, made familiar
    To me and to my aid the blest infusions
    That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones;
    And I can speak of the disturbances
    That nature works, and of her cures; which doth give me
    A more content in course of true delight
    Than to be thirsty after tottering honour,
    Or tie my treasure up in silken bags,
    To please the fool and death.

Second Gentleman    Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd forth
    Your charity, and hundreds call themselves
    Your creatures, who by you have been restored:
    And not your knowledge, your personal pain, but even
    Your purse, still open, hath built Lord Cerimon
    Such strong renown as time shall ne'er decay.

    [Enter two or three Servants with a chest]

First Servant    So; lift there.

CERIMON                      What is that?

First Servant    Sir, even now
    Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest:
    'Tis of some wreck.

CERIMON    Set 't down, let's look upon't.

Second Gentleman    'Tis like a coffin, sir.

CERIMON    Whate'er it be,
    'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight:
    If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold,
    'Tis a good constraint of fortune it belches upon us.

Second Gentleman    'Tis so, my lord.

CERIMON                      How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed!
    Did the sea cast it up?

First Servant    I never saw so huge a billow, sir,
    As toss'd it upon shore.

CERIMON    Wrench it open;
    Soft! it smells most sweetly in my sense.

Second Gentleman    A delicate odour.

CERIMON    As ever hit my nostril. So, up with it.
    O you most potent gods! what's here? a corse!

First Gentleman    Most strange!

CERIMON    Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and entreasured
    With full bags of spices! A passport too!
    Apollo, perfect me in the characters!

    [Reads from a scroll]

    'Here I give to understand,
    If e'er this coffin drive a-land,
    I, King Pericles, have lost
    This queen, worth all our mundane cost.
    Who finds her, give her burying;
    She was the daughter of a king:
    Besides this treasure for a fee,
    The gods requite his charity!'

    If thou livest, Pericles, thou hast a heart
    That even cracks for woe! This chanced tonight.

Second Gentleman    Most likely, sir.

CERIMON                      Nay, certainly to-night;
    For look how fresh she looks! They were too rough
    That threw her in the sea. Make a fire within:
    Fetch hither all my boxes in my closet.

    [Exit a Servant]

    Death may usurp on nature many hours,
    And yet the fire of life kindle again
    The o'erpress'd spirits. I heard of an Egyptian
    That had nine hours lien dead,
    Who was by good appliance recovered.

    [Re-enter a Servant, with boxes, napkins, and fire]

    Well said, well said; the fire and cloths.
    The rough and woeful music that we have,
    Cause it to sound, beseech you.
    The viol once more: how thou stirr'st, thou block!
    The music there!--I pray you, give her air.
    Gentlemen.
    This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth
    Breathes out of her: she hath not been entranced
    Above five hours: see how she gins to blow
    Into life's flower again!

First Gentleman    The heavens,
    Through you, increase our wonder and set up
    Your fame forever.

CERIMON                      She is alive; behold,
    Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels
    Which Pericles hath lost,
    Begin to part their fringes of bright gold;
    The diamonds of a most praised water
    Do appear, to make the world twice rich. Live,
    And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature,
    Rare as you seem to be.

    [She moves]

THAISA    O dear Diana,
    Where am I? Where's my lord? What world is this?

Second Gentleman    Is not this strange?

First Gentleman    Most rare.

CERIMON    Hush, my gentle neighbours!
    Lend me your hands; to the next chamber bear her.
    Get linen: now this matter must be look'd to,
    For her relapse is mortal. Come, come;
    And AEsculapius guide us!

    [Exeunt, carrying her away]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE III    Tarsus. A room in CLEON's house.


    [Enter PERICLES, CLEON, DIONYZA, and LYCHORIDA with
    MARINA in her arms]

PERICLES     Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone;
    My twelve months are expired, and Tyrus stands
    In a litigious peace. You, and your lady,
    Take from my heart all thankfulness! The gods
    Make up the rest upon you!

CLEON    Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you mortally,
    Yet glance full wanderingly on us.

DIONYZA    O your sweet queen!
    That the strict fates had pleased you had brought her hither,
    To have bless'd mine eyes with her!

PERICLES    We cannot but obey
    The powers above us. Could I rage and roar
    As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end
    Must be as 'tis. My gentle babe Marina, whom,
    For she was born at sea, I have named so, here
    I charge your charity withal, leaving her
    The infant of your care; beseeching you
    To give her princely training, that she may be
    Manner'd as she is born.

CLEON    Fear not, my lord, but think
    Your grace, that fed my country with your corn,
    For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,
    Must in your child be thought on. If neglection
    Should therein make me vile, the common body,
    By you relieved, would force me to my duty:
    But if to that my nature need a spur,
    The gods revenge it upon me and mine,
    To the end of generation!

PERICLES    I believe you;
    Your honour and your goodness teach me to't,
    Without your vows. Till she be married, madam,
    By bright Diana, whom we honour, all
    Unscissor'd shall this hair of mine remain,
    Though I show ill in't. So I take my leave.
    Good madam, make me blessed in your care
    In bringing up my child.

DIONYZA    I have one myself,
    Who shall not be more dear to my respect
    Than yours, my lord.

PERICLES    Madam, my thanks and prayers.

CLEON    We'll bring your grace e'en to the edge o' the shore,
    Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune and
    The gentlest winds of heaven.

PERICLES    I will embrace
    Your offer. Come, dearest madam. O, no tears,
    Lychorida, no tears:
    Look to your little mistress, on whose grace
    You may depend hereafter. Come, my lord.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT III



SCENE IV    Ephesus. A room in CERIMON's house.


    [Enter CERIMON and THAISA]

CERIMON    Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels,
    Lay with you in your coffer: which are now
    At your command. Know you the character?

THAISA    It is my lord's.
    That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember,
    Even on my eaning time; but whether there
    Deliver'd, by the holy gods,
    I cannot rightly say. But since King Pericles,
    My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again,
    A vestal livery will I take me to,
    And never more have joy.

CERIMON    Madam, if this you purpose as ye speak,
    Diana's temple is not distant far,
    Where you may abide till your date expire.
    Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine
    Shall there attend you.

THAISA    My recompense is thanks, that's all;
    Yet my good will is great, though the gift small.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV


    [Enter GOWER]

GOWER    Imagine Pericles arrived at Tyre,
    Welcomed and settled to his own desire.
    His woeful queen we leave at Ephesus,
    Unto Diana there a votaress.
    Now to Marina bend your mind,
    Whom our fast-growing scene must find
    At Tarsus, and by Cleon train'd
    In music, letters; who hath gain'd
    Of education all the grace,
    Which makes her both the heart and place
    Of general wonder. But, alack,
    That monster envy, oft the wrack
    Of earned praise, Marina's life
    Seeks to take off by treason's knife.
    And in this kind hath our Cleon
    One daughter, and a wench full grown,
    Even ripe for marriage-rite; this maid
    Hight Philoten: and it is said
    For certain in our story, she
    Would ever with Marina be:
    Be't when she weaved the sleided silk
    With fingers long, small, white as milk;
    Or when she would with sharp needle wound
    The cambric, which she made more sound
    By hurting it; or when to the lute
    She sung, and made the night-bird mute,
    That still records with moan; or when
    She would with rich and constant pen
    Vail to her mistress Dian; still
    This Philoten contends in skill
    With absolute Marina: so
    With the dove of Paphos might the crow
    Vie feathers white. Marina gets
    All praises, which are paid as debts,
    And not as given. This so darks
    In Philoten all graceful marks,
    That Cleon's wife, with envy rare,
    A present murderer does prepare
    For good Marina, that her daughter
    Might stand peerless by this slaughter.
    The sooner her vile thoughts to stead,
    Lychorida, our nurse, is dead:
    And cursed Dionyza hath
    The pregnant instrument of wrath
    Prest for this blow. The unborn event
    I do commend to your content:
    Only I carry winged time
    Post on the lame feet of my rhyme;
    Which never could I so convey,
    Unless your thoughts went on my way.
    Dionyza does appear,
    With Leonine, a murderer.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE I    Tarsus. An open place near the sea-shore.


    [Enter DIONYZA and LEONINE]

DIONYZA    Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do't:
    'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known.
    Thou canst not do a thing in the world so soon,
    To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience,
    Which is but cold, inflaming love i' thy bosom,
    Inflame too nicely; nor let pity, which
    Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be
    A soldier to thy purpose.

LEONINE    I will do't; but yet she is a goodly creature.

DIONYZA    The fitter, then, the gods should have her. Here
    she comes weeping for her only mistress' death.
    Thou art resolved?

LEONINE    I am resolved.

    [Enter MARINA, with a basket of flowers]

MARINA    No, I will rob Tellus of her weed,
    To strew thy green with flowers: the yellows, blues,
    The purple violets, and marigolds,
    Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave,
    While summer-days do last. Ay me! poor maid,
    Born in a tempest, when my mother died,
    This world to me is like a lasting storm,
    Whirring me from my friends.

DIONYZA    How now, Marina! why do you keep alone?
    How chance my daughter is not with you? Do not
    Consume your blood with sorrowing: you have
    A nurse of me. Lord, how your favour's changed
    With this unprofitable woe!
    Come, give me your flowers, ere the sea mar it.
    Walk with Leonine; the air is quick there,
    And it pierces and sharpens the stomach. Come,
    Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her.

MARINA    No, I pray you;
    I'll not bereave you of your servant.

DIONYZA    Come, come;
    I love the king your father, and yourself,
    With more than foreign heart. We every day
    Expect him here: when he shall come and find
    Our paragon to all reports thus blasted,
    He will repent the breadth of his great voyage;
    Blame both my lord and me, that we have taken
    No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you,
    Walk, and be cheerful once again; reserve
    That excellent complexion, which did steal
    The eyes of young and old. Care not for me
    I can go home alone.

MARINA    Well, I will go;
    But yet I have no desire to it.

DIONYZA    Come, come, I know 'tis good for you.
    Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least:
    Remember what I have said.

LEONINE    I warrant you, madam.

DIONYZA    I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while:
    Pray, walk softly, do not heat your blood:
    What! I must have a care of you.

MARINA    My thanks, sweet madam.

    [Exit DIONYZA]

    Is this wind westerly that blows?

LEONINE    South-west.

MARINA    When I was born, the wind was north.

LEONINE    Was't so?

MARINA    My father, as nurse said, did never fear,
    But cried 'Good seaman!' to the sailors, galling
    His kingly hands, haling ropes;
    And, clasping to the mast, endured a sea
    That almost burst the deck.

LEONINE    When was this?

MARINA    When I was born:
    Never was waves nor wind more violent;
    And from the ladder-tackle washes off
    A canvas-climber. 'Ha!' says one, 'wilt out?'
    And with a dropping industry they skip
    From stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, and
    The master calls, and trebles their confusion.

LEONINE    Come, say your prayers.

MARINA    What mean you?

LEONINE    If you require a little space for prayer,
    I grant it: pray; but be not tedious,
    For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn
    To do my work with haste.

MARINA    Why will you kill me?

LEONINE    To satisfy my lady.

MARINA    Why would she have me kill'd?
    Now, as I can remember, by my troth,
    I never did her hurt in all my life:
    I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn
    To any living creature: believe me, la,
    I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly:
    I trod upon a worm against my will,
    But I wept for it. How have I offended,
    Wherein my death might yield her any profit,
    Or my life imply her any danger?

LEONINE    My commission
    Is not to reason of the deed, but do it.

MARINA    You will not do't for all the world, I hope.
    You are well favour'd, and your looks foreshow
    You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately,
    When you caught hurt in parting two that fought:
    Good sooth, it show'd well in you: do so now:
    Your lady seeks my life; come you between,
    And save poor me, the weaker.

LEONINE    I am sworn,
    And will dispatch.

    [He seizes her]

    [Enter Pirates]

First Pirate    Hold, villain!

    [LEONINE runs away]

Second Pirate    A prize! a prize!

Third Pirate    Half-part, mates, half-part.
    Come, let's have her aboard suddenly.

    [Exeunt Pirates with MARINA]

    [Re-enter LEONINE]

LEONINE    These roguing thieves serve the great pirate Valdes;
    And they have seized Marina. Let her go:
    There's no hope she will return. I'll swear
    she's dead,
    And thrown into the sea. But I'll see further:
    Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her,
    Not carry her aboard. If she remain,
    Whom they have ravish'd must by me be slain.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE II    Mytilene. A room in a brothel.


    [Enter Pandar, Bawd, and BOULT]

Pandar    Boult!

BOULT    Sir?

Pandar    Search the market narrowly; Mytilene is full of
    gallants. We lost too much money this mart by being
    too wenchless.

Bawd    We were never so much out of creatures. We have but
    poor three, and they can do no more than they can
    do; and they with continual action are even as good as rotten.

Pandar    Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er we pay for
    them. If there be not a conscience to be used in
    every trade, we shall never prosper.

Bawd    Thou sayest true: 'tis not our bringing up of poor
    bastards,--as, I think, I have brought up some eleven--

BOULT    Ay, to eleven; and brought them down again. But
    shall I search the market?

Bawd    What else, man? The stuff we have, a strong wind
    will blow it to pieces, they are so pitifully sodden.

Pandar    Thou sayest true; they're too unwholesome, o'
    conscience. The poor Transylvanian is dead, that
    lay with the little baggage.

BOULT    Ay, she quickly pooped him; she made him roast-meat
    for worms. But I'll go search the market.

    [Exit]

Pandar    Three or four thousand chequins were as pretty a
    proportion to live quietly, and so give over.

Bawd    Why to give over, I pray you? is it a shame to get
    when we are old?

Pandar    O, our credit comes not in like the commodity, nor
    the commodity wages not with the danger: therefore,
    if in our youths we could pick up some pretty
    estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our door hatched.
    Besides, the sore terms we stand upon with the gods
    will be strong with us for giving over.

Bawd    Come, other sorts offend as well as we.

Pandar    As well as we! ay, and better too; we offend worse.
    Neither is our profession any trade; it's no
    calling. But here comes Boult.

    [Re-enter BOULT, with the Pirates and MARINA]

BOULT    [To MARINA]  Come your ways. My masters, you say
    she's a virgin?

First Pirate    O, sir, we doubt it not.

BOULT    Master, I have gone through for this piece, you see:
    if you like her, so; if not, I have lost my earnest.

Bawd    Boult, has she any qualities?

BOULT    She has a good face, speaks well, and has excellent
    good clothes: there's no further necessity of
    qualities can make her be refused.

Bawd    What's her price, Boult?

BOULT    I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand pieces.

Pandar    Well, follow me, my masters, you shall have your
    money presently. Wife, take her in; instruct her
    what she has to do, that she may not be raw in her
    entertainment.

    [Exeunt Pandar and Pirates]

Bawd    Boult, take you the marks of her, the colour of her
    hair, complexion, height, age, with warrant of her
    virginity; and cry 'He that will give most shall
    have her first.' Such a maidenhead were no cheap
    thing, if men were as they have been. Get this done
    as I command you.

BOULT    Performance shall follow.

    [Exit]

MARINA    Alack that Leonine was so slack, so slow!
    He should have struck, not spoke; or that these pirates,
    Not enough barbarous, had not o'erboard thrown me
    For to seek my mother!

Bawd    Why lament you, pretty one?

MARINA    That I am pretty.

Bawd    Come, the gods have done their part in you.

MARINA    I accuse them not.

Bawd    You are light into my hands, where you are like to live.

MARINA    The more my fault
    To scape his hands where I was like to die.

Bawd    Ay, and you shall live in pleasure.

MARINA    No.

Bawd    Yes, indeed shall you, and taste gentlemen of all
    fashions: you shall fare well; you shall have the
    difference of all complexions. What! do you stop your ears?

MARINA    Are you a woman?

Bawd    What would you have me be, an I be not a woman?

MARINA    An honest woman, or not a woman.

Bawd    Marry, whip thee, gosling: I think I shall have
    something to do with you. Come, you're a young
    foolish sapling, and must be bowed as I would have
    you.

MARINA    The gods defend me!

Bawd    If it please the gods to defend you by men, then men
    must comfort you, men must feed you, men must stir
    you up. Boult's returned.

    [Re-enter BOULT]

    Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market?

BOULT    I have cried her almost to the number of her hairs;
    I have drawn her picture with my voice.

Bawd    And I prithee tell me, how dost thou find the
    inclination of the people, especially of the younger sort?

BOULT    'Faith, they listened to me as they would have
    hearkened to their father's testament. There was a
    Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed to
    her very description.

Bawd    We shall have him here to-morrow with his best ruff on.

BOULT    To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you know the
    French knight that cowers i' the hams?

Bawd    Who, Monsieur Veroles?

BOULT    Ay, he: he offered to cut a caper at the
    proclamation; but he made a groan at it, and swore
    he would see her to-morrow.

Bawd    Well, well; as for him, he brought his disease
    hither: here he does but repair it. I know he will
    come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the
    sun.

BOULT    Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, we
    should lodge them with this sign.

Bawd    [To MARINA]  Pray you, come hither awhile. You
    have fortunes coming upon you. Mark me: you must
    seem to do that fearfully which you commit
    willingly, despise profit where you have most gain.
    To weep that you live as ye do makes pity in your
    lovers: seldom but that pity begets you a good
    opinion, and that opinion a mere profit.

MARINA    I understand you not.

BOULT    O, take her home, mistress, take her home: these
    blushes of hers must be quenched with some present practise.

Bawd    Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they must; for your
    bride goes to that with shame which is her way to go
    with warrant.

BOULT    'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, mistress, if
    I have bargained for the joint,--

Bawd    Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit.

BOULT    I may so.

Bawd    Who should deny it? Come, young one, I like the
    manner of your garments well.

BOULT    Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed yet.

Bawd    Boult, spend thou that in the town: report what a
    sojourner we have; you'll lose nothing by custom.
    When nature flamed this piece, she meant thee a good
    turn; therefore say what a paragon she is, and thou
    hast the harvest out of thine own report.

BOULT    I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall not so awake
    the beds of eels as my giving out her beauty stir up
    the lewdly-inclined. I'll bring home some to-night.

Bawd    Come your ways; follow me.

MARINA    If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep,
    Untied I still my virgin knot will keep.
    Diana, aid my purpose!

Bawd    What have we to do with Diana? Pray you, will you go with us?

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE III    Tarsus. A room in CLEON's house.


    [Enter CLEON and DIONYZA]

DIONYZA    Why, are you foolish? Can it be undone?

CLEON    O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter
    The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon!

DIONYZA    I think
    You'll turn a child again.

CLEON    Were I chief lord of all this spacious world,
    I'ld give it to undo the deed. O lady,
    Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess
    To equal any single crown o' the earth
    I' the justice of compare! O villain Leonine!
    Whom thou hast poison'd too:
    If thou hadst drunk to him, 't had been a kindness
    Becoming well thy fact: what canst thou say
    When noble Pericles shall demand his child?

DIONYZA    That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates,
    To foster it, nor ever to preserve.
    She died at night; I'll say so. Who can cross it?
    Unless you play the pious innocent,
    And for an honest attribute cry out
    'She died by foul play.'

CLEON    O, go to. Well, well,
    Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods
    Do like this worst.

DIONYZA    Be one of those that think
    The petty wrens of Tarsus will fly hence,
    And open this to Pericles. I do shame
    To think of what a noble strain you are,
    And of how coward a spirit.

CLEON    To such proceeding
    Who ever but his approbation added,
    Though not his prime consent, he did not flow
    From honourable sources.

DIONYZA    Be it so, then:
    Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead,
    Nor none can know, Leonine being gone.
    She did disdain my child, and stood between
    Her and her fortunes: none would look on her,
    But cast their gazes on Marina's face;
    Whilst ours was blurted at and held a malkin
    Not worth the time of day. It pierced me through;
    And though you call my course unnatural,
    You not your child well loving, yet I find
    It greets me as an enterprise of kindness
    Perform'd to your sole daughter.

CLEON    Heavens forgive it!

DIONYZA    And as for Pericles,
    What should he say? We wept after her hearse,
    And yet we mourn: her monument
    Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs
    In glittering golden characters express
    A general praise to her, and care in us
    At whose expense 'tis done.

CLEON    Thou art like the harpy,
    Which, to betray, dost, with thine angel's face,
    Seize with thine eagle's talons.

DIONYZA    You are like one that superstitiously
    Doth swear to the gods that winter kills the flies:
    But yet I know you'll do as I advise.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE IV:


    [Enter GOWER, before the monument of MARINA at Tarsus]

GOWER    Thus time we waste, and longest leagues make short;
    Sail seas in cockles, have an wish but for't;
    Making, to take your imagination,
    From bourn to bourn, region to region.
    By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime
    To use one language in each several clime
    Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you
    To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps to teach you,
    The stages of our story. Pericles
    Is now again thwarting the wayward seas,
    Attended on by many a lord and knight.
    To see his daughter, all his life's delight.
    Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late
    Advanced in time to great and high estate,
    Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind,
    Old Helicanus goes along behind.
    Well-sailing ships and bounteous winds have brought
    This king to Tarsus,--think his pilot thought;
    So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,--
    To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone.
    Like motes and shadows see them move awhile;
    Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile.

    DUMB SHOW.

    [Enter PERICLES, at one door, with all his train;
    CLEON and DIONYZA, at the other. CLEON shows
    PERICLES the tomb; whereat PERICLES makes
    lamentation, puts on sackcloth, and in a mighty
    passion departs. Then exeunt CLEON and DIONYZA]

    See how belief may suffer by foul show!
    This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe;
    And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd,
    With sighs shot through, and biggest tears
    o'ershower'd,
    Leaves Tarsus and again embarks. He swears
    Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs:
    He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears
    A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears,
    And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit.
    The epitaph is for Marina writ
    By wicked Dionyza.

    [Reads the inscription on MARINA's monument]

    'The fairest, sweet'st, and best lies here,
    Who wither'd in her spring of year.
    She was of Tyrus the king's daughter,
    On whom foul death hath made this slaughter;
    Marina was she call'd; and at her birth,
    Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the earth:
    Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'erflow'd,
    Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd:
    Wherefore she does, and swears she'll never stint,
    Make raging battery upon shores of flint.'

    No visor does become black villany
    So well as soft and tender flattery.
    Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead,
    And bear his courses to be ordered
    By Lady Fortune; while our scene must play
    His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day
    In her unholy service. Patience, then,
    And think you now are all in Mytilene.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE V    Mytilene. A street before the brothel.


    [Enter, from the brothel, two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman    Did you ever hear the like?

Second Gentleman    No, nor never shall do in such a place as this, she
    being once gone.

First Gentleman    But to have divinity preached there! did you ever
    dream of such a thing?

Second Gentleman    No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy-houses:
    shall's go hear the vestals sing?

First Gentleman    I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; but I
    am out of the road of rutting for ever.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT IV



SCENE VI    The same. A room in the brothel.


    [Enter Pandar, Bawd, and BOULT]

Pandar    Well, I had rather than twice the worth of her she
    had ne'er come here.

Bawd    Fie, fie upon her! she's able to freeze the god
    Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We must
    either get her ravished, or be rid of her. When she
    should do for clients her fitment, and do me the
    kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks,
    her reasons, her master reasons, her prayers, her
    knees; that she would make a puritan of the devil,
    if he should cheapen a kiss of her.

BOULT    'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfurnish us
    of all our cavaliers, and make our swearers priests.

Pandar    Now, the pox upon her green-sickness for me!

Bawd    'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't but by the
    way to the pox. Here comes the Lord Lysimachus disguised.

BOULT    We should have both lord and lown, if the peevish
    baggage would but give way to customers.

    [Enter LYSIMACHUS]

LYSIMACHUS    How now! How a dozen of virginities?

Bawd    Now, the gods to-bless your honour!

BOULT    I am glad to see your honour in good health.

LYSIMACHUS    You may so; 'tis the better for you that your
    resorters stand upon sound legs. How now!
    wholesome iniquity have you that a man may deal
    withal, and defy the surgeon?

Bawd    We have here one, sir, if she would--but there never
    came her like in Mytilene.

LYSIMACHUS    If she'ld do the deed of darkness, thou wouldst say.

Bawd    Your honour knows what 'tis to say well enough.

LYSIMACHUS    Well, call forth, call forth.

BOULT    For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall
    see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, if she had but--

LYSIMACHUS    What, prithee?

BOULT    O, sir, I can be modest.

LYSIMACHUS    That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less than it
    gives a good report to a number to be chaste.

    [Exit BOULT]

Bawd    Here comes that which grows to the stalk; never
    plucked yet, I can assure you.

    [Re-enter BOULT with MARINA]

    Is she not a fair creature?

LYSIMACHUS    'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage at sea.
    Well, there's for you: leave us.

Bawd    I beseech your honour, give me leave: a word, and
    I'll have done presently.

LYSIMACHUS    I beseech you, do.

Bawd    [To MARINA]  First, I would have you note, this is
    an honourable man.

MARINA    I desire to find him so, that I may worthily note him.

Bawd    Next, he's the governor of this country, and a man
    whom I am bound to.

MARINA    If he govern the country, you are bound to him
    indeed; but how honourable he is in that, I know not.

Bawd    Pray you, without any more virginal fencing, will
    you use him kindly? He will line your apron with gold.

MARINA    What he will do graciously, I will thankfully receive.

LYSIMACHUS    Ha' you done?

Bawd    My lord, she's not paced yet: you must take some
    pains to work her to your manage. Come, we will
    leave his honour and her together. Go thy ways.

    [Exeunt Bawd, Pandar, and BOULT]

LYSIMACHUS    Now, pretty one, how long have you been at this trade?

MARINA    What trade, sir?

LYSIMACHUS    Why, I cannot name't but I shall offend.

MARINA    I cannot be offended with my trade. Please you to name it.

LYSIMACHUS    How long have you been of this profession?

MARINA    E'er since I can remember.

LYSIMACHUS    Did you go to 't so young? Were you a gamester at
    five or at seven?

MARINA    Earlier too, sir, if now I be one.

LYSIMACHUS    Why, the house you dwell in proclaims you to be a
    creature of sale.

MARINA    Do you know this house to be a place of such resort,
    and will come into 't? I hear say you are of
    honourable parts, and are the governor of this place.

LYSIMACHUS    Why, hath your principal made known unto you who I am?

MARINA    Who is my principal?

LYSIMACHUS    Why, your herb-woman; she that sets seeds and roots
    of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard something
    of my power, and so stand aloof for more serious
    wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, my
    authority shall not see thee, or else look friendly
    upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place:
    come, come.

MARINA    If you were born to honour, show it now;
    If put upon you, make the judgment good
    That thought you worthy of it.

LYSIMACHUS    How's this? how's this? Some more; be sage.

MARINA    For me,
    That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune
    Have placed me in this sty, where, since I came,
    Diseases have been sold dearer than physic,
    O, that the gods
    Would set me free from this unhallow'd place,
    Though they did change me to the meanest bird
    That flies i' the purer air!

LYSIMACHUS    I did not think
    Thou couldst have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd thou couldst.
    Had I brought hither a corrupted mind,
    Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for thee:
    Persever in that clear way thou goest,
    And the gods strengthen thee!

MARINA    The good gods preserve you!

LYSIMACHUS    For me, be you thoughten
    That I came with no ill intent; for to me
    The very doors and windows savour vilely.
    Fare thee well. Thou art a piece of virtue, and
    I doubt not but thy training hath been noble.
    Hold, here's more gold for thee.
    A curse upon him, die he like a thief,
    That robs thee of thy goodness! If thou dost
    Hear from me, it shall be for thy good.

    [Re-enter BOULT]

BOULT    I beseech your honour, one piece for me.

LYSIMACHUS    Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper!
    Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop it,
    Would sink and overwhelm you. Away!

    [Exit]

BOULT    How's this? We must take another course with you.
    If your peevish chastity, which is not worth a
    breakfast in the cheapest country under the cope,
    shall undo a whole household, let me be gelded like
    a spaniel. Come your ways.

MARINA     Whither would you have me?

BOULT    I must have your maidenhead taken off, or the common
    hangman shall execute it. Come your ways. We'll
    have no more gentlemen driven away. Come your ways, I say.

    [Re-enter Bawd]

Bawd    How now! what's the matter?

BOULT    Worse and worse, mistress; she has here spoken holy
    words to the Lord Lysimachus.

Bawd    O abominable!

BOULT    She makes our profession as it were to stink afore
    the face of the gods.

Bawd    Marry, hang her up for ever!

BOULT    The nobleman would have dealt with her like a
    nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a
    snowball; saying his prayers too.

Bawd    Boult, take her away; use her at thy pleasure:
    crack the glass of her virginity, and make the rest malleable.

BOULT    An if she were a thornier piece of ground than she
    is, she shall be ploughed.

MARINA    Hark, hark, you gods!

Bawd    She conjures: away with her! Would she had never
    come within my doors! Marry, hang you! She's born
    to undo us. Will you not go the way of women-kind?
    Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays!

    [Exit]

BOULT    Come, mistress; come your ways with me.

MARINA    Whither wilt thou have me?

BOULT    To take from you the jewel you hold so dear.

MARINA    Prithee, tell me one thing first.

BOULT    Come now, your one thing.

MARINA    What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?

BOULT    Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress.

MARINA    Neither of these are so bad as thou art,
    Since they do better thee in their command.
    Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend
    Of hell would not in reputation change:
    Thou art the damned doorkeeper to every
    Coistrel that comes inquiring for his Tib;
    To the choleric fisting of every rogue
    Thy ear is liable; thy food is such
    As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs.

BOULT    What would you have me do? go to the wars, would
    you? where a man may serve seven years for the loss
    of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to
    buy him a wooden one?

MARINA    Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty
    OLD receptacles, or common shores, of filth;
    Serve by indenture to the common hangman:
    Any of these ways are yet better than this;
    For what thou professest, a baboon, could he speak,
    Would own a name too dear. O, that the gods
    Would safely deliver me from this place!
    Here, here's gold for thee.
    If that thy master would gain by thee,
    Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance,
    With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast:
    And I will undertake all these to teach.
    I doubt not but this populous city will
    Yield many scholars.

BOULT    But can you teach all this you speak of?

MARINA    Prove that I cannot, take me home again,
    And prostitute me to the basest groom
    That doth frequent your house.

BOULT    Well, I will see what I can do for thee: if I can
    place thee, I will.

MARINA    But amongst honest women.

BOULT    'Faith, my acquaintance lies little amongst them.
    But since my master and mistress have bought you,
    there's no going but by their consent: therefore I
    will make them acquainted with your purpose, and I
    doubt not but I shall find them tractable enough.
    Come, I'll do for thee what I can; come your ways.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V


    [Enter GOWER]

GOWER    Marina thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances
    Into an honest house, our story says.
    She sings like one immortal, and she dances
    As goddess-like to her admired lays;
    Deep clerks she dumbs; and with her needle composes
    Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry,
    That even her art sisters the natural roses;
    Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry:
    That pupils lacks she none of noble race,
    Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain
    She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place;
    And to her father turn our thoughts again,
    Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost;
    Whence, driven before the winds, he is arrived
    Here where his daughter dwells; and on this coast
    Suppose him now at anchor. The city strived
    God Neptune's annual feast to keep: from whence
    Lysimachus our Tyrian ship espies,
    His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense;
    And to him in his barge with fervor hies.
    In your supposing once more put your sight
    Of heavy Pericles; think this his bark:
    Where what is done in action, more, if might,
    Shall be discover'd; please you, sit and hark.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V



SCENE I    On board PERICLES' ship, off Mytilene. A close
    pavilion on deck, with a curtain before it; PERICLES
    within it, reclined on a couch. A barge lying
    beside the Tyrian vessel.


    [Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian
    vessel, the other to the barge; to them HELICANUS]

Tyrian Sailor    [To the Sailor of Mytilene]  Where is lord Helicanus?
    he can resolve you.
    O, here he is.
    Sir, there's a barge put off from Mytilene,
    And in it is Lysimachus the governor,
    Who craves to come aboard. What is your will?

HELICANUS    That he have his. Call up some gentlemen.

Tyrian Sailor    Ho, gentlemen! my lord calls.

    [Enter two or three Gentlemen]

First Gentleman    Doth your lordship call?

HELICANUS    Gentlemen, there's some of worth would come aboard;
    I pray ye, greet them fairly.

    [The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, and go
    on board the barge]

    [Enter, from thence, LYSIMACHUS and Lords; with the
    Gentlemen and the two Sailors]

Tyrian Sailor    Sir,
    This is the man that can, in aught you would,
    Resolve you.

LYSIMACHUS    Hail, reverend sir! the gods preserve you!

HELICANUS    And you, sir, to outlive the age I am,
    And die as I would do.

LYSIMACHUS    You wish me well.
    Being on shore, honouring of Neptune's triumphs,
    Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us,
    I made to it, to know of whence you are.

HELICANUS    First, what is your place?

LYSIMACHUS    I am the governor of this place you lie before.

HELICANUS    Sir,
    Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king;
    A man who for this three months hath not spoken
    To any one, nor taken sustenance
    But to prorogue his grief.

LYSIMACHUS    Upon what ground is his distemperature?

HELICANUS    'Twould be too tedious to repeat;
    But the main grief springs from the loss
    Of a beloved daughter and a wife.

LYSIMACHUS    May we not see him?

HELICANUS    You may;
    But bootless is your sight: he will not speak To any.

LYSIMACHUS    Yet let me obtain my wish.

HELICANUS    Behold him.

    [PERICLES discovered]

    This was a goodly person,
    Till the disaster that, one mortal night,
    Drove him to this.

LYSIMACHUS    Sir king, all hail! the gods preserve you!
    Hail, royal sir!

HELICANUS    It is in vain; he will not speak to you.

First Lord    Sir,
    We have a maid in Mytilene, I durst wager,
    Would win some words of him.

LYSIMACHUS    'Tis well bethought.
    She questionless with her sweet harmony
    And other chosen attractions, would allure,
    And make a battery through his deafen'd parts,
    Which now are midway stopp'd:
    She is all happy as the fairest of all,
    And, with her fellow maids is now upon
    The leafy shelter that abuts against
    The island's side.

    [Whispers a Lord, who goes off in the barge of
    LYSIMACHUS]

HELICANUS    Sure, all's effectless; yet nothing we'll omit
    That bears recovery's name. But, since your kindness
    We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you
    That for our gold we may provision have,
    Wherein we are not destitute for want,
    But weary for the staleness.

LYSIMACHUS    O, sir, a courtesy
    Which if we should deny, the most just gods
    For every graff would send a caterpillar,
    And so afflict our province. Yet once more
    Let me entreat to know at large the cause
    Of your king's sorrow.

HELICANUS    Sit, sir, I will recount it to you:
    But, see, I am prevented.

    [Re-enter, from the barge, Lord, with MARINA, and a
    young Lady]

LYSIMACHUS    O, here is
    The lady that I sent for. Welcome, fair one!
    Is't not a goodly presence?

HELICANUS    She's a gallant lady.

LYSIMACHUS    She's such a one, that, were I well assured
    Came of a gentle kind and noble stock,
    I'ld wish no better choice, and think me rarely wed.
    Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty
    Expect even here, where is a kingly patient:
    If that thy prosperous and artificial feat
    Can draw him but to answer thee in aught,
    Thy sacred physic shall receive such pay
    As thy desires can wish.

MARINA    Sir, I will use
    My utmost skill in his recovery, Provided
    That none but I and my companion maid
    Be suffer'd to come near him.

LYSIMACHUS    Come, let us leave her;
    And the gods make her prosperous!

    [MARINA sings]

LYSIMACHUS    Mark'd he your music?

MARINA    No, nor look'd on us.

LYSIMACHUS    See, she will speak to him.

MARINA    Hail, sir! my lord, lend ear.

PERICLES    Hum, ha!

MARINA    I am a maid,
    My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes,
    But have been gazed on like a comet: she speaks,
    My lord, that, may be, hath endured a grief
    Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd.
    Though wayward fortune did malign my state,
    My derivation was from ancestors
    Who stood equivalent with mighty kings:
    But time hath rooted out my parentage,
    And to the world and awkward casualties
    Bound me in servitude.

    [Aside]

         I will desist;
    But there is something glows upon my cheek,
    And whispers in mine ear, 'Go not till he speak.'

PERICLES    My fortunes--parentage--good parentage--
    To equal mine!--was it not thus? what say you?

MARINA    I said, my lord, if you did know my parentage,
    You would not do me violence.

PERICLES    I do think so. Pray you, turn your eyes upon me.
    You are like something that--What country-woman?
    Here of these shores?

MARINA    No, nor of any shores:
    Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am
    No other than I appear.

PERICLES    I am great with woe, and shall deliver weeping.
    My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one
    My daughter might have been: my queen's square brows;
    Her stature to an inch; as wand-like straight;
    As silver-voiced; her eyes as jewel-like
    And cased as richly; in pace another Juno;
    Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry,
    The more she gives them speech. Where do you live?

MARINA    Where I am but a stranger: from the deck
    You may discern the place.

PERICLES    Where were you bred?
    And how achieved you these endowments, which
    You make more rich to owe?

MARINA    If I should tell my history, it would seem
    Like lies disdain'd in the reporting.

PERICLES    Prithee, speak:
    Falseness cannot come from thee; for thou look'st
    Modest as Justice, and thou seem'st a palace
    For the crown'd Truth to dwell in: I will
    believe thee,
    And make my senses credit thy relation
    To points that seem impossible; for thou look'st
    Like one I loved indeed. What were thy friends?
    Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back--
    Which was when I perceived thee--that thou camest
    From good descending?

MARINA    So indeed I did.

PERICLES    Report thy parentage. I think thou said'st
    Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury,
    And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal mine,
    If both were open'd.

MARINA    Some such thing
    I said, and said no more but what my thoughts
    Did warrant me was likely.

PERICLES    Tell thy story;
    If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part
    Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I
    Have suffer'd like a girl: yet thou dost look
    Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling
    Extremity out of act. What were thy friends?
    How lost thou them? Thy name, my most kind virgin?
    Recount, I do beseech thee: come, sit by me.

MARINA    My name is Marina.

PERICLES                      O, I am mock'd,
    And thou by some incensed god sent hither
    To make the world to laugh at me.

MARINA    Patience, good sir,
    Or here I'll cease.

PERICLES    Nay, I'll be patient.
    Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me,
    To call thyself Marina.

MARINA    The name
    Was given me by one that had some power,
    My father, and a king.

PERICLES    How! a king's daughter?
    And call'd Marina?

MARINA                      You said you would believe me;
    But, not to be a troubler of your peace,
    I will end here.

PERICLES                      But are you flesh and blood?
    Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy?
    Motion! Well; speak on. Where were you born?
    And wherefore call'd Marina?

MARINA    Call'd Marina
    For I was born at sea.

PERICLES    At sea! what mother?

MARINA    My mother was the daughter of a king;
    Who died the minute I was born,
    As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft
    Deliver'd weeping.

PERICLES                      O, stop there a little!

    [Aside]

    This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep
    Did mock sad fools withal: this cannot be:
    My daughter's buried. Well: where were you bred?
    I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story,
    And never interrupt you.

MARINA    You scorn: believe me, 'twere best I did give o'er.

PERICLES    I will believe you by the syllable
    Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave:
    How came you in these parts? where were you bred?

MARINA    The king my father did in Tarsus leave me;
    Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife,
    Did seek to murder me: and having woo'd
    A villain to attempt it, who having drawn to do't,
    A crew of pirates came and rescued me;
    Brought me to Mytilene. But, good sir,
    Whither will you have me? Why do you weep?
    It may be,
    You think me an impostor: no, good faith;
    I am the daughter to King Pericles,
    If good King Pericles be.

PERICLES    Ho, Helicanus!

HELICANUS    Calls my lord?

PERICLES    Thou art a grave and noble counsellor,
    Most wise in general: tell me, if thou canst,
    What this maid is, or what is like to be,
    That thus hath made me weep?

HELICANUS    I know not; but
    Here is the regent, sir, of Mytilene
    Speaks nobly of her.

LYSIMACHUS    She would never tell
    Her parentage; being demanded that,
    She would sit still and weep.

PERICLES    O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir;
    Give me a gash, put me to present pain;
    Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me
    O'erbear the shores of my mortality,
    And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither,
    Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget;
    Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tarsus,
    And found at sea again! O Helicanus,
    Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods as loud
    As thunder threatens us: this is Marina.
    What was thy mother's name? tell me but that,
    For truth can never be confirm'd enough,
    Though doubts did ever sleep.

MARINA    First, sir, I pray,
    What is your title?

PERICLES    I am Pericles of Tyre: but tell me now
    My drown'd queen's name, as in the rest you said
    Thou hast been godlike perfect,
    The heir of kingdoms and another like
    To Pericles thy father.

MARINA    Is it no more to be your daughter than
    To say my mother's name was Thaisa?
    Thaisa was my mother, who did end
    The minute I began.

PERICLES    Now, blessing on thee! rise; thou art my child.
    Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus;
    She is not dead at Tarsus, as she should have been,
    By savage Cleon: she shall tell thee all;
    When thou shalt kneel, and justify in knowledge
    She is thy very princess. Who is this?

HELICANUS    Sir, 'tis the governor of Mytilene,
    Who, hearing of your melancholy state,
    Did come to see you.

PERICLES    I embrace you.
    Give me my robes. I am wild in my beholding.
    O heavens bless my girl! But, hark, what music?
    Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him
    O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt,
    How sure you are my daughter. But, what music?

HELICANUS    My lord, I hear none.

PERICLES    None!
    The music of the spheres! List, my Marina.

LYSIMACHUS    It is not good to cross him; give him way.

PERICLES    Rarest sounds! Do ye not hear?

LYSIMACHUS    My lord, I hear.

    [Music]

PERICLES    Most heavenly music!
    It nips me unto listening, and thick slumber
    Hangs upon mine eyes: let me rest.

    [Sleeps]

LYSIMACHUS    A pillow for his head:
    So, leave him all. Well, my companion friends,
    If this but answer to my just belief,
    I'll well remember you.

    [Exeunt all but PERICLES]

    [DIANA appears to PERICLES as in a vision]

DIANA    My temple stands in Ephesus: hie thee thither,
    And do upon mine altar sacrifice.
    There, when my maiden priests are met together,
    Before the people all,
    Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife:
    To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call
    And give them repetition to the life.
    Or perform my bidding, or thou livest in woe;
    Do it, and happy; by my silver bow!
    Awake, and tell thy dream.

    [Disappears]

PERICLES    Celestial Dian, goddess argentine,
    I will obey thee. Helicanus!

    [Re-enter HELICANUS, LYSIMACHUS, and MARINA]

HELICANUS    Sir?

PERICLES    My purpose was for Tarsus, there to strike
    The inhospitable Cleon; but I am
    For other service first: toward Ephesus
    Turn our blown sails; eftsoons I'll tell thee why.

    [To LYSIMACHUS]

    Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore,
    And give you gold for such provision
    As our intents will need?

LYSIMACHUS    Sir,
    With all my heart; and, when you come ashore,
    I have another suit.

PERICLES    You shall prevail,
    Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems
    You have been noble towards her.

LYSIMACHUS    Sir, lend me your arm.

PERICLES    Come, my Marina.

    [Exeunt]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V



SCENE II:


    [Enter GOWER, before the temple of DIANA at Ephesus]

GOWER    Now our sands are almost run;
    More a little, and then dumb.
    This, my last boon, give me,
    For such kindness must relieve me,
    That you aptly will suppose
    What pageantry, what feats, what shows,
    What minstrelsy, and pretty din,
    The regent made in Mytilene
    To greet the king. So he thrived,
    That he is promised to be wived
    To fair Marina; but in no wise
    Till he had done his sacrifice,
    As Dian bade: whereto being bound,
    The interim, pray you, all confound.
    In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd,
    And wishes fall out as they're will'd.
    At Ephesus, the temple see,
    Our king and all his company.
    That he can hither come so soon,
    Is by your fancy's thankful doom.

    [Exit]




    PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE


ACT V


SCENE III    The temple of Diana at Ephesus; THAISA standing
    near the altar, as high priestess; a number of
    Virgins on each side; CERIMON and other Inhabitants
    of Ephesus attending.


    [Enter PERICLES, with his train; LYSIMACHUS,
    HELICANUS, MARINA, and a Lady]

PERICLES    Hail, Dian! to perform thy just command,
    I here confess myself the king of Tyre;
    Who, frighted from my country, did wed
    At Pentapolis the fair Thaisa.
    At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth
    A maid-child call'd Marina; who, O goddess,
    Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tarsus
    Was nursed with Cleon; who at fourteen years
    He sought to murder: but her better stars
    Brought her to Mytilene; 'gainst whose shore
    Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us,
    Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she
    Made known herself my daughter.

THAISA    Voice and favour!
    You are, you are--O royal Pericles!

    [Faints]

PERICLES    What means the nun? she dies! help, gentlemen!

CERIMON    Noble sir,
    If you have told Diana's altar true,
    This is your wife.

PERICLES                      Reverend appearer, no;
    I threw her overboard with these very arms.

CERIMON    Upon this coast, I warrant you.

PERICLES    'Tis most certain.

CERIMON    Look to the lady; O, she's but o'erjoy'd.
    Early in blustering morn this lady was
    Thrown upon this shore. I oped the coffin,
    Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and placed her
    Here in Diana's temple.

PERICLES    May we see them?

CERIMON    Great sir, they shall be brought you to my house,
    Whither I invite you. Look, Thaisa is recovered.

THAISA    O, let me look!
    If he be none of mine, my sanctity
    Will to my sense bend no licentious ear,
    But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord,
    Are you not Pericles? Like him you spake,
    Like him you are: did you not name a tempest,
    A birth, and death?

PERICLES    The voice of dead Thaisa!

THAISA    That Thaisa am I, supposed dead
    And drown'd.

PERICLES    Immortal Dian!

THAISA                      Now I know you better.
    When we with tears parted Pentapolis,
    The king my father gave you such a ring.

    [Shows a ring]

PERICLES    This, this: no more, you gods! your present kindness
    Makes my past miseries sports: you shall do well,
    That on the touching of her lips I may
    Melt and no more be seen. O, come, be buried
    A second time within these arms.

MARINA    My heart
    Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom.

    [Kneels to THAISA]

PERICLES    Look, who kneels here! Flesh of thy flesh, Thaisa;
    Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina
    For she was yielded there.

THAISA    Blest, and mine own!

HELICANUS    Hail, madam, and my queen!

THAISA    I know you not.

PERICLES    You have heard me say, when I did fly from Tyre,
    I left behind an ancient substitute:
    Can you remember what I call'd the man?
    I have named him oft.

THAISA    'Twas Helicanus then.

PERICLES    Still confirmation:
    Embrace him, dear Thaisa; this is he.
    Now do I long to hear how you were found;
    How possibly preserved; and who to thank,
    Besides the gods, for this great miracle.

THAISA    Lord Cerimon, my lord; this man,
    Through whom the gods have shown their power; that can
    From first to last resolve you.

PERICLES    Reverend sir,
    The gods can have no mortal officer
    More like a god than you. Will you deliver
    How this dead queen re-lives?

CERIMON    I will, my lord.
    Beseech you, first go with me to my house,
    Where shall be shown you all was found with her;
    How she came placed here in the temple;
    No needful thing omitted.

PERICLES    Pure Dian, bless thee for thy vision! I
    Will offer night-oblations to thee. Thaisa,
    This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter,
    Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now,
    This ornament
    Makes me look dismal will I clip to form;
    And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd,
    To grace thy marriage-day, I'll beautify.

THAISA    Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, sir,
    My father's dead.

PERICLES    Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my queen,
    We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves
    Will in that kingdom spend our following days:
    Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign.
    Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay
    To hear the rest untold: sir, lead's the way.

    [Exeunt]

    [Enter GOWER]

GOWER    In Antiochus and his daughter you have heard
    Of monstrous lust the due and just reward:
    In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen,
    Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen,
    Virtue preserved from fell destruction's blast,
    Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last:
    In Helicanus may you well descry
    A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty:
    In reverend Cerimon there well appears
    The worth that learned charity aye wears:
    For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame
    Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name
    Of Pericles, to rage the city turn,
    That him and his they in his palace burn;
    The gods for murder seemed so content
    To punish them; although not done, but meant.
    So, on your patience evermore attending,
    New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending.

    [Exit]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


LEONTES    king of Sicilia.

MAMILLIUS    young prince of Sicilia.


CAMILLO    |
    |
ANTIGONUS    |
    |  Four Lords of Sicilia.
CLEOMENES    |
    |
DION    |


POLIXENES    King of Bohemia.

FLORIZEL    Prince of Bohemia.

ARCHIDAMUS    a Lord of Bohemia.

Old Shepherd    reputed father of Perdita. (Shepherd:)

Clown    his son.

AUTOLYCUS    a rogue.

    A Mariner. (Mariner:)

    A Gaoler.  (Gaoler:)

HERMIONE    queen to Leontes.

PERDITA    daughter to Leontes and Hermione.

PAULINA    wife to Antigonus.

EMILIA    a lady attending on Hermione,


MOPSA    |
    |  Shepherdesses.
DORCAS    |


    Other Lords and Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers,
    and Servants, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses.
    (First Lord:)
    (Gentleman:)
    (First Gentleman:)
    (Second Gentleman:)
    (Third Gentleman:)
    (First Lady:)
    (Second Lady:)
    (Officer:)
    (Servant:)
    (First Servant:)
    (Second Servant:)

Time    as Chorus.


SCENE    Sicilia, and Bohemia.




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT I



SCENE I    Antechamber in LEONTES' palace.



    [Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS]

ARCHIDAMUS    If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on
    the like occasion whereon my services are now on
    foot, you shall see, as I have said, great
    difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.

CAMILLO    I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia
    means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.

ARCHIDAMUS    Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be
    justified in our loves; for indeed--

CAMILLO    Beseech you,--

ARCHIDAMUS    Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge:
    we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know
    not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks,
    that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience,
    may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse
    us.

CAMILLO    You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely.

ARCHIDAMUS    Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me
    and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.

CAMILLO    Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.
    They were trained together in their childhoods; and
    there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,
    which cannot choose but branch now. Since their
    more mature dignities and royal necessities made
    separation of their society, their encounters,
    though not personal, have been royally attorneyed
    with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
    embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
    though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and
    embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
    winds. The heavens continue their loves!

ARCHIDAMUS    I think there is not in the world either malice or
    matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable
    comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a
    gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came
    into my note.

CAMILLO    I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it
    is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the
    subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on
    crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to
    see him a man.

ARCHIDAMUS    Would they else be content to die?

CAMILLO    Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should
    desire to live.

ARCHIDAMUS    If the king had no son, they would desire to live
    on crutches till he had one.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT I



SCENE II    A room of state in the same.



    [Enter LEONTES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS,
    POLIXENES, CAMILLO, and Attendants]

POLIXENES    Nine changes of the watery star hath been
    The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
    Without a burthen: time as long again
    Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks;
    And yet we should, for perpetuity,
    Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher,
    Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
    With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
    That go before it.

LEONTES                      Stay your thanks a while;
    And pay them when you part.

POLIXENES    Sir, that's to-morrow.
    I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance
    Or breed upon our absence; that may blow
    No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
    'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd
    To tire your royalty.

LEONTES    We are tougher, brother,
    Than you can put us to't.

POLIXENES    No longer stay.

LEONTES    One seven-night longer.

POLIXENES    Very sooth, to-morrow.

LEONTES    We'll part the time between's then; and in that
    I'll no gainsaying.

POLIXENES    Press me not, beseech you, so.
    There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,
    So soon as yours could win me: so it should now,
    Were there necessity in your request, although
    'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
    Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder
    Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
    To you a charge and trouble: to save both,
    Farewell, our brother.

LEONTES    Tongue-tied, our queen?
    speak you.

HERMIONE    I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until
    You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir,
    Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure
    All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction
    The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him,
    He's beat from his best ward.

LEONTES    Well said, Hermione.

HERMIONE    To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:
    But let him say so then, and let him go;
    But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,
    We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
    Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure
    The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
    You take my lord, I'll give him my commission
    To let him there a month behind the gest
    Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes,
    I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind
    What lady-she her lord. You'll stay?

POLIXENES    No, madam.

HERMIONE    Nay, but you will?

POLIXENES                      I may not, verily.

HERMIONE    Verily!
    You put me off with limber vows; but I,
    Though you would seek to unsphere the
    stars with oaths,
    Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily,
    You shall not go: a lady's 'Verily' 's
    As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?
    Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
    Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees
    When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
    My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,'
    One of them you shall be.

POLIXENES    Your guest, then, madam:
    To be your prisoner should import offending;
    Which is for me less easy to commit
    Than you to punish.

HERMIONE    Not your gaoler, then,
    But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
    Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys:
    You were pretty lordings then?

POLIXENES    We were, fair queen,
    Two lads that thought there was no more behind
    But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
    And to be boy eternal.

HERMIONE    Was not my lord
    The verier wag o' the two?

POLIXENES    We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun,
    And bleat the one at the other: what we changed
    Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
    The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
    That any did. Had we pursued that life,
    And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
    With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
    Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd
    Hereditary ours.

HERMIONE                      By this we gather
    You have tripp'd since.

POLIXENES    O my most sacred lady!
    Temptations have since then been born to's; for
    In those unfledged days was my wife a girl;
    Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
    Of my young play-fellow.

HERMIONE    Grace to boot!
    Of this make no conclusion, lest you say
    Your queen and I are devils: yet go on;
    The offences we have made you do we'll answer,
    If you first sinn'd with us and that with us
    You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not
    With any but with us.

LEONTES    Is he won yet?

HERMIONE    He'll stay my lord.

LEONTES    At my request he would not.
    Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest
    To better purpose.

HERMIONE                                     Never?

LEONTES    Never, but once.

HERMIONE    What! have I twice said well? when was't before?
    I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
    As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless
    Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.
    Our praises are our wages: you may ride's
    With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
    With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal:
    My last good deed was to entreat his stay:
    What was my first? it has an elder sister,
    Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!
    But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?
    Nay, let me have't; I long.

LEONTES    Why, that was when
    Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
    Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
    And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter
    'I am yours for ever.'

HERMIONE    'Tis grace indeed.
    Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:
    The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
    The other for some while a friend.

LEONTES    [Aside]    Too hot, too hot!
    To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
    I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;
    But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment
    May a free face put on, derive a liberty
    From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
    And well become the agent; 't may, I grant;
    But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
    As now they are, and making practised smiles,
    As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere
    The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment
    My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
    Art thou my boy?

MAMILLIUS                               Ay, my good lord.

LEONTES    I' fecks!
    Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast
    smutch'd thy nose?
    They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
    We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain:
    And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf
    Are all call'd neat.--Still virginalling
    Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf!
    Art thou my calf?

MAMILLIUS                      Yes, if you will, my lord.

LEONTES    Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have,
    To be full like me: yet they say we are
    Almost as like as eggs; women say so,
    That will say anything but were they false
    As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false
    As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
    No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true
    To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
    Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain!
    Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?--may't be?--
    Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:
    Thou dost make possible things not so held,
    Communicatest with dreams;--how can this be?--
    With what's unreal thou coactive art,
    And fellow'st nothing: then 'tis very credent
    Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost,
    And that beyond commission, and I find it,
    And that to the infection of my brains
    And hardening of my brows.

POLIXENES    What means Sicilia?

HERMIONE    He something seems unsettled.

POLIXENES    How, my lord!
    What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?

HERMIONE    You look as if you held a brow of much distraction
    Are you moved, my lord?

LEONTES    No, in good earnest.
    How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
    Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
    To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
    Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil
    Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd,
    In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled,
    Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,
    As ornaments oft do, too dangerous:
    How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
    This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
    Will you take eggs for money?

MAMILLIUS    No, my lord, I'll fight.

LEONTES    You will! why, happy man be's dole! My brother,
    Are you so fond of your young prince as we
    Do seem to be of ours?

POLIXENES    If at home, sir,
    He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter,
    Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy,
    My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:
    He makes a July's day short as December,
    And with his varying childness cures in me
    Thoughts that would thick my blood.

LEONTES    So stands this squire
    Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord,
    And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
    How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome;
    Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:
    Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
    Apparent to my heart.

HERMIONE    If you would seek us,
    We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there?

LEONTES    To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,
    Be you beneath the sky.

    [Aside]

          I am angling now,
    Though you perceive me not how I give line.
    Go to, go to!
    How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!
    And arms her with the boldness of a wife
    To her allowing husband!

    [Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and Attendants]

           Gone already!
    Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and
    ears a fork'd one!
    Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I
    Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue
    Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour
    Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play.
    There have been,
    Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;
    And many a man there is, even at this present,
    Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
    That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence
    And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
    Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't
    Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
    As mine, against their will. Should all despair
    That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
    Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none;
    It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
    Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,
    From east, west, north and south: be it concluded,
    No barricado for a belly; know't;
    It will let in and out the enemy
    With bag and baggage: many thousand on's
    Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy!

MAMILLIUS    I am like you, they say.

LEONTES    Why that's some comfort. What, Camillo there?

CAMILLO    Ay, my good lord.

LEONTES    Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.

    [Exit MAMILLIUS]

    Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

CAMILLO    You had much ado to make his anchor hold:
    When you cast out, it still came home.

LEONTES    Didst note it?

CAMILLO    He would not stay at your petitions: made
    His business more material.

LEONTES    Didst perceive it?

    [Aside]

    They're here with me already, whispering, rounding
    'Sicilia is a so-forth:' 'tis far gone,
    When I shall gust it last. How came't, Camillo,
    That he did stay?

CAMILLO                      At the good queen's entreaty.

LEONTES    At the queen's be't: 'good' should be pertinent
    But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken
    By any understanding pate but thine?
    For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
    More than the common blocks: not noted, is't,
    But of the finer natures? by some severals
    Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes
    Perchance are to this business purblind? say.

CAMILLO    Business, my lord! I think most understand
    Bohemia stays here longer.

LEONTES    Ha!

CAMILLO    Stays here longer.

LEONTES    Ay, but why?

CAMILLO    To satisfy your highness and the entreaties
    Of our most gracious mistress.

LEONTES    Satisfy!
    The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy!
    Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
    With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
    My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou
    Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed
    Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been
    Deceived in thy integrity, deceived
    In that which seems so.

CAMILLO    Be it forbid, my lord!

LEONTES    To bide upon't, thou art not honest, or,
    If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward,
    Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
    From course required; or else thou must be counted
    A servant grafted in my serious trust
    And therein negligent; or else a fool
    That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
    And takest it all for jest.

CAMILLO    My gracious lord,
    I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;
    In every one of these no man is free,
    But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
    Among the infinite doings of the world,
    Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
    If ever I were wilful-negligent,
    It was my folly; if industriously
    I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
    Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
    To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
    Where of the execution did cry out
    Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
    Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,
    Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
    Is never free of. But, beseech your grace,
    Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
    By its own visage: if I then deny it,
    'Tis none of mine.

LEONTES                      Ha' not you seen, Camillo,--
    But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass
    Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,--or heard,--
    For to a vision so apparent rumour
    Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation
    Resides not in that man that does not think,--
    My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
    Or else be impudently negative,
    To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say
    My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
    As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
    Before her troth-plight: say't and justify't.

CAMILLO    I would not be a stander-by to hear
    My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
    My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart,
    You never spoke what did become you less
    Than this; which to reiterate were sin
    As deep as that, though true.

LEONTES    Is whispering nothing?
    Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
    Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
    Of laughing with a sigh?--a note infallible
    Of breaking honesty--horsing foot on foot?
    Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
    Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes
    Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
    That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
    Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;
    The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
    My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
    If this be nothing.

CAMILLO    Good my lord, be cured
    Of this diseased opinion, and betimes;
    For 'tis most dangerous.

LEONTES    Say it be, 'tis true.

CAMILLO    No, no, my lord.

LEONTES                      It is; you lie, you lie:
    I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,
    Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
    Or else a hovering temporizer, that
    Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
    Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
    Infected as her life, she would not live
    The running of one glass.

CAMILLO    Who does infect her?

LEONTES    Why, he that wears her like a medal, hanging
    About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I
    Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
    To see alike mine honour as their profits,
    Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
    Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou,
    His cupbearer,--whom I from meaner form
    Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see
    Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
    How I am galled,--mightst bespice a cup,
    To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
    Which draught to me were cordial.

CAMILLO    Sir, my lord,
    I could do this, and that with no rash potion,
    But with a lingering dram that should not work
    Maliciously like poison: but I cannot
    Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
    So sovereignly being honourable.
    I have loved thee,--

LEONTES    Make that thy question, and go rot!
    Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
    To appoint myself in this vexation, sully
    The purity and whiteness of my sheets,
    Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
    Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps,
    Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son,
    Who I do think is mine and love as mine,
    Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this?
    Could man so blench?

CAMILLO    I must believe you, sir:
    I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
    Provided that, when he's removed, your highness
    Will take again your queen as yours at first,
    Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
    The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
    Known and allied to yours.

LEONTES    Thou dost advise me
    Even so as I mine own course have set down:
    I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.

CAMILLO    My lord,
    Go then; and with a countenance as clear
    As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia
    And with your queen. I am his cupbearer:
    If from me he have wholesome beverage,
    Account me not your servant.

LEONTES    This is all:
    Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart;
    Do't not, thou split'st thine own.

CAMILLO    I'll do't, my lord.

LEONTES    I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me.

    [Exit]

CAMILLO    O miserable lady! But, for me,
    What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
    Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't
    Is the obedience to a master, one
    Who in rebellion with himself will have
    All that are his so too. To do this deed,
    Promotion follows. If I could find example
    Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
    And flourish'd after, I'ld not do't; but since
    Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one,
    Let villany itself forswear't. I must
    Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain
    To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!
    Here comes Bohemia.

    [Re-enter POLIXENES]

POLIXENES    This is strange: methinks
    My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
    Good day, Camillo.

CAMILLO                      Hail, most royal sir!

POLIXENES    What is the news i' the court?

CAMILLO    None rare, my lord.

POLIXENES    The king hath on him such a countenance
    As he had lost some province and a region
    Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him
    With customary compliment; when he,
    Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling
    A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and
    So leaves me to consider what is breeding
    That changeth thus his manners.

CAMILLO    I dare not know, my lord.

POLIXENES    How! dare not! do not. Do you know, and dare not?
    Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts;
    For, to yourself, what you do know, you must.
    And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
    Your changed complexions are to me a mirror
    Which shows me mine changed too; for I must be
    A party in this alteration, finding
    Myself thus alter'd with 't.

CAMILLO    There is a sickness
    Which puts some of us in distemper, but
    I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
    Of you that yet are well.

POLIXENES    How! caught of me!
    Make me not sighted like the basilisk:
    I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better
    By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,--
    As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto
    Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns
    Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
    In whose success we are gentle,--I beseech you,
    If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
    Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
    In ignorant concealment.

CAMILLO    I may not answer.

POLIXENES    A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!
    I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,
    I conjure thee, by all the parts of man
    Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
    Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
    What incidency thou dost guess of harm
    Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
    Which way to be prevented, if to be;
    If not, how best to bear it.

CAMILLO    Sir, I will tell you;
    Since I am charged in honour and by him
    That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel,
    Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as
    I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
    Cry lost, and so good night!

POLIXENES    On, good Camillo.

CAMILLO    I am appointed him to murder you.

POLIXENES    By whom, Camillo?

CAMILLO                            By the king.

POLIXENES    For what?

CAMILLO    He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
    As he had seen't or been an instrument
    To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
    Forbiddenly.

POLIXENES                      O, then my best blood turn
    To an infected jelly and my name
    Be yoked with his that did betray the Best!
    Turn then my freshest reputation to
    A savour that may strike the dullest nostril
    Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
    Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
    That e'er was heard or read!

CAMILLO    Swear his thought over
    By each particular star in heaven and
    By all their influences, you may as well
    Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
    As or by oath remove or counsel shake
    The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
    Is piled upon his faith and will continue
    The standing of his body.

POLIXENES    How should this grow?

CAMILLO    I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to
    Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.
    If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
    That lies enclosed in this trunk which you
    Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night!
    Your followers I will whisper to the business,
    And will by twos and threes at several posterns
    Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put
    My fortunes to your service, which are here
    By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;
    For, by the honour of my parents, I
    Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,
    I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
    Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon
    His execution sworn.

POLIXENES    I do believe thee:
    I saw his heart in 's face. Give me thy hand:
    Be pilot to me and thy places shall
    Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and
    My people did expect my hence departure
    Two days ago. This jealousy
    Is for a precious creature: as she's rare,
    Must it be great, and as his person's mighty,
    Must it be violent, and as he does conceive
    He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
    Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
    In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me:
    Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
    The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing
    Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
    I will respect thee as a father if
    Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid.

CAMILLO    It is in mine authority to command
    The keys of all the posterns: please your highness
    To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT II



SCENE I    A room in LEONTES' palace.


    [Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and Ladies]

HERMIONE    Take the boy to you: he so troubles me,
    'Tis past enduring.

First Lady    Come, my gracious lord,
    Shall I be your playfellow?

MAMILLIUS    No, I'll none of you.

First Lady    Why, my sweet lord?

MAMILLIUS    You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if
    I were a baby still. I love you better.

Second Lady    And why so, my lord?

MAMILLIUS    Not for because
    Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
    Become some women best, so that there be not
    Too much hair there, but in a semicircle
    Or a half-moon made with a pen.

Second Lady    Who taught you this?

MAMILLIUS    I learnt it out of women's faces. Pray now
    What colour are your eyebrows?

First Lady    Blue, my lord.

MAMILLIUS    Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose
    That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.

First Lady    Hark ye;
    The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall
    Present our services to a fine new prince
    One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us,
    If we would have you.

Second Lady    She is spread of late
    Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her!

HERMIONE    What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
    I am for you again: pray you, sit by us,
    And tell 's a tale.

MAMILLIUS    Merry or sad shall't be?

HERMIONE    As merry as you will.

MAMILLIUS    A sad tale's best for winter: I have one
    Of sprites and goblins.

HERMIONE    Let's have that, good sir.
    Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best
    To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it.

MAMILLIUS    There was a man--

HERMIONE                      Nay, come, sit down; then on.

MAMILLIUS    Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly;
    Yond crickets shall not hear it.

HERMIONE    Come on, then,
    And give't me in mine ear.

    [Enter LEONTES, with ANTIGONUS, Lords and others]

LEONTES    Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?

First Lord    Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
    Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them
    Even to their ships.

LEONTES    How blest am I
    In my just censure, in my true opinion!
    Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed
    In being so blest! There may be in the cup
    A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
    And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
    Is not infected: but if one present
    The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
    How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
    With violent hefts. I have drunk,
    and seen the spider.
    Camillo was his help in this, his pander:
    There is a plot against my life, my crown;
    All's true that is mistrusted: that false villain
    Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him:
    He has discover'd my design, and I
    Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
    For them to play at will. How came the posterns
    So easily open?

First Lord                      By his great authority;
    Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
    On your command.

LEONTES                              I know't too well.
    Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him:
    Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
    Have too much blood in him.

HERMIONE    What is this? sport?

LEONTES    Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her;
    Away with him! and let her sport herself
    With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes
    Has made thee swell thus.

HERMIONE    But I'ld say he had not,
    And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying,
    Howe'er you lean to the nayward.

LEONTES    You, my lords,
    Look on her, mark her well; be but about
    To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and
    The justice of your bearts will thereto add
    'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:'
    Praise her but for this her without-door form,
    Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight
    The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands
    That calumny doth use--O, I am out--
    That mercy does, for calumny will sear
    Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's,
    When you have said 'she's goodly,' come between
    Ere you can say 'she's honest:' but be 't known,
    From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
    She's an adulteress.

HERMIONE    Should a villain say so,
    The most replenish'd villain in the world,
    He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
    Do but mistake.

LEONTES                      You have mistook, my lady,
    Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing!
    Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
    Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
    Should a like language use to all degrees
    And mannerly distinguishment leave out
    Betwixt the prince and beggar: I have said
    She's an adulteress; I have said with whom:
    More, she's a traitor and Camillo is
    A federary with her, and one that knows
    What she should shame to know herself
    But with her most vile principal, that she's
    A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
    That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy
    To this their late escape.

HERMIONE    No, by my life.
    Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you,
    When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
    You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord,
    You scarce can right me throughly then to say
    You did mistake.

LEONTES                      No; if I mistake
    In those foundations which I build upon,
    The centre is not big enough to bear
    A school-boy's top. Away with her! to prison!
    He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
    But that he speaks.

HERMIONE    There's some ill planet reigns:
    I must be patient till the heavens look
    With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,
    I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
    Commonly are; the want of which vain dew
    Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have
    That honourable grief lodged here which burns
    Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords,
    With thoughts so qualified as your charities
    Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
    The king's will be perform'd!

LEONTES    Shall I be heard?

HERMIONE    Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness,
    My women may be with me; for you see
    My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
    There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress
    Has deserved prison, then abound in tears
    As I come out: this action I now go on
    Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord:
    I never wish'd to see you sorry; now
    I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.

LEONTES    Go, do our bidding; hence!

    [Exit HERMIONE, guarded; with Ladies]

First Lord    Beseech your highness, call the queen again.

ANTIGONUS    Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice
    Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer,
    Yourself, your queen, your son.

First Lord    For her, my lord,
    I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir,
    Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless
    I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean,
    In this which you accuse her.

ANTIGONUS    If it prove
    She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
    I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;
    Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;
    For every inch of woman in the world,
    Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be.

LEONTES             Hold your peaces.

First Lord    Good my lord,--

ANTIGONUS    It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
    You are abused and by some putter-on
    That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain,
    I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd,
    I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven
    The second and the third, nine, and some five;
    If this prove true, they'll pay for't:
    by mine honour,
    I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see,
    To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;
    And I had rather glib myself than they
    Should not produce fair issue.

LEONTES    Cease; no more.
    You smell this business with a sense as cold
    As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't and feel't
    As you feel doing thus; and see withal
    The instruments that feel.

ANTIGONUS    If it be so,
    We need no grave to bury honesty:
    There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
    Of the whole dungy earth.

LEONTES    What! lack I credit?

First Lord    I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
    Upon this ground; and more it would content me
    To have her honour true than your suspicion,
    Be blamed for't how you might.

LEONTES    Why, what need we
    Commune with you of this, but rather follow
    Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
    Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness
    Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied
    Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not
    Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
    We need no more of your advice: the matter,
    The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
    Properly ours.

ANTIGONUS                      And I wish, my liege,
    You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
    Without more overture.

LEONTES    How could that be?
    Either thou art most ignorant by age,
    Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
    Added to their familiarity,
    Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
    That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
    But only seeing, all other circumstances
    Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding:
    Yet, for a greater confirmation,
    For in an act of this importance 'twere
    Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post
    To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
    Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
    Of stuff'd sufficiency: now from the oracle
    They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,
    Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well?

First Lord    Well done, my lord.

LEONTES    Though I am satisfied and need no more
    Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
    Give rest to the minds of others, such as he
    Whose ignorant credulity will not
    Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good
    From our free person she should be confined,
    Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence
    Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;
    We are to speak in public; for this business
    Will raise us all.

ANTIGONUS    [Aside]

    To laughter, as I take it,
    If the good truth were known.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT II



SCENE II    A prison.


    [Enter PAULINA, a Gentleman, and Attendants]

PAULINA    The keeper of the prison, call to him;
    let him have knowledge who I am.

    [Exit Gentleman]

                       Good lady,
    No court in Europe is too good for thee;
    What dost thou then in prison?

    [Re-enter Gentleman, with the Gaoler]

                 Now, good sir,
    You know me, do you not?

Gaoler    For a worthy lady
    And one whom much I honour.

PAULINA    Pray you then,
    Conduct me to the queen.

Gaoler    I may not, madam:
    To the contrary I have express commandment.

PAULINA    Here's ado,
    To lock up honesty and honour from
    The access of gentle visitors!
    Is't lawful, pray you,
    To see her women? any of them? Emilia?

Gaoler    So please you, madam,
    To put apart these your attendants, I
    Shall bring Emilia forth.

PAULINA    I pray now, call her.
    Withdraw yourselves.

    [Exeunt Gentleman and Attendants]

Gaoler    And, madam,
    I must be present at your conference.

PAULINA    Well, be't so, prithee.

    [Exit Gaoler]

    Here's such ado to make no stain a stain
    As passes colouring.

    [Re-enter Gaoler, with EMILIA]

    Dear gentlewoman,
    How fares our gracious lady?

EMILIA    As well as one so great and so forlorn
    May hold together: on her frights and griefs,
    Which never tender lady hath born greater,
    She is something before her time deliver'd.

PAULINA    A boy?

EMILIA         A daughter, and a goodly babe,
    Lusty and like to live: the queen receives
    Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner,
    I am innocent as you.'

PAULINA    I dare be sworn
    These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king,
    beshrew them!
    He must be told on't, and he shall: the office
    Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me:
    If I prove honey-mouth'd let my tongue blister
    And never to my red-look'd anger be
    The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia,
    Commend my best obedience to the queen:
    If she dares trust me with her little babe,
    I'll show't the king and undertake to be
    Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know
    How he may soften at the sight o' the child:
    The silence often of pure innocence
    Persuades when speaking fails.

EMILIA    Most worthy madam,
    Your honour and your goodness is so evident
    That your free undertaking cannot miss
    A thriving issue: there is no lady living
    So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
    To visit the next room, I'll presently
    Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer;
    Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,
    But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
    Lest she should be denied.

PAULINA    Tell her, Emilia.
    I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from't
    As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted
    I shall do good.

EMILIA                      Now be you blest for it!
    I'll to the queen: please you,
    come something nearer.

Gaoler    Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe,
    I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
    Having no warrant.

PAULINA                      You need not fear it, sir:
    This child was prisoner to the womb and is
    By law and process of great nature thence
    Freed and enfranchised, not a party to
    The anger of the king nor guilty of,
    If any be, the trespass of the queen.

Gaoler    I do believe it.

PAULINA                      Do not you fear: upon mine honour,
    I will stand betwixt you and danger.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT II



SCENE III    A room in LEONTES' palace.


    [Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and Servants]

LEONTES    Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness
    To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If
    The cause were not in being,--part o' the cause,
    She the adulteress; for the harlot king
    Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
    And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she
    I can hook to me: say that she were gone,
    Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
    Might come to me again. Who's there?

First Servant    My lord?

LEONTES    How does the boy?

First Servant                      He took good rest to-night;
    'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged.

LEONTES    To see his nobleness!
    Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
    He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply,
    Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,
    Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
    And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: go,
    See how he fares.

    [Exit Servant]

    Fie, fie! no thought of him:
    The thought of my revenges that way
    Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty,
    And in his parties, his alliance; let him be
    Until a time may serve: for present vengeance,
    Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
    Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow:
    They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor
    Shall she within my power.

    [Enter PAULINA, with a child]

First Lord    You must not enter.

PAULINA    Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:
    Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
    Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul,
    More free than he is jealous.

ANTIGONUS    That's enough.

Second Servant    Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded
    None should come at him.

PAULINA    Not so hot, good sir:
    I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,
    That creep like shadows by him and do sigh
    At each his needless heavings, such as you
    Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
    Do come with words as medicinal as true,
    Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
    That presses him from sleep.

LEONTES    What noise there, ho?

PAULINA    No noise, my lord; but needful conference
    About some gossips for your highness.

LEONTES    How!
    Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus,
    I charged thee that she should not come about me:
    I knew she would.

ANTIGONUS                      I told her so, my lord,
    On your displeasure's peril and on mine,
    She should not visit you.

LEONTES    What, canst not rule her?

PAULINA    From all dishonesty he can: in this,
    Unless he take the course that you have done,
    Commit me for committing honour, trust it,
    He shall not rule me.

ANTIGONUS    La you now, you hear:
    When she will take the rein I let her run;
    But she'll not stumble.

PAULINA    Good my liege, I come;
    And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess
    Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
    Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare
    Less appear so in comforting your evils,
    Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come
    From your good queen.

LEONTES    Good queen!

PAULINA    Good queen, my lord,
    Good queen; I say good queen;
    And would by combat make her good, so were I
    A man, the worst about you.

LEONTES    Force her hence.

PAULINA    Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes
    First hand me: on mine own accord I'll off;
    But first I'll do my errand. The good queen,
    For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
    Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.

    [Laying down the child]

LEONTES    Out!
    A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door:
    A most intelligencing bawd!

PAULINA    Not so:
    I am as ignorant in that as you
    In so entitling me, and no less honest
    Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
    As this world goes, to pass for honest.

LEONTES    Traitors!
    Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.
    Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted
    By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard;
    Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone.

PAULINA    For ever
    Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
    Takest up the princess by that forced baseness
    Which he has put upon't!

LEONTES    He dreads his wife.

PAULINA    So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt
    You'ld call your children yours.

LEONTES    A nest of traitors!

ANTIGONUS    I am none, by this good light.

PAULINA    Nor I, nor any
    But one that's here, and that's himself, for he
    The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,
    His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
    Whose sting is sharper than the sword's;
    and will not--
    For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
    He cannot be compell'd to't--once remove
    The root of his opinion, which is rotten
    As ever oak or stone was sound.

LEONTES    A callat
    Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband
    And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;
    It is the issue of Polixenes:
    Hence with it, and together with the dam
    Commit them to the fire!

PAULINA    It is yours;
    And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
    So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
    Although the print be little, the whole matter
    And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip,
    The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,
    The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek,
    His smiles,
    The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:
    And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it
    So like to him that got it, if thou hast
    The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
    No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,
    Her children not her husband's!

LEONTES    A gross hag
    And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
    That wilt not stay her tongue.

ANTIGONUS    Hang all the husbands
    That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
    Hardly one subject.

LEONTES    Once more, take her hence.

PAULINA    A most unworthy and unnatural lord
    Can do no more.

LEONTES                      I'll ha' thee burnt.

PAULINA    I care not:
    It is an heretic that makes the fire,
    Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant;
    But this most cruel usage of your queen,
    Not able to produce more accusation
    Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours
    Of tyranny and will ignoble make you,
    Yea, scandalous to the world.

LEONTES    On your allegiance,
    Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,
    Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
    If she did know me one. Away with her!

PAULINA    I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
    Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours:
    Jove send her
    A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
    You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
    Will never do him good, not one of you.
    So, so: farewell; we are gone.

    [Exit]

LEONTES    Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
    My child? away with't! Even thou, that hast
    A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence
    And see it instantly consumed with fire;
    Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight:
    Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
    And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
    With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse
    And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
    The bastard brains with these my proper hands
    Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
    For thou set'st on thy wife.

ANTIGONUS    I did not, sir:
    These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
    Can clear me in't.

Lords                      We can: my royal liege,
    He is not guilty of her coming hither.

LEONTES    You're liars all.

First Lord    Beseech your highness, give us better credit:
    We have always truly served you, and beseech you
    So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg,
    As recompense of our dear services
    Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
    Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
    Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.

LEONTES    I am a feather for each wind that blows:
    Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel
    And call me father? better burn it now
    Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
    It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither;
    You that have been so tenderly officious
    With Lady Margery, your midwife there,
    To save this bastard's life,--for 'tis a bastard,
    So sure as this beard's grey,
    --what will you adventure
    To save this brat's life?

ANTIGONUS    Any thing, my lord,
    That my ability may undergo
    And nobleness impose: at least thus much:
    I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
    To save the innocent: any thing possible.

LEONTES    It shall be possible. Swear by this sword
    Thou wilt perform my bidding.

ANTIGONUS    I will, my lord.

LEONTES    Mark and perform it, see'st thou! for the fail
    Of any point in't shall not only be
    Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife,
    Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
    As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
    This female bastard hence and that thou bear it
    To some remote and desert place quite out
    Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it,
    Without more mercy, to its own protection
    And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
    It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
    On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
    That thou commend it strangely to some place
    Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.

ANTIGONUS    I swear to do this, though a present death
    Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:
    Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
    To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say
    Casting their savageness aside have done
    Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
    In more than this deed does require! And blessing
    Against this cruelty fight on thy side,
    Poor thing, condemn'd to loss!

    [Exit with the child]

LEONTES    No, I'll not rear
    Another's issue.

    [Enter a Servant]

Servant                      Please your highness, posts
    From those you sent to the oracle are come
    An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,
    Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed,
    Hasting to the court.

First Lord    So please you, sir, their speed
    Hath been beyond account.

LEONTES    Twenty-three days
    They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells
    The great Apollo suddenly will have
    The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
    Summon a session, that we may arraign
    Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath
    Been publicly accused, so shall she have
    A just and open trial. While she lives
    My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me,
    And think upon my bidding.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT III



SCENE I    A sea-port in Sicilia.



    [Enter CLEOMENES and DION]

CLEOMENES    The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
    Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
    The common praise it bears.

DION    I shall report,
    For most it caught me, the celestial habits,
    Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence
    Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
    How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly
    It was i' the offering!

CLEOMENES    But of all, the burst
    And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle,
    Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense.
    That I was nothing.

DION    If the event o' the journey
    Prove as successful to the queen,--O be't so!--
    As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
    The time is worth the use on't.

CLEOMENES    Great Apollo
    Turn all to the best! These proclamations,
    So forcing faults upon Hermione,
    I little like.

DION                      The violent carriage of it
    Will clear or end the business: when the oracle,
    Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,
    Shall the contents discover, something rare
    Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses!
    And gracious be the issue!

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT III



SCENE II    A court of Justice.


    [Enter LEONTES, Lords, and Officers]

LEONTES    This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
    Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the party tried
    The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
    Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd
    Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
    Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
    Even to the guilt or the purgation.
    Produce the prisoner.

Officer    It is his highness' pleasure that the queen
    Appear in person here in court. Silence!

    [Enter HERMIONE guarded;
    PAULINA and Ladies attending]

LEONTES    Read the indictment.

Officer    [Reads]            Hermione, queen to the worthy
    Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and
    arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery
    with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiring
    with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign
    lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence
    whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,
    thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance
    of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for
    their better safety, to fly away by night.

HERMIONE    Since what I am to say must be but that
    Which contradicts my accusation and
    The testimony on my part no other
    But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
    To say 'not guilty:' mine integrity
    Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
    Be so received. But thus: if powers divine
    Behold our human actions, as they do,
    I doubt not then but innocence shall make
    False accusation blush and tyranny
    Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,
    Who least will seem to do so, my past life
    Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
    As I am now unhappy; which is more
    Than history can pattern, though devised
    And play'd to take spectators. For behold me
    A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
    A moiety of the throne a great king's daughter,
    The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing
    To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore
    Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
    As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,
    'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
    And only that I stand for. I appeal
    To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
    Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
    How merited to be so; since he came,
    With what encounter so uncurrent I
    Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond
    The bound of honour, or in act or will
    That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts
    Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
    Cry fie upon my grave!

LEONTES    I ne'er heard yet
    That any of these bolder vices wanted
    Less impudence to gainsay what they did
    Than to perform it first.

HERMIONE    That's true enough;
    Through 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.

LEONTES    You will not own it.

HERMIONE    More than mistress of
    Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
    At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
    With whom I am accused, I do confess
    I loved him as in honour he required,
    With such a kind of love as might become
    A lady like me, with a love even such,
    So and no other, as yourself commanded:
    Which not to have done I think had been in me
    Both disobedience and ingratitude
    To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,
    Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely
    That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
    I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd
    For me to try how: all I know of it
    Is that Camillo was an honest man;
    And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
    Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.

LEONTES    You knew of his departure, as you know
    What you have underta'en to do in's absence.

HERMIONE    Sir,
    You speak a language that I understand not:
    My life stands in the level of your dreams,
    Which I'll lay down.

LEONTES    Your actions are my dreams;
    You had a bastard by Polixenes,
    And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame,--
    Those of your fact are so--so past all truth:
    Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
    Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
    No father owning it,--which is, indeed,
    More criminal in thee than it,--so thou
    Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
    Look for no less than death.

HERMIONE    Sir, spare your threats:
    The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
    To me can life be no commodity:
    The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
    I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,
    But know not how it went. My second joy
    And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
    I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort
    Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,
    The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
    Haled out to murder: myself on every post
    Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred
    The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
    To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
    Here to this place, i' the open air, before
    I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
    Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
    That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.
    But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life,
    I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,
    Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd
    Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
    But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
    'Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all,
    I do refer me to the oracle:
    Apollo be my judge!

First Lord    This your request
    Is altogether just: therefore bring forth,
    And in Apollos name, his oracle.

    [Exeunt certain Officers]

HERMIONE    The Emperor of Russia was my father:
    O that he were alive, and here beholding
    His daughter's trial! that he did but see
    The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes
    Of pity, not revenge!

    [Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION]

Officer    You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,
    That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
    Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
    The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
    Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,
    You have not dared to break the holy seal
    Nor read the secrets in't.


CLEOMENES    |
    |    All this we swear.
DION    |


LEONTES    Break up the seals and read.

Officer    [Reads]    Hermione is chaste;
    Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes
    a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten;
    and the king shall live without an heir, if that
    which is lost be not found.

Lords    Now blessed be the great Apollo!

HERMIONE    Praised!

LEONTES    Hast thou read truth?

Officer    Ay, my lord; even so
    As it is here set down.

LEONTES    There is no truth at all i' the oracle:
    The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.

    [Enter Servant]

Servant    My lord the king, the king!

LEONTES    What is the business?

Servant    O sir, I shall be hated to report it!
    The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
    Of the queen's speed, is gone.

LEONTES    How! gone!

Servant    Is dead.

LEONTES    Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
    Do strike at my injustice.

    [HERMIONE swoons]

             How now there!

PAULINA    This news is mortal to the queen: look down
    And see what death is doing.

LEONTES    Take her hence:
    Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover:
    I have too much believed mine own suspicion:
    Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
    Some remedies for life.

    [Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERMIONE]

          Apollo, pardon
    My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!
    I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
    New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
    Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
    For, being transported by my jealousies
    To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
    Camillo for the minister to poison
    My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
    But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
    My swift command, though I with death and with
    Reward did threaten and encourage him,
    Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane
    And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
    Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here,
    Which you knew great, and to the hazard
    Of all encertainties himself commended,
    No richer than his honour: how he glisters
    Thorough my rust! and how his pity
    Does my deeds make the blacker!

    [Re-enter PAULINA]

PAULINA    Woe the while!
    O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
    Break too.

First Lord              What fit is this, good lady?

PAULINA    What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
    What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling?
    In leads or oils? what old or newer torture
    Must I receive, whose every word deserves
    To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
    Together working with thy jealousies,
    Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
    For girls of nine, O, think what they have done
    And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all
    Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
    That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing;
    That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant
    And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,
    Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,
    To have him kill a king: poor trespasses,
    More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon
    The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter
    To be or none or little; though a devil
    Would have shed water out of fire ere done't:
    Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
    Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts,
    Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart
    That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
    Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,
    Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords,
    When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen,
    The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead,
    and vengeance for't
    Not dropp'd down yet.

First Lord    The higher powers forbid!

PAULINA    I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath
    Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
    Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
    Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you
    As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant!
    Do not repent these things, for they are heavier
    Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee
    To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
    Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
    Upon a barren mountain and still winter
    In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
    To look that way thou wert.

LEONTES    Go on, go on
    Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved
    All tongues to talk their bitterest.

First Lord    Say no more:
    Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
    I' the boldness of your speech.

PAULINA    I am sorry for't:
    All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
    I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much
    The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd
    To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help
    Should be past grief: do not receive affliction
    At my petition; I beseech you, rather
    Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
    Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege
    Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:
    The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!--
    I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
    I'll not remember you of my own lord,
    Who is lost too: take your patience to you,
    And I'll say nothing.

LEONTES    Thou didst speak but well
    When most the truth; which I receive much better
    Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me
    To the dead bodies of my queen and son:
    One grave shall be for both: upon them shall
    The causes of their death appear, unto
    Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
    The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there
    Shall be my recreation: so long as nature
    Will bear up with this exercise, so long
    I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me
    Unto these sorrows.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT III



SCENE III    Bohemia. A desert country near the sea.


    [Enter ANTIGONUS with a Child, and a Mariner]

ANTIGONUS    Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon
    The deserts of Bohemia?

Mariner    Ay, my lord: and fear
    We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly
    And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
    The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
    And frown upon 's.

ANTIGONUS    Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
    Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before
    I call upon thee.

Mariner    Make your best haste, and go not
    Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;
    Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
    Of prey that keep upon't.

ANTIGONUS    Go thou away:
    I'll follow instantly.

Mariner    I am glad at heart
    To be so rid o' the business.

    [Exit]

ANTIGONUS    Come, poor babe:
    I have heard, but not believed,
    the spirits o' the dead
    May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
    Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream
    So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
    Sometimes her head on one side, some another;
    I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
    So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes,
    Like very sanctity, she did approach
    My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me,
    And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
    Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon
    Did this break-from her: 'Good Antigonus,
    Since fate, against thy better disposition,
    Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
    Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
    Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
    There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe
    Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
    I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business
    Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
    Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, with shrieks
    She melted into air. Affrighted much,
    I did in time collect myself and thought
    This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys:
    Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,
    I will be squared by this. I do believe
    Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
    Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
    Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
    Either for life or death, upon the earth
    Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
    There lie, and there thy character: there these;
    Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
    And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch,
    That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed
    To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
    But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I
    To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
    The day frowns more and more: thou'rt like to have
    A lullaby too rough: I never saw
    The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!
    Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:
    I am gone for ever.

    [Exit, pursued by a bear]

    [Enter a Shepherd]

Shepherd    I would there were no age between sixteen and
    three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the
    rest; for there is nothing in the between but
    getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,
    stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but
    these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty
    hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my
    best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find
    than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by
    the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy
    will what have we here! Mercy on 's, a barne a very
    pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A
    pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some 'scape:
    though I am not bookish, yet I can read
    waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has been
    some stair-work, some trunk-work, some
    behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this
    than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for
    pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hallooed
    but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!

    [Enter Clown]

Clown    Hilloa, loa!

Shepherd    What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk
    on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What
    ailest thou, man?

Clown    I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land!
    but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the
    sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust
    a bodkin's point.

Shepherd    Why, boy, how is it?

Clown    I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages,
    how it takes up the shore! but that's not the
    point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls!
    sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the
    ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon
    swallowed with yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a
    cork into a hogshead. And then for the
    land-service, to see how the bear tore out his
    shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said
    his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an
    end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned
    it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the
    sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared
    and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than
    the sea or weather.

Shepherd    Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

Clown    Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these
    sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor
    the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it
    now.

Shepherd    Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!

Clown    I would you had been by the ship side, to have
    helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.

Shepherd    Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here,
    boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things
    dying, I with things newborn. Here's a sight for
    thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's
    child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy;
    open't. So, let's see: it was told me I should be
    rich by the fairies. This is some changeling:
    open't. What's within, boy?

Clown    You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth
    are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!

Shepherd    This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up
    with't, keep it close: home, home, the next way.
    We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires
    nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good
    boy, the next way home.

Clown    Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see
    if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much
    he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they
    are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury
    it.

Shepherd    That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that
    which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the
    sight of him.

Clown    Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground.

Shepherd    'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE I:


    [Enter Time, the Chorus]

Time    I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
    Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,
    Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
    To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
    To me or my swift passage, that I slide
    O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried
    Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
    To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour
    To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
    The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
    Or what is now received: I witness to
    The times that brought them in; so shall I do
    To the freshest things now reigning and make stale
    The glistering of this present, as my tale
    Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
    I turn my glass and give my scene such growing
    As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,
    The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
    That he shuts up himself, imagine me,
    Gentle spectators, that I now may be
    In fair Bohemia, and remember well,
    I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel
    I now name to you; and with speed so pace
    To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
    Equal with wondering: what of her ensues
    I list not prophecy; but let Time's news
    Be known when 'tis brought forth.
    A shepherd's daughter,
    And what to her adheres, which follows after,
    Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,
    If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
    If never, yet that Time himself doth say
    He wishes earnestly you never may.

    [Exit]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE II    Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES.


    [Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO]

POLIXENES    I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:
    'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to
    grant this.

CAMILLO    It is fifteen years since I saw my country: though
    I have for the most part been aired abroad, I
    desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent
    king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling
    sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to
    think so, which is another spur to my departure.

POLIXENES    As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of
    thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of
    thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to
    have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having
    made me businesses which none without thee can
    sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute
    them thyself or take away with thee the very
    services thou hast done; which if I have not enough
    considered, as too much I cannot, to be more
    thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit
    therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal
    country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very
    naming punishes me with the remembrance of that
    penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king,
    my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen
    and children are even now to be afresh lamented.
    Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my
    son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not
    being gracious, than they are in losing them when
    they have approved their virtues.

CAMILLO    Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What
    his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I
    have missingly noted, he is of late much retired
    from court and is less frequent to his princely
    exercises than formerly he hath appeared.

POLIXENES    I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some
    care; so far that I have eyes under my service which
    look upon his removedness; from whom I have this
    intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a
    most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from
    very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
    neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.

CAMILLO    I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a
    daughter of most rare note: the report of her is
    extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.

POLIXENES    That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I
    fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou
    shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not
    appearing what we are, have some question with the
    shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not
    uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither.
    Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and
    lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

CAMILLO    I willingly obey your command.

POLIXENES    My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE III    A road near the Shepherd's cottage.


    [Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing]

AUTOLYCUS    When daffodils begin to peer,
    With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
    Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year;
    For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

    The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
    With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
    Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
    For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

    The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
    With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
    Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
    While we lie tumbling in the hay.

    I have served Prince Florizel and in my time
    wore three-pile; but now I am out of service:

    But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
    The pale moon shines by night:
    And when I wander here and there,
    I then do most go right.

    If tinkers may have leave to live,
    And bear the sow-skin budget,
    Then my account I well may, give,
    And in the stocks avouch it.

    My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to
    lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who
    being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise
    a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and
    drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is
    the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful
    on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to
    me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought
    of it. A prize! a prize!

    [Enter Clown]

Clown    Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod
    yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred
    shorn. what comes the wool to?

AUTOLYCUS    [Aside]

    If the springe hold, the cock's mine.

Clown    I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am
    I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound
    of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will
    this sister of mine do with rice? But my father
    hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it
    on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for
    the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good
    ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but
    one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to
    horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden
    pies; mace; dates?--none, that's out of my note;
    nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I
    may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of
    raisins o' the sun.

AUTOLYCUS    O that ever I was born!

    [Grovelling on the ground]

Clown    I' the name of me--

AUTOLYCUS    O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and
    then, death, death!

Clown    Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay
    on thee, rather than have these off.

AUTOLYCUS    O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more
    than the stripes I have received, which are mighty
    ones and millions.

Clown    Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a
    great matter.

AUTOLYCUS    I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel
    ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon
    me.

Clown    What, by a horseman, or a footman?

AUTOLYCUS    A footman, sweet sir, a footman.

Clown    Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he
    has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat,
    it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand,
    I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.

AUTOLYCUS    O, good sir, tenderly, O!

Clown    Alas, poor soul!

AUTOLYCUS    O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my
    shoulder-blade is out.

Clown    How now! canst stand?

AUTOLYCUS    [Picking his pocket]

    Softly, dear sir; good sir, softly. You ha' done me
    a charitable office.

Clown    Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.

AUTOLYCUS    No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have
    a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence,
    unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or
    any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you;
    that kills my heart.

Clown    What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?

AUTOLYCUS    A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with
    troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the
    prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his
    virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court.

Clown    His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped
    out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay
    there; and yet it will no more but abide.

AUTOLYCUS    Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he
    hath been since an ape-bearer; then a
    process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a
    motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
    wife within a mile where my land and living lies;
    and, having flown over many knavish professions, he
    settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.

Clown    Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts
    wakes, fairs and bear-baitings.

AUTOLYCUS    Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that
    put me into this apparel.

Clown    Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had
    but looked big and spit at him, he'ld have run.

AUTOLYCUS    I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am
    false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant
    him.

Clown    How do you now?

AUTOLYCUS    Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and
    walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace
    softly towards my kinsman's.

Clown    Shall I bring thee on the way?

AUTOLYCUS    No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.

Clown    Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our
    sheep-shearing.

AUTOLYCUS    Prosper you, sweet sir!

    [Exit Clown]

    Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice.
    I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I
    make not this cheat bring out another and the
    shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name
    put in the book of virtue!

    [Sings]

    Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
    And merrily hent the stile-a:
    A merry heart goes all the day,
    Your sad tires in a mile-a.

    [Exit]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT IV



SCENE IV    The Shepherd's cottage.


    [Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA]

FLORIZEL    These your unusual weeds to each part of you
    Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora
    Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
    Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
    And you the queen on't.

PERDITA    Sir, my gracious lord,
    To chide at your extremes it not becomes me:
    O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self,
    The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured
    With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid,
    Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts
    In every mess have folly and the feeders
    Digest it with a custom, I should blush
    To see you so attired, sworn, I think,
    To show myself a glass.

FLORIZEL    I bless the time
    When my good falcon made her flight across
    Thy father's ground.

PERDITA    Now Jove afford you cause!
    To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
    Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble
    To think your father, by some accident,
    Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates!
    How would he look, to see his work so noble
    Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
    Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
    The sternness of his presence?

FLORIZEL    Apprehend
    Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
    Humbling their deities to love, have taken
    The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
    Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
    A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god,
    Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
    As I seem now. Their transformations
    Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
    Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires
    Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
    Burn hotter than my faith.

PERDITA    O, but, sir,
    Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
    Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king:
    One of these two must be necessities,
    Which then will speak, that you must
    change this purpose,
    Or I my life.

FLORIZEL                      Thou dearest Perdita,
    With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not
    The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,
    Or not my father's. For I cannot be
    Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
    I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
    Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
    Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
    That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
    Lift up your countenance, as it were the day
    Of celebration of that nuptial which
    We two have sworn shall come.

PERDITA    O lady Fortune,
    Stand you auspicious!

FLORIZEL    See, your guests approach:
    Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
    And let's be red with mirth.

    [Enter Shepherd, Clown, MOPSA, DORCAS, and
    others, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO disguised]

Shepherd    Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon
    This day she was both pantler, butler, cook,
    Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all;
    Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here,
    At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle;
    On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire
    With labour and the thing she took to quench it,
    She would to each one sip. You are retired,
    As if you were a feasted one and not
    The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid
    These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is
    A way to make us better friends, more known.
    Come, quench your blushes and present yourself
    That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on,
    And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
    As your good flock shall prosper.

PERDITA    [To POLIXENES]                  Sir, welcome:
    It is my father's will I should take on me
    The hostess-ship o' the day.

    [To CAMILLO]

               You're welcome, sir.
    Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs,
    For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
    Seeming and savour all the winter long:
    Grace and remembrance be to you both,
    And welcome to our shearing!

POLIXENES    Shepherdess,
    A fair one are you--well you fit our ages
    With flowers of winter.

PERDITA    Sir, the year growing ancient,
    Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
    Of trembling winter, the fairest
    flowers o' the season
    Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
    Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
    Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
    To get slips of them.

POLIXENES    Wherefore, gentle maiden,
    Do you neglect them?

PERDITA    For I have heard it said
    There is an art which in their piedness shares
    With great creating nature.

POLIXENES    Say there be;
    Yet nature is made better by no mean
    But nature makes that mean: so, over that art
    Which you say adds to nature, is an art
    That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
    A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
    And make conceive a bark of baser kind
    By bud of nobler race: this is an art
    Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
    The art itself is nature.

PERDITA    So it is.

POLIXENES    Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
    And do not call them bastards.

PERDITA    I'll not put
    The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;
    No more than were I painted I would wish
    This youth should say 'twere well and only therefore
    Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you;
    Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram;
    The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun
    And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
    Of middle summer, and I think they are given
    To men of middle age. You're very welcome.

CAMILLO    I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
    And only live by gazing.

PERDITA    Out, alas!
    You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
    Would blow you through and through.
    Now, my fair'st friend,
    I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might
    Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
    That wear upon your virgin branches yet
    Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina,
    For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall
    From Dis's waggon! daffodils,
    That come before the swallow dares, and take
    The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
    But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
    Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses
    That die unmarried, ere they can behold
    Bight Phoebus in his strength--a malady
    Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and
    The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds,
    The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
    To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,
    To strew him o'er and o'er!

FLORIZEL    What, like a corse?

PERDITA    No, like a bank for love to lie and play on;
    Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried,
    But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers:
    Methinks I play as I have seen them do
    In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine
    Does change my disposition.

FLORIZEL    What you do
    Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet.
    I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing,
    I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms,
    Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
    To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you
    A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
    Nothing but that; move still, still so,
    And own no other function: each your doing,
    So singular in each particular,
    Crowns what you are doing in the present deed,
    That all your acts are queens.

PERDITA    O Doricles,
    Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
    And the true blood which peepeth fairly through't,
    Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
    With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
    You woo'd me the false way.

FLORIZEL    I think you have
    As little skill to fear as I have purpose
    To put you to't. But come; our dance, I pray:
    Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,
    That never mean to part.

PERDITA    I'll swear for 'em.

POLIXENES    This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
    Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems
    But smacks of something greater than herself,
    Too noble for this place.

CAMILLO    He tells her something
    That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is
    The queen of curds and cream.

Clown    Come on, strike up!

DORCAS    Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic,
    To mend her kissing with!

MOPSA    Now, in good time!

Clown    Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
    Come, strike up!

    [Music. Here a dance of Shepherds and
    Shepherdesses]

POLIXENES    Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
    Which dances with your daughter?

Shepherd    They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
    To have a worthy feeding: but I have it
    Upon his own report and I believe it;
    He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
    I think so too; for never gazed the moon
    Upon the water as he'll stand and read
    As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain.
    I think there is not half a kiss to choose
    Who loves another best.

POLIXENES    She dances featly.

Shepherd    So she does any thing; though I report it,
    That should be silent: if young Doricles
    Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
    Which he not dreams of.

    [Enter Servant]

Servant    O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the
    door, you would never dance again after a tabour and
    pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings
    several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he
    utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's
    ears grew to his tunes.

Clown    He could never come better; he shall come in. I
    love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful
    matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing
    indeed and sung lamentably.

Servant    He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no
    milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he
    has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without
    bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate
    burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump
    her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would,
    as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into
    the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me
    no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with
    'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'

POLIXENES    This is a brave fellow.

Clown    Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited
    fellow. Has he any unbraided wares?

Servant    He hath ribbons of an the colours i' the rainbow;
    points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can
    learnedly handle, though they come to him by the
    gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he
    sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you
    would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants
    to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.

Clown    Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing.

PERDITA    Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes.

    [Exit Servant]

Clown    You have of these pedlars, that have more in them
    than you'ld think, sister.

PERDITA    Ay, good brother, or go about to think.

    [Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing]

AUTOLYCUS         Lawn as white as driven snow;
    Cyprus black as e'er was crow;
    Gloves as sweet as damask roses;
    Masks for faces and for noses;
    Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
    Perfume for a lady's chamber;
    Golden quoifs and stomachers,
    For my lads to give their dears:
    Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
    What maids lack from head to heel:
    Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
    Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.

Clown    If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take
    no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it
    will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.

MOPSA    I was promised them against the feast; but they come
    not too late now.

DORCAS    He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.

MOPSA    He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has
    paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.

Clown    Is there no manners left among maids? will they
    wear their plackets where they should bear their
    faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are
    going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these
    secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all
    our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour
    your tongues, and not a word more.

MOPSA    I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace
    and a pair of sweet gloves.

Clown    Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way
    and lost all my money?

AUTOLYCUS    And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;
    therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clown    Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.

AUTOLYCUS    I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clown    What hast here? ballads?

MOPSA    Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o'
    life, for then we are sure they are true.

AUTOLYCUS    Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's
    wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a
    burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and
    toads carbonadoed.

MOPSA    Is it true, think you?

AUTOLYCUS    Very true, and but a month old.

DORCAS    Bless me from marrying a usurer!

AUTOLYCUS    Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress
    Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were
    present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

MOPSA    Pray you now, buy it.

Clown    Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe
    ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

AUTOLYCUS    Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon
    the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April,
    forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this
    ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was
    thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold
    fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that
    loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true.

DORCAS    Is it true too, think you?

AUTOLYCUS    Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than
    my pack will hold.

Clown    Lay it by too: another.

AUTOLYCUS    This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.

MOPSA    Let's have some merry ones.

AUTOLYCUS    Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to
    the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's
    scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in
    request, I can tell you.

MOPSA    We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou
    shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.

DORCAS    We had the tune on't a month ago.

AUTOLYCUS    I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my
    occupation; have at it with you.
    [SONG]

AUTOLYCUS    Get you hence, for I must go
    Where it fits not you to know.

DORCAS         Whither?

MOPSA                      O, whither?

DORCAS    Whither?

MOPSA         It becomes thy oath full well,
    Thou to me thy secrets tell.

DORCAS              Me too, let me go thither.

MOPSA         Or thou goest to the orange or mill.

DORCAS         If to either, thou dost ill.

AUTOLYCUS    Neither.

DORCAS           What, neither?

AUTOLYCUS    Neither.

DORCAS         Thou hast sworn my love to be.

MOPSA         Thou hast sworn it more to me:
    Then whither goest? say, whither?

Clown    We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my
    father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll
    not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after
    me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's
    have the first choice. Follow me, girls.

    [Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA]

AUTOLYCUS    And you shall pay well for 'em.

    [Follows singing]

    Will you buy any tape,
    Or lace for your cape,
    My dainty duck, my dear-a?
    Any silk, any thread,
    Any toys for your head,
    Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a?
    Come to the pedlar;
    Money's a medler.
    That doth utter all men's ware-a.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter Servant]

Servant    Master, there is three carters, three shepherds,
    three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made
    themselves all men of hair, they call themselves
    Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches
    say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are
    not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it
    be not too rough for some that know little but
    bowling, it will please plentifully.

Shepherd    Away! we'll none on 't: here has been too much
    homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you.

POLIXENES    You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see
    these four threes of herdsmen.

Servant    One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath
    danced before the king; and not the worst of the
    three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier.

Shepherd    Leave your prating: since these good men are
    pleased, let them come in; but quickly now.

Servant    Why, they stay at door, sir.

    [Exit]

    [Here a dance of twelve Satyrs]

POLIXENES    O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.

    [To CAMILLO]

    Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them.
    He's simple and tells much.

    [To FLORIZEL]

              How now, fair shepherd!
    Your heart is full of something that does take
    Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young
    And handed love as you do, I was wont
    To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
    The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
    To her acceptance; you have let him go
    And nothing marted with him. If your lass
    Interpretation should abuse and call this
    Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
    For a reply, at least if you make a care
    Of happy holding her.

FLORIZEL    Old sir, I know
    She prizes not such trifles as these are:
    The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd
    Up in my heart; which I have given already,
    But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life
    Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
    Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand,
    As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
    Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd
    snow that's bolted
    By the northern blasts twice o'er.

POLIXENES    What follows this?
    How prettily the young swain seems to wash
    The hand was fair before! I have put you out:
    But to your protestation; let me hear
    What you profess.

FLORIZEL                      Do, and be witness to 't.

POLIXENES    And this my neighbour too?

FLORIZEL    And he, and more
    Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all:
    That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
    Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth
    That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge
    More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
    Without her love; for her employ them all;
    Commend them and condemn them to her service
    Or to their own perdition.

POLIXENES    Fairly offer'd.

CAMILLO    This shows a sound affection.

Shepherd    But, my daughter,
    Say you the like to him?

PERDITA    I cannot speak
    So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
    By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
    The purity of his.

Shepherd                      Take hands, a bargain!
    And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't:
    I give my daughter to him, and will make
    Her portion equal his.

FLORIZEL    O, that must be
    I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
    I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
    Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,
    Contract us 'fore these witnesses.

Shepherd    Come, your hand;
    And, daughter, yours.

POLIXENES    Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you;
    Have you a father?

FLORIZEL                      I have: but what of him?

POLIXENES    Knows he of this?

FLORIZEL                      He neither does nor shall.

POLIXENES    Methinks a father
    Is at the nuptial of his son a guest
    That best becomes the table. Pray you once more,
    Is not your father grown incapable
    Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
    With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear?
    Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
    Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing
    But what he did being childish?

FLORIZEL    No, good sir;
    He has his health and ampler strength indeed
    Than most have of his age.

POLIXENES    By my white beard,
    You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
    Something unfilial: reason my son
    Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason
    The father, all whose joy is nothing else
    But fair posterity, should hold some counsel
    In such a business.

FLORIZEL    I yield all this;
    But for some other reasons, my grave sir,
    Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
    My father of this business.

POLIXENES    Let him know't.

FLORIZEL    He shall not.

POLIXENES                      Prithee, let him.

FLORIZEL    No, he must not.

Shepherd    Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
    At knowing of thy choice.

FLORIZEL    Come, come, he must not.
    Mark our contract.

POLIXENES                      Mark your divorce, young sir,

    [Discovering himself]

    Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
    To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir,
    That thus affect'st a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor,
    I am sorry that by hanging thee I can
    But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
    Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
    The royal fool thou copest with,--

Shepherd    O, my heart!

POLIXENES    I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made
    More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,
    If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
    That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never
    I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession;
    Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
    Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words:
    Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
    Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
    From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment.--
    Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too,
    That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
    Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou
    These rural latches to his entrance open,
    Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
    I will devise a death as cruel for thee
    As thou art tender to't.

    [Exit]

PERDITA    Even here undone!
    I was not much afeard; for once or twice
    I was about to speak and tell him plainly,
    The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
    Hides not his visage from our cottage but
    Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone?
    I told you what would come of this: beseech you,
    Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,--
    Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
    But milk my ewes and weep.

CAMILLO    Why, how now, father!
    Speak ere thou diest.

Shepherd    I cannot speak, nor think
    Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir!
    You have undone a man of fourscore three,
    That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,
    To die upon the bed my father died,
    To lie close by his honest bones: but now
    Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me
    Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,
    That knew'st this was the prince,
    and wouldst adventure
    To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone!
    If I might die within this hour, I have lived
    To die when I desire.

    [Exit]

FLORIZEL    Why look you so upon me?
    I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
    But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am;
    More straining on for plucking back, not following
    My leash unwillingly.

CAMILLO    Gracious my lord,
    You know your father's temper: at this time
    He will allow no speech, which I do guess
    You do not purpose to him; and as hardly
    Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:
    Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
    Come not before him.

FLORIZEL    I not purpose it.
    I think, Camillo?

CAMILLO                      Even he, my lord.

PERDITA    How often have I told you 'twould be thus!
    How often said, my dignity would last
    But till 'twere known!

FLORIZEL    It cannot fail but by
    The violation of my faith; and then
    Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together
    And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks:
    From my succession wipe me, father; I
    Am heir to my affection.

CAMILLO    Be advised.

FLORIZEL    I am, and by my fancy: if my reason
    Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
    If not, my senses, better pleased with madness,
    Do bid it welcome.

CAMILLO                      This is desperate, sir.

FLORIZEL    So call it: but it does fulfil my vow;
    I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
    Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
    Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or
    The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides
    In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
    To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you,
    As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
    When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not
    To see him any more,--cast your good counsels
    Upon his passion; let myself and fortune
    Tug for the time to come. This you may know
    And so deliver, I am put to sea
    With her whom here I cannot hold on shore;
    And most opportune to our need I have
    A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared
    For this design. What course I mean to hold
    Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
    Concern me the reporting.

CAMILLO    O my lord!
    I would your spirit were easier for advice,
    Or stronger for your need.

FLORIZEL    Hark, Perdita

    [Drawing her aside]

    I'll hear you by and by.

CAMILLO    He's irremoveable,
    Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if
    His going I could frame to serve my turn,
    Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
    Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
    And that unhappy king, my master, whom
    I so much thirst to see.

FLORIZEL    Now, good Camillo;
    I am so fraught with curious business that
    I leave out ceremony.

CAMILLO    Sir, I think
    You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
    That I have borne your father?

FLORIZEL    Very nobly
    Have you deserved: it is my father's music
    To speak your deeds, not little of his care
    To have them recompensed as thought on.

CAMILLO    Well, my lord,
    If you may please to think I love the king
    And through him what is nearest to him, which is
    Your gracious self, embrace but my direction:
    If your more ponderous and settled project
    May suffer alteration, on mine honour,
    I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
    As shall become your highness; where you may
    Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see,
    There's no disjunction to be made, but by--
    As heavens forefend!--your ruin; marry her,
    And, with my best endeavours in your absence,
    Your discontenting father strive to qualify
    And bring him up to liking.

FLORIZEL    How, Camillo,
    May this, almost a miracle, be done?
    That I may call thee something more than man
    And after that trust to thee.

CAMILLO    Have you thought on
    A place whereto you'll go?

FLORIZEL    Not any yet:
    But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
    To what we wildly do, so we profess
    Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies
    Of every wind that blows.

CAMILLO    Then list to me:
    This follows, if you will not change your purpose
    But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia,
    And there present yourself and your fair princess,
    For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes:
    She shall be habited as it becomes
    The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
    Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
    His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness,
    As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands
    Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him
    'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
    He chides to hell and bids the other grow
    Faster than thought or time.

FLORIZEL    Worthy Camillo,
    What colour for my visitation shall I
    Hold up before him?

CAMILLO    Sent by the king your father
    To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,
    The manner of your bearing towards him, with
    What you as from your father shall deliver,
    Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down:
    The which shall point you forth at every sitting
    What you must say; that he shall not perceive
    But that you have your father's bosom there
    And speak his very heart.

FLORIZEL    I am bound to you:
    There is some sap in this.

CAMILLO    A cause more promising
    Than a wild dedication of yourselves
    To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain
    To miseries enough; no hope to help you,
    But as you shake off one to take another;
    Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
    Do their best office, if they can but stay you
    Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know
    Prosperity's the very bond of love,
    Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
    Affliction alters.

PERDITA                      One of these is true:
    I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
    But not take in the mind.

CAMILLO    Yea, say you so?
    There shall not at your father's house these
    seven years
    Be born another such.

FLORIZEL    My good Camillo,
    She is as forward of her breeding as
    She is i' the rear our birth.

CAMILLO    I cannot say 'tis pity
    She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress
    To most that teach.

PERDITA    Your pardon, sir; for this
    I'll blush you thanks.

FLORIZEL    My prettiest Perdita!
    But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo,
    Preserver of my father, now of me,
    The medicine of our house, how shall we do?
    We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son,
    Nor shall appear in Sicilia.

CAMILLO    My lord,
    Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes
    Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
    To have you royally appointed as if
    The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,
    That you may know you shall not want, one word.

    [They talk aside]

    [Re-enter AUTOLYCUS]

AUTOLYCUS    Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his
    sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold
    all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a
    ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad,
    knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring,
    to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who
    should buy first, as if my trinkets had been
    hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer:
    by which means I saw whose purse was best in
    picture; and what I saw, to my good use I
    remembered. My clown, who wants but something to
    be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the
    wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes
    till he had both tune and words; which so drew the
    rest of the herd to me that all their other senses
    stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it
    was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a
    purse; I could have filed keys off that hung in
    chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song,
    and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this
    time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their
    festival purses; and had not the old man come in
    with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's
    son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not
    left a purse alive in the whole army.

    [CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward]

CAMILLO    Nay, but my letters, by this means being there
    So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.

FLORIZEL    And those that you'll procure from King Leontes--

CAMILLO    Shall satisfy your father.

PERDITA    Happy be you!
    All that you speak shows fair.

CAMILLO    Who have we here?

    [Seeing AUTOLYCUS]

    We'll make an instrument of this, omit
    Nothing may give us aid.

AUTOLYCUS    If they have overheard me now, why, hanging.

CAMILLO    How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear
    not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.

AUTOLYCUS    I am a poor fellow, sir.

CAMILLO    Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from
    thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must
    make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly,
    --thou must think there's a necessity in't,--and
    change garments with this gentleman: though the
    pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee,
    there's some boot.

AUTOLYCUS    I am a poor fellow, sir.

    [Aside]

           I know ye well enough.

CAMILLO    Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half
    flayed already.

AUTOLYCUS    Are you in earnest, sir?

    [Aside]

           I smell the trick on't.

FLORIZEL    Dispatch, I prithee.

AUTOLYCUS    Indeed, I have had earnest: but I cannot with
    conscience take it.

CAMILLO    Unbuckle, unbuckle.

    [FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments]

    Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy
    Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself
    Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat
    And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face,
    Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken
    The truth of your own seeming; that you may--
    For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard
    Get undescried.

PERDITA                      I see the play so lies
    That I must bear a part.

CAMILLO    No remedy.
    Have you done there?

FLORIZEL    Should I now meet my father,
    He would not call me son.

CAMILLO    Nay, you shall have no hat.

    [Giving it to PERDITA]

    Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend.

AUTOLYCUS    Adieu, sir.

FLORIZEL    O Perdita, what have we twain forgot!
    Pray you, a word.

CAMILLO    [Aside]  What I do next, shall be to tell the king
    Of this escape and whither they are bound;
    Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail
    To force him after: in whose company
    I shall review Sicilia, for whose sight
    I have a woman's longing.

FLORIZEL    Fortune speed us!
    Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.

CAMILLO    The swifter speed the better.

    [Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO]

AUTOLYCUS    I understand the business, I hear it: to have an
    open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is
    necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite
    also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see
    this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
    What an exchange had this been without boot! What
    a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do
    this year connive at us, and we may do any thing
    extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of
    iniquity, stealing away from his father with his
    clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of
    honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not
    do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it;
    and therein am I constant to my profession.

    [Re-enter Clown and Shepherd]

    Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain:
    every lane's end, every shop, church, session,
    hanging, yields a careful man work.

Clown    See, see; what a man you are now!
    There is no other way but to tell the king
    she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood.

Shepherd    Nay, but hear me.

Clown    Nay, but hear me.

Shepherd    Go to, then.

Clown    She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh
    and blood has not offended the king; and so your
    flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show
    those things you found about her, those secret
    things, all but what she has with her: this being
    done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you.

Shepherd    I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his
    son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man,
    neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make
    me the king's brother-in-law.

Clown    Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you
    could have been to him and then your blood had been
    the dearer by I know how much an ounce.

AUTOLYCUS    [Aside]  Very wisely, puppies!

Shepherd    Well, let us to the king: there is that in this
    fardel will make him scratch his beard.

AUTOLYCUS    [Aside]  I know not what impediment this complaint
    may be to the flight of my master.

Clown    Pray heartily he be at palace.

AUTOLYCUS    [Aside]  Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
    sometimes by chance: let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement.

    [Takes off his false beard]

    How now, rustics! whither are you bound?

Shepherd    To the palace, an it like your worship.

AUTOLYCUS    Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition
    of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your
    names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any
    thing that is fitting to be known, discover.

Clown    We are but plain fellows, sir.

AUTOLYCUS    A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no
    lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
    often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for
    it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore
    they do not give us the lie.

Clown    Your worship had like to have given us one, if you
    had not taken yourself with the manner.

Shepherd    Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?

AUTOLYCUS    Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest
    thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings?
    hath not my gait in it the measure of the court?
    receives not thy nose court-odor from me? reflect I
    not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou,
    for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy
    business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier
    cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck
    back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to
    open thy affair.

Shepherd    My business, sir, is to the king.

AUTOLYCUS    What advocate hast thou to him?

Shepherd    I know not, an't like you.

Clown    Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant: say you
    have none.

Shepherd    None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.

AUTOLYCUS    How blessed are we that are not simple men!
    Yet nature might have made me as these are,
    Therefore I will not disdain.

Clown    This cannot be but a great courtier.

Shepherd    His garments are rich, but he wears
    them not handsomely.

Clown    He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical:
    a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking
    on's teeth.

AUTOLYCUS    The fardel there? what's i' the fardel?
    Wherefore that box?

Shepherd    Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box,
    which none must know but the king; and which he
    shall know within this hour, if I may come to the
    speech of him.

AUTOLYCUS    Age, thou hast lost thy labour.

Shepherd    Why, sir?

AUTOLYCUS    The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a
    new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for,
    if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must
    know the king is full of grief.

Shepard    So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have
    married a shepherd's daughter.

AUTOLYCUS    If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly:
    the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall
    feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.

Clown    Think you so, sir?

AUTOLYCUS    Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy
    and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to
    him, though removed fifty times, shall all come
    under the hangman: which though it be great pity,
    yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue a
    ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into
    grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death
    is too soft for him, say I    draw our throne into a
    sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy.

Clown    Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear. an't
    like you, sir?

AUTOLYCUS    He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then
    'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a
    wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters
    and a dram dead; then recovered again with
    aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as
    he is, and in the hottest day prognostication
    proclaims, shall be be set against a brick-wall, the
    sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he
    is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what
    talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries
    are to be smiled at, their offences being so
    capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain
    men, what you have to the king: being something
    gently considered, I'll bring you where he is
    aboard, tender your persons to his presence,
    whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man
    besides the king to effect your suits, here is man
    shall do it.

Clown    He seems to be of great authority: close with him,
    give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn
    bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show
    the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand,
    and no more ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed alive.'

Shepherd    An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for
    us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much
    more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you.

AUTOLYCUS    After I have done what I promised?

Shepherd    Ay, sir.

AUTOLYCUS    Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business?

Clown    In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful
    one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.

AUTOLYCUS    O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: hang him,
    he'll be made an example.

Clown    Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show
    our strange sights: he must know 'tis none of your
    daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I
    will give you as much as this old man does when the
    business is performed, and remain, as he says, your
    pawn till it be brought you.

AUTOLYCUS    I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side;
    go on the right hand: I will but look upon the
    hedge and follow you.

Clown    We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest.

Shepherd    Let's before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good.

    [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown]

AUTOLYCUS    If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would
    not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am
    courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means
    to do the prince my master good; which who knows how
    that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring
    these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he
    think it fit to shore them again and that the
    complaint they have to the king concerns him
    nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far
    officious; for I am proof against that title and
    what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present
    them: there may be matter in it.

    [Exit]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT V



SCENE I    A room in LEONTES' palace.


    [Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and Servants]

CLEOMENES    Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
    A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make,
    Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down
    More penitence than done trespass: at the last,
    Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;
    With them forgive yourself.

LEONTES    Whilst I remember
    Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
    My blemishes in them, and so still think of
    The wrong I did myself; which was so much,
    That heirless it hath made my kingdom and
    Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man
    Bred his hopes out of.

PAULINA    True, too true, my lord:
    If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
    Or from the all that are took something good,
    To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd
    Would be unparallel'd.

LEONTES    I think so. Kill'd!
    She I kill'd! I did so: but thou strikest me
    Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter
    Upon thy tongue as in my thought: now, good now,
    Say so but seldom.

CLEOMENES                      Not at all, good lady:
    You might have spoken a thousand things that would
    Have done the time more benefit and graced
    Your kindness better.

PAULINA    You are one of those
    Would have him wed again.

DION    If you would not so,
    You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
    Of his most sovereign name; consider little
    What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue,
    May drop upon his kingdom and devour
    Incertain lookers on. What were more holy
    Than to rejoice the former queen is well?
    What holier than, for royalty's repair,
    For present comfort and for future good,
    To bless the bed of majesty again
    With a sweet fellow to't?

PAULINA    There is none worthy,
    Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
    Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes;
    For has not the divine Apollo said,
    Is't not the tenor of his oracle,
    That King Leontes shall not have an heir
    Till his lost child be found? which that it shall,
    Is all as monstrous to our human reason
    As my Antigonus to break his grave
    And come again to me; who, on my life,
    Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel
    My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
    Oppose against their wills.

    [To LEONTES]

              Care not for issue;
    The crown will find an heir: great Alexander
    Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
    Was like to be the best.

LEONTES    Good Paulina,
    Who hast the memory of Hermione,
    I know, in honour, O, that ever I
    Had squared me to thy counsel! then, even now,
    I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
    Have taken treasure from her lips--

PAULINA    And left them
    More rich for what they yielded.

LEONTES    Thou speak'st truth.
    No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,
    And better used, would make her sainted spirit
    Again possess her corpse, and on this stage,
    Where we're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd,
    And begin, 'Why to me?'

PAULINA    Had she such power,
    She had just cause.

LEONTES    She had; and would incense me
    To murder her I married.

PAULINA    I should so.
    Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'ld bid you mark
    Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't
    You chose her; then I'ld shriek, that even your ears
    Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd
    Should be 'Remember mine.'

LEONTES    Stars, stars,
    And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;
    I'll have no wife, Paulina.

PAULINA    Will you swear
    Never to marry but by my free leave?

LEONTES    Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit!

PAULINA    Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.

CLEOMENES    You tempt him over-much.

PAULINA    Unless another,
    As like Hermione as is her picture,
    Affront his eye.

CLEOMENES                      Good madam,--

PAULINA    I have done.
    Yet, if my lord will marry,--if you will, sir,
    No remedy, but you will,--give me the office
    To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young
    As was your former; but she shall be such
    As, walk'd your first queen's ghost,
    it should take joy
    To see her in your arms.

LEONTES    My true Paulina,
    We shall not marry till thou bid'st us.

PAULINA    That
    Shall be when your first queen's again in breath;
    Never till then.

    [Enter a Gentleman]

Gentleman    One that gives out himself Prince Florizel,
    Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she
    The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access
    To your high presence.

LEONTES    What with him? he comes not
    Like to his father's greatness: his approach,
    So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us
    'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced
    By need and accident. What train?

Gentleman    But few,
    And those but mean.

LEONTES    His princess, say you, with him?

Gentleman    Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
    That e'er the sun shone bright on.

PAULINA    O Hermione,
    As every present time doth boast itself
    Above a better gone, so must thy grave
    Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself
    Have said and writ so, but your writing now
    Is colder than that theme, 'She had not been,
    Nor was not to be equall'd;'--thus your verse
    Flow'd with her beauty once: 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
    To say you have seen a better.

Gentleman    Pardon, madam:
    The one I have almost forgot,--your pardon,--
    The other, when she has obtain'd your eye,
    Will have your tongue too. This is a creature,
    Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
    Of all professors else, make proselytes
    Of who she but bid follow.

PAULINA    How! not women?

Gentleman    Women will love her, that she is a woman
    More worth than any man; men, that she is
    The rarest of all women.

LEONTES    Go, Cleomenes;
    Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends,
    Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis strange

    [Exeunt CLEOMENES and others]

    He thus should steal upon us.

PAULINA    Had our prince,
    Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd
    Well with this lord: there was not full a month
    Between their births.

LEONTES    Prithee, no more; cease; thou know'st
    He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure,
    When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
    Will bring me to consider that which may
    Unfurnish me of reason. They are come.

    [Re-enter CLEOMENES and others, with FLORIZEL and PERDITA]

    Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince;
    For she did print your royal father off,
    Conceiving you: were I but twenty-one,
    Your father's image is so hit in you,
    His very air, that I should call you brother,
    As I did him, and speak of something wildly
    By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome!
    And your fair princess,--goddess!--O, alas!
    I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth
    Might thus have stood begetting wonder as
    You, gracious couple, do: and then I lost--
    All mine own folly--the society,
    Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
    Though bearing misery, I desire my life
    Once more to look on him.

FLORIZEL    By his command
    Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from him
    Give you all greetings that a king, at friend,
    Can send his brother: and, but infirmity
    Which waits upon worn times hath something seized
    His wish'd ability, he had himself
    The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
    Measured to look upon you; whom he loves--
    He bade me say so--more than all the sceptres
    And those that bear them living.

LEONTES    O my brother,
    Good gentleman! the wrongs I have done thee stir
    Afresh within me, and these thy offices,
    So rarely kind, are as interpreters
    Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome hither,
    As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too
    Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage,
    At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
    To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
    The adventure of her person?

FLORIZEL    Good my lord,
    She came from Libya.

LEONTES    Where the warlike Smalus,
    That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved?

FLORIZEL    Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter
    His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence,
    A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd,
    To execute the charge my father gave me
    For visiting your highness: my best train
    I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
    Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
    Not only my success in Libya, sir,
    But my arrival and my wife's in safety
    Here where we are.

LEONTES                      The blessed gods
    Purge all infection from our air whilst you
    Do climate here! You have a holy father,
    A graceful gentleman; against whose person,
    So sacred as it is, I have done sin:
    For which the heavens, taking angry note,
    Have left me issueless; and your father's blest,
    As he from heaven merits it, with you
    Worthy his goodness. What might I have been,
    Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on,
    Such goodly things as you!

    [Enter a Lord]

Lord    Most noble sir,
    That which I shall report will bear no credit,
    Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,
    Bohemia greets you from himself by me;
    Desires you to attach his son, who has--
    His dignity and duty both cast off--
    Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with
    A shepherd's daughter.

LEONTES    Where's Bohemia? speak.

Lord    Here in your city; I now came from him:
    I speak amazedly; and it becomes
    My marvel and my message. To your court
    Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it seems,
    Of this fair couple, meets he on the way
    The father of this seeming lady and
    Her brother, having both their country quitted
    With this young prince.

FLORIZEL    Camillo has betray'd me;
    Whose honour and whose honesty till now
    Endured all weathers.

Lord    Lay't so to his charge:
    He's with the king your father.

LEONTES    Who? Camillo?

Lord    Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now
    Has these poor men in question. Never saw I
    Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;
    Forswear themselves as often as they speak:
    Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
    With divers deaths in death.

PERDITA    O my poor father!
    The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
    Our contract celebrated.

LEONTES    You are married?

FLORIZEL    We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
    The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first:
    The odds for high and low's alike.

LEONTES    My lord,
    Is this the daughter of a king?

FLORIZEL    She is,
    When once she is my wife.

LEONTES    That 'once' I see by your good father's speed
    Will come on very slowly. I am sorry,
    Most sorry, you have broken from his liking
    Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry
    Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
    That you might well enjoy her.

FLORIZEL    Dear, look up:
    Though Fortune, visible an enemy,
    Should chase us with my father, power no jot
    Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,
    Remember since you owed no more to time
    Than I do now: with thought of such affections,
    Step forth mine advocate; at your request
    My father will grant precious things as trifles.

LEONTES    Would he do so, I'ld beg your precious mistress,
    Which he counts but a trifle.

PAULINA    Sir, my liege,
    Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month
    'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
    Than what you look on now.

LEONTES    I thought of her,
    Even in these looks I made.

    [To FLORIZEL]

               But your petition
    Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father:
    Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
    I am friend to them and you: upon which errand
    I now go toward him; therefore follow me
    And mark what way I make: come, good my lord.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT V



SCENE II    Before LEONTES' palace.


    [Enter AUTOLYCUS and a Gentleman]

AUTOLYCUS    Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?

First Gentleman    I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old
    shepherd deliver the manner how he found it:
    whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all
    commanded out of the chamber; only this methought I
    heard the shepherd say, he found the child.

AUTOLYCUS    I would most gladly know the issue of it.

First Gentleman    I make a broken delivery of the business; but the
    changes I perceived in the king and Camillo were
    very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, with
    staring on one another, to tear the cases of their
    eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language
    in their very gesture; they looked as they had heard
    of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: a notable
    passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest
    beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not
    say if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in the
    extremity of the one, it must needs be.

    [Enter another Gentleman]

    Here comes a gentleman that haply knows more.
    The news, Rogero?

Second Gentleman    Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled; the
    king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is
    broken out within this hour that ballad-makers
    cannot be able to express it.

    [Enter a third Gentleman]

    Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he can
    deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? this news
    which is called true is so like an old tale, that
    the verity of it is in strong suspicion: has the king
    found his heir?

Third Gentleman    Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by
    circumstance: that which you hear you'll swear you
    see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle
    of Queen Hermione's, her jewel about the neck of it,
    the letters of Antigonus found with it which they
    know to be his character, the majesty of the
    creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection
    of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding,
    and many other evidences proclaim her with all
    certainty to be the king's daughter. Did you see
    the meeting of the two kings?

Second Gentleman    No.

Third Gentleman    Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen,
    cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one
    joy crown another, so and in such manner that it
    seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their
    joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes,
    holding up of hands, with countenances of such
    distraction that they were to be known by garment,
    not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of
    himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that
    joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother,
    thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then
    embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his
    daughter with clipping her; now he thanks the old
    shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten
    conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such
    another encounter, which lames report to follow it
    and undoes description to do it.

Second Gentleman    What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried
    hence the child?

Third Gentleman    Like an old tale still, which will have matter to
    rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear
    open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this
    avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his
    innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a
    handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.

First Gentleman    What became of his bark and his followers?

Third Gentleman    Wrecked the same instant of their master's death and
    in the view of the shepherd: so that all the
    instruments which aided to expose the child were
    even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble
    combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in
    Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of
    her husband, another elevated that the oracle was
    fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the earth,
    and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin
    her to her heart that she might no more be in danger
    of losing.

First Gentleman    The dignity of this act was worth the audience of
    kings and princes; for by such was it acted.

Third Gentleman    One of the prettiest touches of all and that which
    angled for mine eyes, caught the water though not
    the fish, was when, at the relation of the queen's
    death, with the manner how she came to't bravely
    confessed and lamented by the king, how
    attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one
    sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 'Alas,'
    I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my
    heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed
    colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world
    could have seen 't, the woe had been universal.

First Gentleman    Are they returned to the court?

Third Gentleman    No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue,
    which is in the keeping of Paulina,--a piece many
    years in doing and now newly performed by that rare
    Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself
    eternity and could put breath into his work, would
    beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her
    ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that
    they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of
    answer: thither with all greediness of affection
    are they gone, and there they intend to sup.

Second Gentleman    I thought she had some great matter there in hand;
    for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever
    since the death of Hermione, visited that removed
    house. Shall we thither and with our company piece
    the rejoicing?

First Gentleman    Who would be thence that has the benefit of access?
    every wink of an eye some new grace will be born:
    our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge.
    Let's along.

    [Exeunt Gentlemen]

AUTOLYCUS    Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me,
    would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old
    man and his son aboard the prince: told him I heard
    them talk of a fardel and I know not what: but he
    at that time, overfond of the shepherd's daughter,
    so he then took her to be, who began to be much
    sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of
    weather continuing, this mystery remained
    undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I
    been the finder out of this secret, it would not
    have relished among my other discredits.

    [Enter Shepherd and Clown]

    Here come those I have done good to against my will,
    and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune.

Shepherd    Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and
    daughters will be all gentlemen born.

Clown    You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me
    this other day, because I was no gentleman born.
    See you these clothes? say you see them not and
    think me still no gentleman born: you were best say
    these robes are not gentlemen born: give me the
    lie, do, and try whether I am not now a gentleman born.

AUTOLYCUS    I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.

Clown    Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.

Shepherd    And so have I, boy.

Clown    So you have: but I was a gentleman born before my
    father; for the king's son took me by the hand, and
    called me brother; and then the two kings called my
    father brother; and then the prince my brother and
    the princess my sister called my father father; and
    so we wept, and there was the first gentleman-like
    tears that ever we shed.

Shepherd    We may live, son, to shed many more.

Clown    Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so
    preposterous estate as we are.

AUTOLYCUS    I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the
    faults I have committed to your worship and to give
    me your good report to the prince my master.

Shepherd    Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are
    gentlemen.

Clown    Thou wilt amend thy life?

AUTOLYCUS    Ay, an it like your good worship.

Clown    Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou
    art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.

Shepherd    You may say it, but not swear it.

Clown    Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and
    franklins say it, I'll swear it.

Shepherd    How if it be false, son?

Clown    If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear
    it in the behalf of his friend: and I'll swear to
    the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and
    that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no
    tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be
    drunk: but I'll swear it, and I would thou wouldst
    be a tall fellow of thy hands.

AUTOLYCUS    I will prove so, sir, to my power.

Clown    Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I do not
    wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not
    being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings
    and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the
    queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy
    good masters.

    [Exeunt]




    THE WINTER'S TALE


ACT V



SCENE III    A chapel in PAULINA'S house.


    [Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA,
    CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and Attendants]

LEONTES    O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
    That I have had of thee!

PAULINA    What, sovereign sir,
    I did not well I meant well. All my services
    You have paid home: but that you have vouchsafed,
    With your crown'd brother and these your contracted
    Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
    It is a surplus of your grace, which never
    My life may last to answer.

LEONTES    O Paulina,
    We honour you with trouble: but we came
    To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
    Have we pass'd through, not without much content
    In many singularities; but we saw not
    That which my daughter came to look upon,
    The statue of her mother.

PAULINA    As she lived peerless,
    So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
    Excels whatever yet you look'd upon
    Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
    Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare
    To see the life as lively mock'd as ever
    Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well.

    [PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE
    standing like a statue]

    I like your silence, it the more shows off
    Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege,
    Comes it not something near?

LEONTES    Her natural posture!
    Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed
    Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she
    In thy not chiding, for she was as tender
    As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,
    Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
    So aged as this seems.

POLIXENES    O, not by much.

PAULINA    So much the more our carver's excellence;
    Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her
    As she lived now.

LEONTES                      As now she might have done,
    So much to my good comfort, as it is
    Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
    Even with such life of majesty, warm life,
    As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her!
    I am ashamed: does not the stone rebuke me
    For being more stone than it? O royal piece,
    There's magic in thy majesty, which has
    My evils conjured to remembrance and
    From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
    Standing like stone with thee.

PERDITA    And give me leave,
    And do not say 'tis superstition, that
    I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady,
    Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
    Give me that hand of yours to kiss.

PAULINA    O, patience!
    The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry.

CAMILLO    My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
    Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
    So many summers dry; scarce any joy
    Did ever so long live; no sorrow
    But kill'd itself much sooner.

POLIXENES    Dear my brother,
    Let him that was the cause of this have power
    To take off so much grief from you as he
    Will piece up in himself.

PAULINA    Indeed, my lord,
    If I had thought the sight of my poor image
    Would thus have wrought you,--for the stone is mine--
    I'ld not have show'd it.

LEONTES    Do not draw the curtain.

PAULINA    No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
    May think anon it moves.

LEONTES    Let be, let be.
    Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already--
    What was he that did make it? See, my lord,
    Would you not deem it breathed? and that those veins
    Did verily bear blood?

POLIXENES    Masterly done:
    The very life seems warm upon her lip.

LEONTES    The fixture of her eye has motion in't,
    As we are mock'd with art.

PAULINA    I'll draw the curtain:
    My lord's almost so far transported that
    He'll think anon it lives.

LEONTES    O sweet Paulina,
    Make me to think so twenty years together!
    No settled senses of the world can match
    The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.

PAULINA    I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but
    I could afflict you farther.

LEONTES    Do, Paulina;
    For this affliction has a taste as sweet
    As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
    There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel
    Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
    For I will kiss her.

PAULINA    Good my lord, forbear:
    The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
    You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own
    With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?

LEONTES    No, not these twenty years.

PERDITA    So long could I
    Stand by, a looker on.

PAULINA    Either forbear,
    Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
    For more amazement. If you can behold it,
    I'll make the statue move indeed, descend
    And take you by the hand; but then you'll think--
    Which I protest against--I am assisted
    By wicked powers.

LEONTES                      What you can make her do,
    I am content to look on: what to speak,
    I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
    To make her speak as move.

PAULINA    It is required
    You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
    On: those that think it is unlawful business
    I am about, let them depart.

LEONTES    Proceed:
    No foot shall stir.

PAULINA    Music, awake her; strike!

    [Music]

    'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;
    Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come,
    I'll fill your grave up: stir, nay, come away,
    Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
    Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs:

    [HERMIONE comes down]

    Start not; her actions shall be holy as
    You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her
    Until you see her die again; for then
    You kill her double. Nay, present your hand:
    When she was young you woo'd her; now in age
    Is she become the suitor?

LEONTES    O, she's warm!
    If this be magic, let it be an art
    Lawful as eating.

POLIXENES                      She embraces him.

CAMILLO    She hangs about his neck:
    If she pertain to life let her speak too.

POLIXENES    Ay, and make't manifest where she has lived,
    Or how stolen from the dead.

PAULINA    That she is living,
    Were it but told you, should be hooted at
    Like an old tale: but it appears she lives,
    Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.
    Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel
    And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady;
    Our Perdita is found.

HERMIONE    You gods, look down
    And from your sacred vials pour your graces
    Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own.
    Where hast thou been preserved? where lived? how found
    Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I,
    Knowing by Paulina that the oracle
    Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved
    Myself to see the issue.

PAULINA    There's time enough for that;
    Lest they desire upon this push to trouble
    Your joys with like relation. Go together,
    You precious winners all; your exultation
    Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,
    Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there
    My mate, that's never to be found again,
    Lament till I am lost.

LEONTES    O, peace, Paulina!
    Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
    As I by thine a wife: this is a match,
    And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine;
    But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her,
    As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many
    A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far--
    For him, I partly know his mind--to find thee
    An honourable husband. Come, Camillo,
    And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty
    Is richly noted and here justified
    By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place.
    What! look upon my brother: both your pardons,
    That e'er I put between your holy looks
    My ill suspicion. This is your son-in-law,
    And son unto the king, who, heavens directing,
    Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina,
    Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
    Each one demand an answer to his part
    Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first
    We were dissever'd: hastily lead away.

    [Exeunt]





    CYMBELINE


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


CYMBELINE    king of Britain.

CLOTEN    son to the Queen by a former husband.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    a gentleman, husband to Imogen.

BELARIUS    a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan.


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


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


CAIUS LUCIUS    general of the Roman forces.

PISANIO    servant to Posthumus.

CORNELIUS    a physician.

    A Roman Captain. (Captain:)

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

    A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
    (Frenchman:)

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

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

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

QUEEN    wife to Cymbeline.

IMOGEN    daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen.

HELEN    a lady attending on Imogen.

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

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

SCENE    Britain; Rome.




    CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE I    Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.


    [Enter two Gentlemen]

First Gentleman    You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods
    No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
    Still seem as does the king.

Second Gentleman    But what's the matter?

First Gentleman    His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
    He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow
    That late he married--hath referr'd herself
    Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
    Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
    Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
    Be touch'd at very heart.

Second Gentleman    None but the king?

First Gentleman    He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,
    That most desired the match; but not a courtier,
    Although they wear their faces to the bent
    Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not
    Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Second Gentleman    And why so?

First Gentleman    He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
    Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--
    I mean, that married her, alack, good man!
    And therefore banish'd--is a creature such
    As, to seek through the regions of the earth
    For one his like, there would be something failing
    In him that should compare. I do not think
    So fair an outward and such stuff within
    Endows a man but he.

Second Gentleman    You speak him far.

First Gentleman    I do extend him, sir, within himself,
    Crush him together rather than unfold
    His measure duly.

Second Gentleman                      What's his name and birth?

First Gentleman    I cannot delve him to the root: his father
    Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
    Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
    But had his titles by Tenantius whom
    He served with glory and admired success,
    So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
    And had, besides this gentleman in question,
    Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
    Died with their swords in hand; for which
    their father,
    Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
    That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
    Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
    As he was born. The king he takes the babe
    To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
    Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
    Puts to him all the learnings that his time
    Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
    As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
    And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--
    Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,
    A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
    A glass that feated them, and to the graver
    A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
    For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
    Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
    By her election may be truly read
    What kind of man he is.

Second Gentleman    I honour him
    Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
    Is she sole child to the king?

First Gentleman    His only child.
    He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,
    Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
    I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
    Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
    Which way they went.

Second Gentleman    How long is this ago?

First Gentleman    Some twenty years.

Second Gentleman    That a king's children should be so convey'd,
    So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
    That could not trace them!

First Gentleman    Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
    Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
    Yet is it true, sir.

Second Gentleman    I do well believe you.

First Gentleman    We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,
    The queen, and princess.

    [Exeunt]

    [Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN]

QUEEN    No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
    After the slander of most stepmothers,
    Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
    Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
    That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
    So soon as I can win the offended king,
    I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
    The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
    You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
    Your wisdom may inform you.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Please your highness,
    I will from hence to-day.

QUEEN    You know the peril.
    I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
    The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
    Hath charged you should not speak together.

    [Exit]

IMOGEN    O
    Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
    Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
    I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing--
    Always reserved my holy duty--what
    His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
    And I shall here abide the hourly shot
    Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
    But that there is this jewel in the world
    That I may see again.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    My queen! my mistress!
    O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
    To be suspected of more tenderness
    Than doth become a man. I will remain
    The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
    My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
    Who to my father was a friend, to me
    Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
    And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
    Though ink be made of gall.

    [Re-enter QUEEN]

QUEEN    Be brief, I pray you:
    If the king come, I shall incur I know not
    How much of his displeasure.

    [Aside]

                Yet I'll move him
    To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
    But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
    Pays dear for my offences.

    [Exit]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Should we be taking leave
    As long a term as yet we have to live,
    The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

IMOGEN    Nay, stay a little:
    Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
    Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
    This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
    But keep it till you woo another wife,
    When Imogen is dead.

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

    [Putting on the ring]

        Remain, remain thou here
    While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
    As I my poor self did exchange for you,
    To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
    I still win of you: for my sake wear this;
    It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
    Upon this fairest prisoner.

    [Putting a bracelet upon her arm]

IMOGEN    O the gods!
    When shall we see again?

    [Enter CYMBELINE and Lords]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Alack, the king!

CYMBELINE    Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
    If after this command thou fraught the court
    With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!
    Thou'rt poison to my blood.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    The gods protect you!
    And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.

    [Exit]

IMOGEN                      There cannot be a pinch in death
    More sharp than this is.

CYMBELINE    O disloyal thing,
    That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
    A year's age on me.

IMOGEN    I beseech you, sir,
    Harm not yourself with your vexation
    I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
    Subdues all pangs, all fears.

CYMBELINE    Past grace? obedience?

IMOGEN    Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

CYMBELINE    That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

IMOGEN    O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
    And did avoid a puttock.

CYMBELINE    Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
    A seat for baseness.

IMOGEN    No; I rather added
    A lustre to it.

CYMBELINE                      O thou vile one!

IMOGEN    Sir,
    It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:
    You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
    A man worth any woman, overbuys me
    Almost the sum he pays.

CYMBELINE    What, art thou mad?

IMOGEN    Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
    A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
    Our neighbour shepherd's son!

CYMBELINE    Thou foolish thing!

    [Re-enter QUEEN]

    They were again together: you have done
    Not after our command. Away with her,
    And pen her up.

QUEEN                      Beseech your patience. Peace,
    Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
    Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
    Out of your best advice.

CYMBELINE    Nay, let her languish
    A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
    Die of this folly!

    [Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords]

QUEEN                      Fie! you must give way.

    [Enter PISANIO]

    Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?

PISANIO    My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN    Ha!
    No harm, I trust, is done?

PISANIO    There might have been,
    But that my master rather play'd than fought
    And had no help of anger: they were parted
    By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN    I am very glad on't.

IMOGEN    Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
    To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
    I would they were in Afric both together;
    Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
    The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

PISANIO    On his command: he would not suffer me
    To bring him to the haven; left these notes
    Of what commands I should be subject to,
    When 't pleased you to employ me.

QUEEN    This hath been
    Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour
    He will remain so.

PISANIO                      I humbly thank your highness.

QUEEN    Pray, walk awhile.

IMOGEN                      About some half-hour hence,
    I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least
    Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE II    The same. A public place.


    [Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]

First Lord    Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the
    violence of action hath made you reek as a
    sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:
    there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

CLOTEN    If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?

Second Lord    [Aside]  No, 'faith; not so much as his patience.

First Lord    Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass, if he be
    not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

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

CLOTEN    The villain would not stand me.

Second Lord    [Aside]  No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

First Lord    Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but
    he added to your having; gave you some ground.

Second Lord    [Aside]  As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!

CLOTEN    I would they had not come between us.

Second Lord    [Aside]  So would I, till you had measured how long
    a fool you were upon the ground.

CLOTEN    And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!

Second Lord    [Aside]  If it be a sin to make a true election, she
    is damned.

First Lord    Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain
    go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen
    small reflection of her wit.

Second Lord    [Aside]  She shines not upon fools, lest the
    reflection should hurt her.

CLOTEN    Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some
    hurt done!

Second Lord    [Aside]  I wish not so; unless it had been the fall
    of an ass, which is no great hurt.

CLOTEN    You'll go with us?

First Lord    I'll attend your lordship.

CLOTEN    Nay, come, let's go together.

Second Lord    Well, my lord.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE III    A room in Cymbeline's palace.


    [Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO]

IMOGEN    I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,
    And question'dst every sail: if he should write
    And not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
    As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
    That he spake to thee?

PISANIO    It was his queen, his queen!

IMOGEN    Then waved his handkerchief?

PISANIO    And kiss'd it, madam.

IMOGEN    Senseless Linen! happier therein than I!
    And that was all?

PISANIO                      No, madam; for so long
    As he could make me with this eye or ear
    Distinguish him from others, he did keep
    The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
    Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind
    Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
    How swift his ship.

IMOGEN    Thou shouldst have made him
    As little as a crow, or less, ere left
    To after-eye him.

PISANIO                      Madam, so I did.

IMOGEN    I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
    To look upon him, till the diminution
    Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
    Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
    The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
    Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
    When shall we hear from him?

PISANIO    Be assured, madam,
    With his next vantage.

IMOGEN    I did not take my leave of him, but had
    Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him
    How I would think on him at certain hours
    Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear
    The shes of Italy should not betray
    Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,
    At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
    To encounter me with orisons, for then
    I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
    Give him that parting kiss which I had set
    Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father
    And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
    Shakes all our buds from growing.

    [Enter a Lady]

Lady    The queen, madam,
    Desires your highness' company.

IMOGEN    Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
    I will attend the queen.

PISANIO    Madam, I shall.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE IV    Rome. Philario's house.


    [Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a
    Dutchman, and a Spaniard]

IACHIMO    Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain: he was
    then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy
    as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I
    could then have looked on him without the help of
    admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments
    had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.

PHILARIO    You speak of him when he was less furnished than now
    he is with that which makes him both without and within.

Frenchman    I have seen him in France: we had very many there
    could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.

IACHIMO    This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein
    he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,
    words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.

Frenchman    And then his banishment.

IACHIMO    Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this
    lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully
    to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment,
    which else an easy battery might lay flat, for
    taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes
    it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps
    acquaintance?

PHILARIO    His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I
    have been often bound for no less than my life.
    Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained
    amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your
    knowing, to a stranger of his quality.

    [Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

    I beseech you all, be better known to this
    gentleman; whom I commend to you as a noble friend
    of mine: how worthy he is I will leave to appear
    hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.

Frenchman    Sir, we have known together in Orleans.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,
    which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.

Frenchman    Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I was glad I
    did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity
    you should have been put together with so mortal a
    purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so
    slight and trivial a nature.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller;
    rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in
    my every action to be guided by others' experiences:
    but upon my mended judgment--if I offend not to say
    it is mended--my quarrel was not altogether slight.

Frenchman    'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords,
    and by such two that would by all likelihood have
    confounded one the other, or have fallen both.

IACHIMO    Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?

Frenchman    Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in public,
    which may, without contradiction, suffer the report.
    It was much like an argument that fell out last
    night, where each of us fell in praise of our
    country mistresses; this gentleman at that time
    vouching--and upon warrant of bloody
    affirmation--his to be more fair, virtuous, wise,
    chaste, constant-qualified and less attemptable
    than any the rarest of our ladies in France.

IACHIMO    That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's
    opinion by this worn out.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    She holds her virtue still and I my mind.

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

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would
    abate her nothing, though I profess myself her
    adorer, not her friend.

IACHIMO    As fair and as good--a kind of hand-in-hand
    comparison--had been something too fair and too good
    for any lady in Britain. If she went before others
    I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres
    many I have beheld. I could not but believe she
    excelled many: but I have not seen the most
    precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.

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

IACHIMO    What do you esteem it at?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    More than the world enjoys.

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

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or given, if
    there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit
    for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale,
    and only the gift of the gods.

IACHIMO    Which the gods have given you?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Which, by their graces, I will keep.

IACHIMO    You may wear her in title yours: but, you know,
    strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your
    ring may be stolen too: so your brace of unprizable
    estimations; the one is but frail and the other
    casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished
    courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier
    to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the
    holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do
    nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
    notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.

PHILARIO    Let us leave here, gentlemen.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I
    thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.

IACHIMO    With five times so much conversation, I should get
    ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even
    to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    No, no.

IACHIMO    I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to
    your ring; which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it
    something: but I make my wager rather against your
    confidence than her reputation: and, to bar your
    offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
    lady in the world.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    You are a great deal abused in too bold a
    persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're
    worthy of by your attempt.

IACHIMO    What's that?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    A repulse: though your attempt, as you call it,
    deserve more; a punishment too.

PHILARIO    Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly;
    let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be
    better acquainted.

IACHIMO    Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on the
    approbation of what I have spoke!

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    What lady would you choose to assail?

IACHIMO    Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe.
    I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring,
    that, commend me to the court where your lady is,
    with no more advantage than the opportunity of a
    second conference, and I will bring from thence
    that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.

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

IACHIMO    You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy
    ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot
    preserve it from tainting: but I see you have some
    religion in you, that you fear.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a
    graver purpose, I hope.

IACHIMO    I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo
    what's spoken, I swear.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your
    return: let there be covenants drawn between's: my
    mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your
    unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: here's my ring.

PHILARIO    I will have it no lay.

IACHIMO    By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no
    sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest
    bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats
    are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off,
    and leave her in such honour as you have trust in,
    she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are
    yours: provided I have your commendation for my more
    free entertainment.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    I embrace these conditions; let us have articles
    betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if
    you make your voyage upon her and give me directly
    to understand you have prevailed, I am no further
    your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she
    remain unseduced, you not making it appear
    otherwise, for your ill opinion and the assault you
    have made to her chastity you shall answer me with
    your sword.

IACHIMO    Your hand; a covenant: we will have these things set
    down by lawful counsel, and straight away for
    Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and
    starve: I will fetch my gold and have our two
    wagers recorded.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Agreed.

    [Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and IACHIMO]

Frenchman    Will this hold, think you?

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

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE V    Britain. A room in Cymbeline's palace.


    [Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS]

QUEEN    Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;
    Make haste: who has the note of them?

First Lady    I, madam.

QUEEN    Dispatch.

    [Exeunt Ladies]

    Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?

CORNELIUS    Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam:

    [Presenting a small box]

    But I beseech your grace, without offence,--
    My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have
    Commanded of me those most poisonous compounds,
    Which are the movers of a languishing death;
    But though slow, deadly?

QUEEN    I wonder, doctor,
    Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
    Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
    To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
    That our great king himself doth woo me oft
    For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,--
    Unless thou think'st me devilish--is't not meet
    That I did amplify my judgment in
    Other conclusions? I will try the forces
    Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
    We count not worth the hanging, but none human,
    To try the vigour of them and apply
    Allayments to their act, and by them gather
    Their several virtues and effects.

CORNELIUS    Your highness
    Shall from this practise but make hard your heart:
    Besides, the seeing these effects will be
    Both noisome and infectious.

QUEEN    O, content thee.

    [Enter PISANIO]

    [Aside]

    Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
    Will I first work: he's for his master,
    An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!
    Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
    Take your own way.

CORNELIUS    [Aside]          I do suspect you, madam;
    But you shall do no harm.

QUEEN    [To PISANIO]            Hark thee, a word.

CORNELIUS    [Aside]  I do not like her. She doth think she has
    Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit,
    And will not trust one of her malice with
    A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
    Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile;
    Which first, perchance, she'll prove on
    cats and dogs,
    Then afterward up higher: but there is
    No danger in what show of death it makes,
    More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
    To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
    With a most false effect; and I the truer,
    So to be false with her.

QUEEN    No further service, doctor,
    Until I send for thee.

CORNELIUS    I humbly take my leave.

    [Exit]

QUEEN    Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
    She will not quench and let instructions enter
    Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:
    When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
    I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
    As great as is thy master, greater, for
    His fortunes all lie speechless and his name
    Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor
    Continue where he is: to shift his being
    Is to exchange one misery with another,
    And every day that comes comes to decay
    A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
    To be depender on a thing that leans,
    Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,
    So much as but to prop him?

    [The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up]

              Thou takest up
    Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:
    It is a thing I made, which hath the king
    Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know
    What is more cordial. Nay, I prethee, take it;
    It is an earnest of a further good
    That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
    The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
    Think what a chance thou changest on, but think
    Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,
    Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king
    To any shape of thy preferment such
    As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
    That set thee on to this desert, am bound
    To load thy merit richly. Call my women:
    Think on my words.

    [Exit PISANIO]

        A sly and constant knave,
    Not to be shaked; the agent for his master
    And the remembrancer of her to hold
    The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
    Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
    Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,
    Except she bend her humour, shall be assured
    To taste of too.

    [Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies]

    So, so: well done, well done:
    The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
    Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
    Think on my words.

    [Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies]

PISANIO    And shall do:
    But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
    I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you.

    [Exit]




    CYMBELINE


ACT I



SCENE VI    The same. Another room in the palace.


    [Enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN    A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
    A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
    That hath her husband banish'd;--O, that husband!
    My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
    Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
    As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
    Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,
    How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
    Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!

    [Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO]

PISANIO    Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
    Comes from my lord with letters.

IACHIMO    Change you, madam?
    The worthy Leonatus is in safety
    And greets your highness dearly.

    [Presents a letter]

IMOGEN    Thanks, good sir:
    You're kindly welcome.

IACHIMO    [Aside]  All of her that is out of door most rich!
    If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
    She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
    Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
    Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
    Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
    Rather directly fly.

IMOGEN    [Reads]  'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
    kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon
    him accordingly, as you value your trust--
             LEONATUS.'
    So far I read aloud:
    But even the very middle of my heart
    Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
    You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
    Have words to bid you, and shall find it so
    In all that I can do.

IACHIMO    Thanks, fairest lady.
    What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
    To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
    Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
    The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
    Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
    Partition make with spectacles so precious
    'Twixt fair and foul?

IMOGEN    What makes your admiration?

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

IMOGEN    What is the matter, trow?

IACHIMO    The cloyed will,
    That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
    Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb
    Longs after for the garbage.

IMOGEN    What, dear sir,
    Thus raps you? Are you well?

IACHIMO    Thanks, madam; well.

    [To PISANIO]

         Beseech you, sir, desire
    My man's abode where I did leave him: he
    Is strange and peevish.

PISANIO    I was going, sir,
    To give him welcome.

    [Exit]

IMOGEN    Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

IACHIMO    Well, madam.

IMOGEN    Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.

IACHIMO    Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
    So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
    The Briton reveller.

IMOGEN    When he was here,
    He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
    Not knowing why.

IACHIMO                      I never saw him sad.
    There is a Frenchman his companion, one
    An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
    A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
    The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton--
    Your lord, I mean--laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,
    Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
    By history, report, or his own proof,
    What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
    But must be, will his free hours languish for
    Assured bondage?'

IMOGEN                      Will my lord say so?

IACHIMO    Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:
    It is a recreation to be by
    And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,
    Some men are much to blame.

IMOGEN    Not he, I hope.

IACHIMO    Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
    Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
    In you, which I account his beyond all talents,
    Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
    To pity too.

IMOGEN                      What do you pity, sir?

IACHIMO    Two creatures heartily.

IMOGEN    Am I one, sir?
    You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
    Deserves your pity?

IACHIMO    Lamentable! What,
    To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
    I' the dungeon by a snuff?

IMOGEN    I pray you, sir,
    Deliver with more openness your answers
    To my demands. Why do you pity me?

IACHIMO    That others do--
    I was about to say--enjoy your--But
    It is an office of the gods to venge it,
    Not mine to speak on 't.

IMOGEN    You do seem to know
    Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,--
    Since doubling things go ill often hurts more
    Than to be sure they do; for certainties
    Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
    The remedy then born--discover to me
    What both you spur and stop.

IACHIMO    Had I this cheek
    To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
    Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
    To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
    Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
    Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
    Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
    That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
    Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood, as
    With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
    Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
    That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
    That all the plagues of hell should at one time
    Encounter such revolt.

IMOGEN    My lord, I fear,
    Has forgot Britain.

IACHIMO    And himself. Not I,
    Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
    The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
    That from pay mutest conscience to my tongue
    Charms this report out.

IMOGEN    Let me hear no more.

IACHIMO    O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
    With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
    So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
    Would make the great'st king double,--to be partner'd
    With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition
    Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
    That play with all infirmities for gold
    Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
    As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
    Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
    Recoil from your great stock.

IMOGEN    Revenged!
    How should I be revenged? If this be true,--
    As I have such a heart that both mine ears
    Must not in haste abuse--if it be true,
    How should I be revenged?

IACHIMO    Should he make me
    Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
    Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
    In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
    I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
    More noble than that runagate to your bed,
    And will continue fast to your affection,
    Still close as sure.

IMOGEN    What, ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO    Let me my service tender on your lips.

IMOGEN    Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
    So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
    Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
    For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange.
    Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
    From thy report as thou from honour, and
    Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
    Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
    The king my father shall be made acquainted
    Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
    A saucy stranger in his court to mart
    As in a Romish stew and to expound
    His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
    He little cares for and a daughter who
    He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO    O happy Leonatus! I may say
    The credit that thy lady hath of thee
    Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
    Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!
    A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
    Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
    For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
    I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
    Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
    That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
    The truest manner'd; such a holy witch
    That he enchants societies into him;
    Half all men's hearts are his.

IMOGEN    You make amends.

IACHIMO    He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
    He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
    More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
    Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
    To try your taking a false report; which hath
    Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
    In the election of a sir so rare,
    Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him
    Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,
    Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

IMOGEN    All's well, sir: take my power i' the court
    for yours.

IACHIMO    My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
    To entreat your grace but in a small request,
    And yet of moment to, for it concerns
    Your lord; myself and other noble friends,
    Are partners in the business.

IMOGEN    Pray, what is't?

IACHIMO    Some dozen Romans of us and your lord--
    The best feather of our wing--have mingled sums
    To buy a present for the emperor
    Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
    In France: 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
    Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
    And I am something curious, being strange,
    To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
    To take them in protection?

IMOGEN    Willingly;
    And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
    My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
    In my bedchamber.

IACHIMO    They are in a trunk,
    Attended by my men: I will make bold
    To send them to you, only for this night;
    I must aboard to-morrow.

IMOGEN    O, no, no.

IACHIMO    Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
    By lengthening my return. From Gallia
    I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
    To see your grace.

IMOGEN    I thank you for your pains:
    But not away to-morrow!

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

IMOGEN    I will write.
    Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
    And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE I    Britain. Before Cymbeline's palace.


    [Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]

CLOTEN    Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
    jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a
    hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes
    must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine
    oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.

First Lord    What got he by that? You have broke his pate with
    your bowl.

Second Lord    [Aside]  If his wit had been like him that broke it,
    it would have run all out.

CLOTEN    When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for
    any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?

Second Lord    No my lord;

    [Aside]

    nor crop the ears of them.

CLOTEN    Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
    Would he had been one of my rank!

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

CLOTEN    I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a
    pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am;
    they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my
    mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of
    fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
    nobody can match.

Second Lord    [Aside]  You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
    cock, with your comb on.

CLOTEN    Sayest thou?

Second Lord    It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
    companion that you give offence to.

CLOTEN    No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
    offence to my inferiors.

Second Lord    Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

CLOTEN    Why, so I say.

First Lord    Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?

CLOTEN    A stranger, and I not know on't!

Second Lord    [Aside]  He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
    not.

First Lord    There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of
    Leonatus' friends.

CLOTEN    Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
    whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

First Lord    One of your lordship's pages.

CLOTEN    Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
    derogation in't?

Second Lord    You cannot derogate, my lord.

CLOTEN    Not easily, I think.

Second Lord    [Aside]  You are a fool granted; therefore your
    issues, being foolish, do not derogate.

CLOTEN    Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
    to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.

Second Lord    I'll attend your lordship.

    [Exeunt CLOTEN and First Lord]

    That such a crafty devil as is his mother
    Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
    Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
    Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
    And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
    Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
    Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
    A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
    More hateful than the foul expulsion is
    Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
    Of the divorce he'ld make! The heavens hold firm
    The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
    That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
    To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!

    [Exit]




    CYMBELINE


ACT II



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


    [IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending]

IMOGEN    Who's there? my woman Helen?

Lady    Please you, madam

IMOGEN    What hour is it?

Lady                      Almost midnight, madam.

IMOGEN    I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
    Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
    Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
    And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
    I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly

    [Exit Lady]

    To your protection I commend me, gods.
    From fairies and the tempters of the night
    Guard me, beseech ye.

    [Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk]

IACHIMO    The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
    Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
    Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
    The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
    How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
    And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
    But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
    How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
    Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
    Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
    To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
    Under these windows, white and azure laced
    With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
    To note the chamber: I will write all down:
    Such and such pictures; there the window; such
    The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
    Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
    Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
    Above ten thousand meaner moveables
    Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
    O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
    And be her sense but as a monument,
    Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:

    [Taking off her bracelet]

    As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
    'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
    As strongly as the conscience does within,
    To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
    A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
    I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
    Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
    Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
    The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
    Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
    Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
    The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
    Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
    To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
    Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
    May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
    Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

    [Clock strikes]

    One, two, three: time, time!

    [Goes into the trunk. The scene closes]




    CYMBELINE


ACT II



Scene III    An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartments.


    [Enter CLOTEN and Lords]

First Lord    Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the
    most coldest that ever turned up ace.

CLOTEN    It would make any man cold to lose.

First Lord    But not every man patient after the noble temper of
    your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.

CLOTEN    Winning will put any man into courage. If I could
    get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough.
    It's almost morning, is't not?

First Lord    Day, my lord.

CLOTEN    I would this music would come: I am advised to give
    her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.

    [Enter Musicians]

    Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your
    fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
    will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
    First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;
    after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich
    words to it: and then let her consider.
    [SONG]

    Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
    And Phoebus 'gins arise,
    His steeds to water at those springs
    On chaliced flowers that lies;
    And winking Mary-buds begin
    To ope their golden eyes:
    With every thing that pretty is,
    My lady sweet, arise:
    Arise, arise.

CLOTEN    So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will
    consider your music the better: if it do not, it is
    a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and
    calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
    boot, can never amend.

    [Exeunt Musicians]

Second Lord    Here comes the king.

CLOTEN    I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I
    was up so early: he cannot choose but take this
    service I have done fatherly.

    [Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN]

    Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.

CYMBELINE    Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
    Will she not forth?

CLOTEN    I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.

CYMBELINE    The exile of her minion is too new;
    She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
    Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
    And then she's yours.

QUEEN    You are most bound to the king,
    Who lets go by no vantages that may
    Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
    To orderly soliciting, and be friended
    With aptness of the season; make denials
    Increase your services; so seem as if
    You were inspired to do those duties which
    You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
    Save when command to your dismission tends,
    And therein you are senseless.

CLOTEN    Senseless! not so.

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
    The one is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE    A worthy fellow,
    Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
    But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
    According to the honour of his sender;
    And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
    We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
    When you have given good morning to your mistress,
    Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
    To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.

    [Exeunt all but CLOTEN]

CLOTEN    If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
    Let her lie still and dream.

    [Knocks]

               By your leave, ho!
    I Know her women are about her: what
    If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
    Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
    Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
    Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
    Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
    Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what
    Can it not do and undo? I will make
    One of her women lawyer to me, for
    I yet not understand the case myself.

    [Knocks]

    By your leave.

    [Enter a Lady]

Lady    Who's there that knocks?

CLOTEN    A gentleman.

Lady    No more?

CLOTEN    Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady    That's more
    Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
    Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?

CLOTEN    Your lady's person: is she ready?

Lady    Ay,
    To keep her chamber.

CLOTEN    There is gold for you;
    Sell me your good report.

Lady    How! my good name? or to report of you
    What I shall think is good?--The princess!

    [Enter IMOGEN]

CLOTEN    Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.

    [Exit Lady]

IMOGEN    Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
    For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
    Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
    And scarce can spare them.

CLOTEN    Still, I swear I love you.

IMOGEN    If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
    If you swear still, your recompense is still
    That I regard it not.

CLOTEN    This is no answer.

IMOGEN    But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
    I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
    I shall unfold equal discourtesy
    To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
    Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

CLOTEN    To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
    I will not.

IMOGEN              Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN    Do you call me fool?

IMOGEN    As I am mad, I do:
    If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
    That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
    You put me to forget a lady's manners,
    By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
    That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
    By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
    And am so near the lack of charity--
    To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather
    You felt than make't my boast.

CLOTEN    You sin against
    Obedience, which you owe your father. For
    The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
    One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
    With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
    And though it be allow'd in meaner parties--
    Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls,
    On whom there is no more dependency
    But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;
    Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
    The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
    The precious note of it with a base slave.
    A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
    A pantler, not so eminent.

IMOGEN    Profane fellow
    Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more
    But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
    To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
    Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
    Comparative for your virtues, to be styled
    The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
    For being preferred so well.

CLOTEN    The south-fog rot him!

IMOGEN    He never can meet more mischance than come
    To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,
    That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
    In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
    Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!

    [Enter PISANIO]

CLOTEN    'His garment!' Now the devil--

IMOGEN    To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--

CLOTEN    'His garment!'

IMOGEN                      I am sprited with a fool.
    Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman
    Search for a jewel that too casually
    Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
    If I would lose it for a revenue
    Of any king's in Europe. I do think
    I saw't this morning: confident I am
    Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
    I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
    That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO    'Twill not be lost.

IMOGEN    I hope so: go and search.

    [Exit PISANIO]

CLOTEN    You have abused me:
    'His meanest garment!'

IMOGEN    Ay, I said so, sir:
    If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

CLOTEN    I will inform your father.

IMOGEN    Your mother too:
    She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
    But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,
    To the worst of discontent.

    [Exit]

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

    [Exit]



CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE IV    Rome. Philario's house.


    [Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure
    To win the king as I am bold her honour
    Will remain hers.

PHILARIO                      What means do you make to him?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Not any, but abide the change of time,
    Quake in the present winter's state and wish
    That warmer days would come: in these sear'd hopes,
    I barely gratify your love; they failing,
    I must die much your debtor.

PHILARIO    Your very goodness and your company
    O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
    Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
    Will do's commission throughly: and I think
    He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
    Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
    Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    I do believe,
    Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
    That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
    The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
    In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
    Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
    Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar
    Smiled at their lack of skill, but found
    their courage
    Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,
    Now mingled with their courages, will make known
    To their approvers they are people such
    That mend upon the world.

    [Enter IACHIMO]

PHILARIO    See! Iachimo!

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

PHILARIO    Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    I hope the briefness of your answer made
    The speediness of your return.

IACHIMO    Your lady
    Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
    Look through a casement to allure false hearts
    And be false with them.

IACHIMO    Here are letters for you.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Their tenor good, I trust.

IACHIMO    'Tis very like.

PHILARIO    Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
    When you were there?

IACHIMO    He was expected then,
    But not approach'd.

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

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

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

IACHIMO    Not a whit,
    Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Make not, sir,
    Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we
    Must not continue friends.

IACHIMO    Good sir, we must,
    If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
    The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
    We were to question further: but I now
    Profess myself the winner of her honour,
    Together with your ring; and not the wronger
    Of her or you, having proceeded but
    By both your wills.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    If you can make't apparent
    That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
    And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion
    You had of her pure honour gains or loses
    Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
    To who shall find them.

IACHIMO    Sir, my circumstances,
    Being so near the truth as I will make them,
    Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
    I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
    You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
    You need it not.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS                      Proceed.

IACHIMO    First, her bedchamber,--
    Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
    Had that was well worth watching--it was hang'd
    With tapesty of silk and silver; the story
    Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
    And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
    The press of boats or pride: a piece of work
    So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
    In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd
    Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
    Since the true life on't was--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    This is true;
    And this you might have heard of here, by me,
    Or by some other.

IACHIMO    More particulars
    Must justify my knowledge.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    So they must,
    Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO    The chimney
    Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
    Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures
    So likely to report themselves: the cutter
    Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
    Motion and breath left out.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    This is a thing
    Which you might from relation likewise reap,
    Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO    The roof o' the chamber
    With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons--
    I had forgot them--were two winking Cupids
    Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
    Depending on their brands.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    This is her honour!
    Let it be granted you have seen all this--and praise
    Be given to your remembrance--the description
    Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
    The wager you have laid.

IACHIMO    Then, if you can,

    [Showing the bracelet]

    Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!
    And now 'tis up again: it must be married
    To that your diamond; I'll keep them.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Jove!
    Once more let me behold it: is it that
    Which I left with her?

IACHIMO    Sir--I thank her--that:
    She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
    Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
    And yet enrich'd it too: she gave it me, and said
    She prized it once.

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

IACHIMO    She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;

    [Gives the ring]

    It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
    Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour
    Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
    Where there's another man: the vows of women
    Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
    Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing.
    O, above measure false!

PHILARIO    Have patience, sir,
    And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
    It may be probable she lost it; or
    Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
    Hath stol'n it from her?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Very true;
    And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring:
    Render to me some corporal sign about her,
    More evident than this; for this was stolen.

IACHIMO    By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
    'Tis true:--nay, keep the ring--'tis true: I am sure
    She would not lose it: her attendants are
    All sworn and honourable:--they induced to steal it!
    And by a stranger!--No, he hath enjoyed her:
    The cognizance of her incontinency
    Is this: she hath bought the name of whore
    thus dearly.
    There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
    Divide themselves between you!

PHILARIO    Sir, be patient:
    This is not strong enough to be believed
    Of one persuaded well of--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Never talk on't;
    She hath been colted by him.

IACHIMO    If you seek
    For further satisfying, under her breast--
    Worthy the pressing--lies a mole, right proud
    Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,
    I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
    To feed again, though full. You do remember
    This stain upon her?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Ay, and it doth confirm
    Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
    Were there no more but it.

IACHIMO    Will you hear more?

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

IACHIMO    I'll be sworn--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    No swearing.
    If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
    And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
    Thou'st made me cuckold.

IACHIMO    I'll deny nothing.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
    I will go there and do't, i' the court, before
    Her father. I'll do something--

    [Exit]

PHILARIO    Quite besides
    The government of patience! You have won:
    Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
    He hath against himself.

IACHIMO    With an my heart.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT II



SCENE V    Another room in Philario's house.


    [Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Is there no way for men to be but women
    Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
    And that most venerable man which I
    Did call my father, was I know not where
    When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
    Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
    The Dian of that time so doth my wife
    The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
    Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
    And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
    A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't
    Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
    As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
    This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--
    Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,
    Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
    Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
    But what he look'd for should oppose and she
    Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
    The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
    That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
    It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
    The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
    Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
    Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
    Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
    All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
    Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
    For even to vice
    They are not constant but are changing still
    One vice, but of a minute old, for one
    Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
    Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
    In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
    The very devils cannot plague them better.

    [Exit]




    CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE I    Britain. A hall in Cymbeline's palace.


    [Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN,
    and Lords at one door, and at another,
    CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants]

CYMBELINE    Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

CAIUS LUCIUS    When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet
    Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues
    Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain
    And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,--
    Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less
    Than in his feats deserving it--for him
    And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
    Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
    Is left untender'd.

QUEEN    And, to kill the marvel,
    Shall be so ever.

CLOTEN    There be many Caesars,
    Ere such another Julius. Britain is
    A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
    For wearing our own noses.

QUEEN    That opportunity
    Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
    We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
    The kings your ancestors, together with
    The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
    As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
    With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
    With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
    But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
    Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
    Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
    That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried
    From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--
    Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,
    Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
    As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
    The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--
    O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword,
    Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
    And Britons strut with courage.

CLOTEN    Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our
    kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and,
    as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of
    them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
    straight arms, none.

CYMBELINE    Son, let your mother end.

CLOTEN    We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as
    Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a
    hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If
    Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or
    put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute
    for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

CYMBELINE    You must know,
    Till the injurious Romans did extort
    This tribute from us, we were free:
    Caesar's ambition,
    Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
    The sides o' the world, against all colour here
    Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
    Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
    Ourselves to be.

CLOTEN    |
    |                We do.
Lords    |

CYMBELINE    Say, then, to Caesar,
    Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
    Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
    Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
    Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
    Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws,
    Who was the first of Britain which did put
    His brows within a golden crown and call'd
    Himself a king.

CAIUS LUCIUS                      I am sorry, Cymbeline,
    That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar--
    Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
    Thyself domestic officers--thine enemy:
    Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
    In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
    For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
    I thank thee for myself.

CYMBELINE    Thou art welcome, Caius.
    Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
    Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
    Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
    Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
    That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
    Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent
    Which not to read would show the Britons cold:
    So Caesar shall not find them.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Let proof speak.

CLOTEN    His majesty bids you welcome. Make
    pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if
    you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
    shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you
    beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in
    the adventure, our crows shall fare the better
    for you; and there's an end.

CAIUS LUCIUS    So, sir.

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

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE II    Another room in the palace.


    [Enter PISANIO, with a letter]

PISANIO    How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
    What monster's her accuser? Leonatus,
    O master! what a strange infection
    Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,
    As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd
    On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:
    She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
    More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
    As would take in some virtue. O my master!
    Thy mind to her is now as low as were
    Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
    Upon the love and truth and vows which I
    Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?
    If it be so to do good service, never
    Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
    That I should seem to lack humanity
    so much as this fact comes to?

    [Reading]

        'Do't: the letter
    that I have sent her, by her own command
    Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper!
    Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
    Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
    So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
    I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

    [Enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN    How now, Pisanio!

PISANIO    Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

IMOGEN    Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!
    O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
    That knew the stars as I his characters;
    He'ld lay the future open. You good gods,
    Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
    Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
    That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:
    Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
    For it doth physic love: of his content,
    All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
    You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
    And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:
    Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
    You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!

    [Reads]

    'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me
    in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as
    you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me
    with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,
    at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of
    this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all
    happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,
    increasing in love,
                LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'
    O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
    He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
    How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
    May plod it in a week, why may not I
    Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,--
    Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,--
    let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st,
    But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me;
    For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick;
    Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
    To the smothering of the sense--how far it is
    To this same blessed Milford: and by the way
    Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
    To inherit such a haven: but first of all,
    How we may steal from hence, and for the gap
    That we shall make in time, from our hence-going
    And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:
    Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
    We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
    How many score of miles may we well ride
    'Twixt hour and hour?

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

    [Aside]

             and too much too.

IMOGEN    Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
    Could never go so slow: I have heard of
    riding wagers,
    Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
    That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:
    Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
    She'll home to her father: and provide me presently
    A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
    A franklin's housewife.

PISANIO    Madam, you're best consider.

IMOGEN    I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,
    Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
    That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
    Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say,
    Accessible is none but Milford way.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE III    Wales: a mountainous country with a cave.


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

BELARIUS    A goodly day not to keep house, with such
    Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
    Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows you
    To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
    Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
    And keep their impious turbans on, without
    Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
    We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
    As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS    Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS    Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS    Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill;
    Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
    When you above perceive me like a crow,
    That it is place which lessens and sets off;
    And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
    Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
    This service is not service, so being done,
    But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
    Draws us a profit from all things we see;
    And often, to our comfort, shall we find
    The sharded beetle in a safer hold
    Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
    Is nobler than attending for a cheque,
    Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
    Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
    Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
    Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.

GUIDERIUS    Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
    Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
    What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
    If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
    That have a sharper known; well corresponding
    With your stiff age: but unto us it is
    A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
    A prison for a debtor, that not dares
    To stride a limit.

ARVIRAGUS                      What should we speak of
    When we are old as you? when we shall hear
    The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
    In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
    The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
    We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,
    Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat;
    Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
    We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
    And sing our bondage freely.

BELARIUS    How you speak!
    Did you but know the city's usuries
    And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
    As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
    Is certain falling, or so slippery that
    The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
    A pain that only seems to seek out danger
    I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
    the search,
    And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
    As record of fair act; nay, many times,
    Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
    Must court'sy at the censure:--O boys, this story
    The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
    With Roman swords, and my report was once
    First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me,
    And when a soldier was the theme, my name
    Was not far off: then was I as a tree
    Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
    A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
    Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
    And left me bare to weather.

GUIDERIUS    Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS    My fault being nothing--as I have told you oft--
    But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
    Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
    I was confederate with the Romans: so
    Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
    This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
    Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
    More pious debts to heaven than in all
    The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
    This is not hunters' language: he that strikes
    The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
    To him the other two shall minister;
    And we will fear no poison, which attends
    In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.

    [Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

    How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
    These boys know little they are sons to the king;
    Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
    They think they are mine; and though train'd
    up thus meanly
    I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
    The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
    In simple and low things to prince it much
    Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
    The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
    The king his father call'd Guiderius,--Jove!
    When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
    The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
    Into my story: say 'Thus, mine enemy fell,
    And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then
    The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
    Strains his young nerves and puts himself in posture
    That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
    Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,
    Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
    His own conceiving.--Hark, the game is roused!
    O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
    Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
    At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
    Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
    Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
    Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for
    their mother,
    And every day do honour to her grave:
    Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
    They take for natural father. The game is up.

    [Exit]




    CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE IV    Country near Milford-Haven.


    [Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN]

IMOGEN    Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
    Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so
    To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man!
    Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
    That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
    From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
    Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
    Beyond self-explication: put thyself
    Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness
    Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
    Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
    A look untender? If't be summer news,
    Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
    But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand!
    That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
    And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue
    May take off some extremity, which to read
    Would be even mortal to me.

PISANIO    Please you, read;
    And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
    The most disdain'd of fortune.

IMOGEN    [Reads]  'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
    strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie
    bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,
    but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain
    as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio,
    must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with
    the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away
    her life: I shall give thee opportunity at
    Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose
    where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain
    it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and
    equally to me disloyal.'

PISANIO    What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
    Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
    Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
    Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
    Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
    All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,
    Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
    This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?

IMOGEN    False to his bed! What is it to be false?
    To lie in watch there and to think on him?
    To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep
    charge nature,
    To break it with a fearful dream of him
    And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it?

PISANIO    Alas, good lady!

IMOGEN    I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo,
    Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
    Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks
    Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy
    Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
    Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
    And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
    I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O,
    Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
    By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
    Put on for villany; not born where't grows,
    But worn a bait for ladies.

PISANIO    Good madam, hear me.

IMOGEN    True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
    Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping
    Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
    From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
    Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
    Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
    From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:
    Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him,
    A little witness my obedience: look!
    I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
    The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;
    Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief;
    Thy master is not there, who was indeed
    The riches of it: do his bidding; strike
    Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
    But now thou seem'st a coward.

PISANIO    Hence, vile instrument!
    Thou shalt not damn my hand.

IMOGEN    Why, I must die;
    And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
    No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
    There is a prohibition so divine
    That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
    Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence;
    Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
    The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
    All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
    Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
    Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
    Believe false teachers: though those that
    are betray'd
    Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
    Stands in worse case of woe.
    And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
    My disobedience 'gainst the king my father
    And make me put into contempt the suits
    Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
    It is no act of common passage, but
    A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself
    To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
    That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
    Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch:
    The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
    Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
    When I desire it too.

PISANIO    O gracious lady,
    Since I received command to do this business
    I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN    Do't, and to bed then.

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

IMOGEN    Wherefore then
    Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
    So many miles with a pretence? this place?
    Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
    The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
    For my being absent? whereunto I never
    Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far,
    To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
    The elected deer before thee?

PISANIO    But to win time
    To lose so bad employment; in the which
    I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
    Hear me with patience.

IMOGEN    Talk thy tongue weary; speak
    I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear
    Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
    Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

PISANIO    Then, madam,
    I thought you would not back again.

IMOGEN    Most like;
    Bringing me here to kill me.

PISANIO    Not so, neither:
    But if I were as wise as honest, then
    My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
    But that my master is abused:
    Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
    Hath done you both this cursed injury.

IMOGEN    Some Roman courtezan.

PISANIO    No, on my life.
    I'll give but notice you are dead and send him
    Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
    I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
    And that will well confirm it.

IMOGEN    Why good fellow,
    What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?
    Or in my life what comfort, when I am
    Dead to my husband?

PISANIO    If you'll back to the court--

IMOGEN    No court, no father; nor no more ado
    With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
    That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
    As fearful as a siege.

PISANIO    If not at court,
    Then not in Britain must you bide.

IMOGEN    Where then
    Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
    Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
    Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
    In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
    There's livers out of Britain.

PISANIO    I am most glad
    You think of other place. The ambassador,
    Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
    To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
    Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
    That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
    But by self-danger, you should tread a course
    Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near
    The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least
    That though his actions were not visible, yet
    Report should render him hourly to your ear
    As truly as he moves.

IMOGEN    O, for such means!
    Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
    I would adventure.

PISANIO    Well, then, here's the point:
    You must forget to be a woman; change
    Command into obedience: fear and niceness--
    The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
    Woman its pretty self--into a waggish courage:
    Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and
    As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
    Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
    Exposing it--but, O, the harder heart!
    Alack, no remedy!--to the greedy touch
    Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
    Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
    You made great Juno angry.

IMOGEN    Nay, be brief
    I see into thy end, and am almost
    A man already.

PISANIO    First, make yourself but like one.
    Fore-thinking this, I have already fit--
    'Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all
    That answer to them: would you in their serving,
    And with what imitation you can borrow
    From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
    Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
    wherein you're happy,--which you'll make him know,
    If that his head have ear in music,--doubtless
    With joy he will embrace you, for he's honourable
    And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,
    You have me, rich; and I will never fail
    Beginning nor supplyment.

IMOGEN    Thou art all the comfort
    The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:
    There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
    All that good time will give us: this attempt
    I am soldier to, and will abide it with
    A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO    Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
    Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
    Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
    Here is a box; I had it from the queen:
    What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
    Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
    Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
    And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
    Direct you to the best!

IMOGEN    Amen: I thank thee.

    [Exeunt, severally]




    CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE V    A room in Cymbeline's palace.


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

CYMBELINE    Thus far; and so farewell.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Thanks, royal sir.
    My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
    And am right sorry that I must report ye
    My master's enemy.

CYMBELINE                      Our subjects, sir,
    Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
    To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
    Appear unkinglike.

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

QUEEN    And you!

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

CAIUS LUCIUS    Your hand, my lord.

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

CAIUS LUCIUS    Sir, the event
    Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.

CYMBELINE    Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
    Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!

    [Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords]

QUEEN    He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
    That we have given him cause.

CLOTEN    'Tis all the better;
    Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

CYMBELINE    Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
    How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
    Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
    The powers that he already hath in Gallia
    Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
    His war for Britain.

QUEEN    'Tis not sleepy business;
    But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.

CYMBELINE    Our expectation that it would be thus
    Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
    Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
    Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
    The duty of the day: she looks us like
    A thing more made of malice than of duty:
    We have noted it. Call her before us; for
    We have been too slight in sufferance.

    [Exit an Attendant]

QUEEN    Royal sir,
    Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
    Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
    'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
    Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
    So tender of rebukes that words are strokes
    And strokes death to her.

    [Re-enter Attendant]

CYMBELINE    Where is she, sir? How
    Can her contempt be answer'd?

Attendant    Please you, sir,
    Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
    That will be given to the loudest noise we make.

QUEEN    My lord, when last I went to visit her,
    She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
    Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
    She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
    Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
    She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
    Made me to blame in memory.

CYMBELINE    Her doors lock'd?
    Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
    Prove false!

    [Exit]

QUEEN    Son, I say, follow the king.

CLOTEN    That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
    have not seen these two days.

QUEEN    Go, look after.

    [Exit CLOTEN]

    Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!
    He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence
    Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
    It is a thing most precious. But for her,
    Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,
    Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
    To her desired Posthumus: gone she is
    To death or to dishonour; and my end
    Can make good use of either: she being down,
    I have the placing of the British crown.

    [Re-enter CLOTEN]

    How now, my son!

CLOTEN    'Tis certain she is fled.
    Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
    Dare come about him.

QUEEN    [Aside]            All the better: may
    This night forestall him of the coming day!

    [Exit]

CLOTEN    I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
    And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
    Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
    The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
    Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
    Disdaining me and throwing favours on
    The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
    That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
    I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
    To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--

    [Enter PISANIO]

    Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
    Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
    Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
    Thou art straightway with the fiends.

PISANIO    O, good my lord!

CLOTEN    Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--
    I will not ask again. Close villain,
    I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
    Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
    From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
    A dram of worth be drawn.

PISANIO    Alas, my lord,
    How can she be with him? When was she missed?
    He is in Rome.

CLOTEN                      Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
    No further halting: satisfy me home
    What is become of her.

PISANIO    O, my all-worthy lord!

CLOTEN    All-worthy villain!
    Discover where thy mistress is at once,
    At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!'
    Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
    Thy condemnation and thy death.

PISANIO    Then, sir,
    This paper is the history of my knowledge
    Touching her flight.

    [Presenting a letter]

CLOTEN    Let's see't. I will pursue her
    Even to Augustus' throne.

PISANIO    [Aside]                 Or this, or perish.
    She's far enough; and what he learns by this
    May prove his travel, not her danger.

CLOTEN    Hum!

PISANIO    [Aside]  I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
    Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!

CLOTEN    Sirrah, is this letter true?

PISANIO    Sir, as I think.

CLOTEN    It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
    wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
    undergo those employments wherein I should have
    cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
    what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it
    directly and truly, I would think thee an honest
    man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy
    relief nor my voice for thy preferment.

PISANIO    Well, my good lord.

CLOTEN    Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
    constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
    that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
    course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
    mine: wilt thou serve me?

PISANIO    Sir, I will.

CLOTEN    Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy
    late master's garments in thy possession?

PISANIO    I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he
    wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

CLOTEN    The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
    hither: let it be thy lint service; go.

PISANIO    I shall, my lord.

    [Exit]

CLOTEN    Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one
    thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou
    villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
    garments were come. She said upon a time--the
    bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she
    held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
    than my noble and natural person together with the
    adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
    back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her
    eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then
    be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my
    speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and
    when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex
    her I will execute in the clothes that she so
    praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot
    her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
    and I'll be merry in my revenge.

    [Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes]

    Be those the garments?

PISANIO    Ay, my noble lord.

CLOTEN    How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?

PISANIO    She can scarce be there yet.

CLOTEN    Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second
    thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,
    that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be
    but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
    to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
    wings to follow it! Come, and be true.

    [Exit]

PISANIO    Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee
    Were to prove false, which I will never be,
    To him that is most true. To Milford go,
    And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
    You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
    Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!

    [Exit]




    CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VI    Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.


    [Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes]

IMOGEN    I see a man's life is a tedious one:
    I have tired myself, and for two nights together
    Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
    But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
    When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
    Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think
    Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
    Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me
    I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
    That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
    A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
    When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
    Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
    Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
    Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
    My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
    At point to sink for food. But what is this?
    Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold:
    I were best not to call; I dare not call:
    yet famine,
    Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant,
    Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever
    Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
    If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
    Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
    Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy
    But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
    Such a foe, good heavens!

    [Exit, to the cave]

    [Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS    You, Polydote, have proved best woodman and
    Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I
    Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
    The sweat of industry would dry and die,
    But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
    Will make what's homely savoury: weariness
    Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
    Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
    Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

GUIDERIUS    I am thoroughly weary.

ARVIRAGUS    I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

GUIDERIUS    There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll browse on that,
    Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.

BELARIUS    [Looking into the cave]

    Stay; come not in.
    But that it eats our victuals, I should think
    Here were a fairy.

GUIDERIUS    What's the matter, sir?

BELARIUS    By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
    An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
    No elder than a boy!

    [Re-enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN    Good masters, harm me not:
    Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
    To have begg'd or bought what I have took:
    good troth,
    I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had found
    Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my meat:
    I would have left it on the board so soon
    As I had made my meal, and parted
    With prayers for the provider.

GUIDERIUS    Money, youth?

ARVIRAGUS    All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
    As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
    Who worship dirty gods.

IMOGEN    I see you're angry:
    Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
    Have died had I not made it.

BELARIUS    Whither bound?

IMOGEN    To Milford-Haven.

BELARIUS    What's your name?

IMOGEN    Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
    Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford;
    To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
    I am fall'n in this offence.

BELARIUS    Prithee, fair youth,
    Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
    By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
    'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
    Ere you depart: and thanks to stay and eat it.
    Boys, bid him welcome.

GUIDERIUS    Were you a woman, youth,
    I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,
    I bid for you as I'd buy.

ARVIRAGUS    I'll make't my comfort
    He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:
    And such a welcome as I'd give to him
    After long absence, such is yours: most welcome!
    Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

IMOGEN    'Mongst friends,
    If brothers.

    [Aside]

    Would it had been so, that they
    Had been my father's sons! then had my prize
    Been less, and so more equal ballasting
    To thee, Posthumus.

BELARIUS    He wrings at some distress.

GUIDERIUS    Would I could free't!

ARVIRAGUS    Or I, whate'er it be,
    What pain it cost, what danger. God's!

BELARIUS    Hark, boys.

    [Whispering]

IMOGEN    Great men,
    That had a court no bigger than this cave,
    That did attend themselves and had the virtue
    Which their own conscience seal'd them--laying by
    That nothing-gift of differing multitudes--
    Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
    I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
    Since Leonatus's false.

BELARIUS    It shall be so.
    Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in:
    Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
    We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
    So far as thou wilt speak it.

GUIDERIUS    Pray, draw near.

ARVIRAGUS    The night to the owl and morn to the lark
    less welcome.

IMOGEN    Thanks, sir.

ARVIRAGUS    I pray, draw near.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT III



SCENE VII    Rome. A public place.


    [Enter two Senators and Tribunes]

First Senator    This is the tenor of the emperor's writ:
    That since the common men are now in action
    'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
    And that the legions now in Gallia are
    Full weak to undertake our wars against
    The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
    The gentry to this business. He creates
    Lucius preconsul: and to you the tribunes,
    For this immediate levy, he commends
    His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!

First Tribune    Is Lucius general of the forces?

Second Senator    Ay.

First Tribune    Remaining now in Gallia?

First Senator    With those legions
    Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
    Must be supplyant: the words of your commission
    Will tie you to the numbers and the time
    Of their dispatch.

First Tribune                      We will discharge our duty.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE I    Wales: near the cave of Belarius.


    [Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN    I am near to the place where they should meet, if
    Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments
    serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by
    him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the
    rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said
    a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must
    play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it
    is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer
    in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are
    as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,
    not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the
    advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike
    conversant in general services, and more remarkable
    in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant
    thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
    Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy
    shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy
    mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before
    thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her
    father; who may haply be a little angry for my so
    rough usage; but my mother, having power of his
    testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My
    horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore
    purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is
    the very description of their meeting-place; and
    the fellow dares not deceive me.

    [Exit]



    CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE II    Before the cave of Belarius.


    [Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS,
    ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN]

BELARIUS    [To IMOGEN]  You are not well: remain here in the cave;
    We'll come to you after hunting.

ARVIRAGUS    [To IMOGEN]    Brother, stay here
    Are we not brothers?

IMOGEN    So man and man should be;
    But clay and clay differs in dignity,
    Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

GUIDERIUS    Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.

IMOGEN    So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
    But not so citizen a wanton as
    To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me;
    Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
    Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
    Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
    To one not sociable: I am not very sick,
    Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:
    I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
    Stealing so poorly.

GUIDERIUS    I love thee; I have spoke it
    How much the quantity, the weight as much,
    As I do love my father.

BELARIUS    What! how! how!

ARVIRAGUS    If it be sin to say so, I yoke me
    In my good brother's fault: I know not why
    I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
    Love's reason's without reason: the bier at door,
    And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
    'My father, not this youth.'

BELARIUS    [Aside]    O noble strain!
    O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
    Cowards father cowards and base things sire base:
    Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
    I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
    Doth miracle itself, loved before me.
    'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.

ARVIRAGUS    Brother, farewell.

IMOGEN    I wish ye sport.

ARVIRAGUS                      You health. So please you, sir.

IMOGEN    [Aside]  These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies
    I have heard!
    Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
    Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
    The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish
    Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
    I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
    I'll now taste of thy drug.

    [Swallows some]

GUIDERIUS    I could not stir him:
    He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
    Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

ARVIRAGUS    Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter
    I might know more.

BELARIUS    To the field, to the field!
    We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest.

ARVIRAGUS    We'll not be long away.

BELARIUS    Pray, be not sick,
    For you must be our housewife.

IMOGEN    Well or ill,
    I am bound to you.

BELARIUS    And shalt be ever.

    [Exit IMOGEN, to the cave]

    This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath had
    Good ancestors.

ARVIRAGUS                      How angel-like he sings!

GUIDERIUS    But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
    In characters,
    And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
    And he her dieter.

ARVIRAGUS    Nobly he yokes
    A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
    Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
    The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
    From so divine a temple, to commix
    With winds that sailors rail at.

GUIDERIUS    I do note
    That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
    Mingle their spurs together.

ARVIRAGUS    Grow, patience!
    And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
    His perishing root with the increasing vine!

BELARIUS    It is great morning. Come, away!--
    Who's there?

    [Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN    I cannot find those runagates; that villain
    Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

BELARIUS    'Those runagates!'
    Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis
    Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
    I saw him not these many years, and yet
    I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!

GUIDERIUS    He is but one: you and my brother search
    What companies are near: pray you, away;
    Let me alone with him.

    [Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

CLOTEN                      Soft! What are you
    That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
    I have heard of such. What slave art thou?

GUIDERIUS    A thing
    More slavish did I ne'er than answering
    A slave without a knock.

CLOTEN    Thou art a robber,
    A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.

GUIDERIUS    To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I
    An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
    Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
    My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
    Why I should yield to thee?

CLOTEN    Thou villain base,
    Know'st me not by my clothes?

GUIDERIUS    No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
    Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
    Which, as it seems, make thee.

CLOTEN    Thou precious varlet,
    My tailor made them not.

GUIDERIUS    Hence, then, and thank
    The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
    I am loath to beat thee.

CLOTEN    Thou injurious thief,
    Hear but my name, and tremble.

GUIDERIUS    What's thy name?

CLOTEN    Cloten, thou villain.

GUIDERIUS    Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
    I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or
    Adder, Spider,
    'Twould move me sooner.

CLOTEN    To thy further fear,
    Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
    I am son to the queen.

GUIDERIUS    I am sorry for 't; not seeming
    So worthy as thy birth.

CLOTEN    Art not afeard?

GUIDERIUS    Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:
    At fools I laugh, not fear them.

CLOTEN    Die the death:
    When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
    I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
    And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
    Yield, rustic mountaineer.

    [Exeunt, fighting]

    [Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS    No companies abroad?

ARVIRAGUS    None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.

BELARIUS    I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
    But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
    Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
    And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute
    'Twas very Cloten.

ARVIRAGUS                      In this place we left them:
    I wish my brother make good time with him,
    You say he is so fell.

BELARIUS    Being scarce made up,
    I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
    Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
    Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.

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

GUIDERIUS    This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
    There was no money in't: not Hercules
    Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
    Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
    My head as I do his.

BELARIUS    What hast thou done?

GUIDERIUS    I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,
    Son to the queen, after his own report;
    Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
    With his own single hand he'ld take us in
    Displace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow,
    And set them on Lud's-town.

BELARIUS    We are all undone.

GUIDERIUS    Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
    But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
    Protects not us: then why should we be tender
    To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
    Play judge and executioner all himself,
    For we do fear the law? What company
    Discover you abroad?

BELARIUS    No single soul
    Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
    He must have some attendants. Though his humour
    Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
    From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
    Absolute madness could so far have raved
    To bring him here alone; although perhaps
    It may be heard at court that such as we
    Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
    May make some stronger head; the which he hearing--
    As it is like him--might break out, and swear
    He'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probable
    To come alone, either he so undertaking,
    Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,
    If we do fear this body hath a tail
    More perilous than the head.

ARVIRAGUS    Let ordinance
    Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
    My brother hath done well.

BELARIUS    I had no mind
    To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
    Did make my way long forth.

GUIDERIUS    With his own sword,
    Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
    His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
    Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
    And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
    That's all I reck.

    [Exit]

BELARIUS    I fear 'twill be revenged:
    Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valour
    Becomes thee well enough.

ARVIRAGUS    Would I had done't
    So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,
    I love thee brotherly, but envy much
    Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,
    That possible strength might meet, would seek us through
    And put us to our answer.

BELARIUS    Well, 'tis done:
    We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
    Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
    You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
    Till hasty Polydote return, and bring him
    To dinner presently.

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

    [Exit]

BELARIUS    O thou goddess,
    Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
    In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
    As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
    Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
    Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
    That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
    And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
    That an invisible instinct should frame them
    To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
    Civility not seen from other, valour
    That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
    As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
    What Cloten's being here to us portends,
    Or what his death will bring us.

    [Re-enter GUIDERIUS]

GUIDERIUS    Where's my brother?
    I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
    In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage
    For his return.

    [Solemn music]

BELARIUS                      My ingenious instrument!
    Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
    Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

GUIDERIUS    Is he at home?

BELARIUS                      He went hence even now.

GUIDERIUS    What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother
    it did not speak before. All solemn things
    Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
    Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
    Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
    Is Cadwal mad?

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

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

ARVIRAGUS    The bird is dead
    That we have made so much on. I had rather
    Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
    To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
    Than have seen this.

GUIDERIUS    O sweetest, fairest lily!
    My brother wears thee not the one half so well
    As when thou grew'st thyself.

BELARIUS    O melancholy!
    Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
    The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
    Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
    Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
    Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
    How found you him?

ARVIRAGUS    Stark, as you see:
    Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber,
    Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his
    right cheek
    Reposing on a cushion.

GUIDERIUS    Where?

ARVIRAGUS    O' the floor;
    His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put
    My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
    Answer'd my steps too loud.

GUIDERIUS    Why, he but sleeps:
    If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
    With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
    And worms will not come to thee.

ARVIRAGUS    With fairest flowers
    Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
    I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
    The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
    The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
    The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
    Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
    With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming
    Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
    Without a monument!--bring thee all this;
    Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
    To winter-ground thy corse.

GUIDERIUS    Prithee, have done;
    And do not play in wench-like words with that
    Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
    And not protract with admiration what
    Is now due debt. To the grave!

ARVIRAGUS    Say, where shall's lay him?

GUIDERIUS    By good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS    Be't so:
    And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
    Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
    As once our mother; use like note and words,
    Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

GUIDERIUS    Cadwal,
    I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
    For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
    Than priests and fanes that lie.

ARVIRAGUS    We'll speak it, then.

BELARIUS    Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten
    Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
    And though he came our enemy, remember
    He was paid for that: though mean and
    mighty, rotting
    Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
    That angel of the world, doth make distinction
    Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
    And though you took his life, as being our foe,
    Yet bury him as a prince.

GUIDERIUS    Pray You, fetch him hither.
    Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
    When neither are alive.

ARVIRAGUS    If you'll go fetch him,
    We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

    [Exit BELARIUS]

GUIDERIUS    Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
    My father hath a reason for't.

ARVIRAGUS    'Tis true.

GUIDERIUS    Come on then, and remove him.

ARVIRAGUS    So. Begin.
    [SONG]

GUIDERIUS         Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
    Nor the furious winter's rages;
    Thou thy worldly task hast done,
    Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
    Golden lads and girls all must,
    As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

ARVIRAGUS         Fear no more the frown o' the great;
    Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
    Care no more to clothe and eat;
    To thee the reed is as the oak:
    The sceptre, learning, physic, must
    All follow this, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS         Fear no more the lightning flash,

ARVIRAGUS            Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS         Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS            Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:


GUIDERIUS    |
    |  All lovers young, all lovers must
ARVIRAGUS    |   Consign to thee, and come to dust.


GUIDERIUS         No exorciser harm thee!

ARVIRAGUS            Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

GUIDERIUS         Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

ARVIRAGUS            Nothing ill come near thee!


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


    [Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN]

GUIDERIUS    We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.

BELARIUS    Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more:
    The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
    Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
    You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
    These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.
    Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
    The ground that gave them first has them again:
    Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

    [Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

IMOGEN    [Awaking]  Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is
    the way?--
    I thank you.--By yond bush?--Pray, how far thither?
    'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?--
    I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
    But, soft! no bedfellow!--O gods and goddesses!

    [Seeing the body of CLOTEN]

    These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
    This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
    For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
    And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so;
    'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
    Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes
    Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
    I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be
    Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
    As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
    The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
    Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.
    A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
    I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand;
    His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
    The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
    Murder in heaven?--How!--'Tis gone. Pisanio,
    All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
    And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
    Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
    Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
    Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
    Hath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio--
    From this most bravest vessel of the world
    Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,
    Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me!
    where's that?
    Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
    And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
    'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
    Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
    The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
    And cordial to me, have I not found it
    Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
    This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
    Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
    That we the horrider may seem to those
    Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

    [Falls on the body]

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

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

CAIUS LUCIUS    But what from Rome?

Captain    The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
    And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
    That promise noble service: and they come
    Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
    Syenna's brother.

CAIUS LUCIUS                      When expect you them?

Captain    With the next benefit o' the wind.

CAIUS LUCIUS    This forwardness
    Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
    Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
    What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?

Soothsayer    Last night the very gods show'd me a vision--
    I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus:
    I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
    From the spongy south to this part of the west,
    There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends--
    Unless my sins abuse my divination--
    Success to the Roman host.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Dream often so,
    And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
    Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
    It was a worthy building. How! a page!
    Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather;
    For nature doth abhor to make his bed
    With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
    Let's see the boy's face.

Captain    He's alive, my lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS    He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
    Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
    They crave to be demanded. Who is this
    Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
    That, otherwise than noble nature did,
    Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
    In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
    What art thou?

IMOGEN                      I am nothing: or if not,
    Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
    A very valiant Briton and a good,
    That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!
    There is no more such masters: I may wander
    From east to occident, cry out for service,
    Try many, all good, serve truly, never
    Find such another master.

CAIUS LUCIUS    'Lack, good youth!
    Thou movest no less with thy complaining than
    Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

IMOGEN    Richard du Champ.

    [Aside]

    If I do lie and do
    No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
    They'll pardon it.--Say you, sir?

CAIUS LUCIUS    Thy name?

IMOGEN    Fidele, sir.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
    Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
    Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
    Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,
    No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,
    Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
    Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

IMOGEN    I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
    I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
    As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
    With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
    And on it said a century of prayers,
    Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
    And leaving so his service, follow you,
    So please you entertain me.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Ay, good youth!
    And rather father thee than master thee.
    My friends,
    The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
    Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
    And make him with our pikes and partisans
    A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
    By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
    As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes
    Some falls are means the happier to arise.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE III    A room in Cymbeline's palace.


    [Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE    Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.

    [Exit an Attendant]

    A fever with the absence of her son,
    A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
    How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
    The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
    Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
    When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
    So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
    The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
    Who needs must know of her departure and
    Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
    By a sharp torture.

PISANIO    Sir, my life is yours;
    I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
    I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
    Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
    Hold me your loyal servant.

First Lord    Good my liege,
    The day that she was missing he was here:
    I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
    All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
    There wants no diligence in seeking him,
    And will, no doubt, be found.

CYMBELINE    The time is troublesome.

    [To PISANIO]

    We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
    Does yet depend.

First Lord                      So please your majesty,
    The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
    Are landed on your coast, with a supply
    Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.

CYMBELINE    Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
    I am amazed with matter.

First Lord    Good my liege,
    Your preparation can affront no less
    Than what you hear of: come more, for more
    you're ready:
    The want is but to put those powers in motion
    That long to move.

CYMBELINE                      I thank you. Let's withdraw;
    And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
    What can from Italy annoy us; but
    We grieve at chances here. Away!

    [Exeunt all but PISANIO]

PISANIO    I heard no letter from my master since
    I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange:
    Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise
    To yield me often tidings: neither know I
    What is betid to Cloten; but remain
    Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
    Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
    These present wars shall find I love my country,
    Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
    All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
    Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.

    [Exit]




    CYMBELINE


ACT IV



SCENE IV    Wales: before the cave of Belarius.


    [Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

GUIDERIUS    The noise is round about us.

BELARIUS    Let us from it.

ARVIRAGUS    What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
    From action and adventure?

GUIDERIUS    Nay, what hope
    Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
    Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
    For barbarous and unnatural revolts
    During their use, and slay us after.

BELARIUS    Sons,
    We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
    To the king's party there's no going: newness
    Of Cloten's death--we being not known, not muster'd
    Among the bands--may drive us to a render
    Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
    Which we have done, whose answer would be death
    Drawn on with torture.

GUIDERIUS    This is, sir, a doubt
    In such a time nothing becoming you,
    Nor satisfying us.

ARVIRAGUS                      It is not likely
    That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
    Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
    And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
    That they will waste their time upon our note,
    To know from whence we are.

BELARIUS    O, I am known
    Of many in the army: many years,
    Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
    From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
    Hath not deserved my service nor your loves;
    Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
    The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
    To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
    But to be still hot summer's tamings and
    The shrinking slaves of winter.

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

ARVIRAGUS    By this sun that shines,
    I'll thither: what thing is it that I never
    Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood,
    But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
    Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
    A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
    Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
    To look upon the holy sun, to have
    The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
    So long a poor unknown.

GUIDERIUS    By heavens, I'll go:
    If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
    I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
    The hazard therefore due fall on me by
    The hands of Romans!

ARVIRAGUS    So say I    amen.

BELARIUS    No reason I, since of your lives you set
    So slight a valuation, should reserve
    My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
    If in your country wars you chance to die,
    That is my bed too, lads, an there I'll lie:
    Lead, lead.

    [Aside]

    The time seems long; their blood
    thinks scorn,
    Till it fly out and show them princes born.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE I    Britain. The Roman camp.


    [Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
    Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
    If each of you should take this course, how many
    Must murder wives much better than themselves
    For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
    Every good servant does not all commands:
    No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
    Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
    Had lived to put on this: so had you saved
    The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
    Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
    You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
    To have them fall no more: you some permit
    To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
    And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
    But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,
    And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
    Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
    Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
    That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
    I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
    Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
    Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
    As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
    Against the part I come with; so I'll die
    For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
    Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown,
    Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
    Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
    More valour in me than my habits show.
    Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
    To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
    The fashion, less without and more within.

    [Exit]




    CYMBELINE


ACT V



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


    [Enter, from one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and
    the Roman Army: from the other side, the
    British Army; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS following,
    like a poor soldier. They march over and go
    out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO
    and POSTHUMUS LEONATUS he vanquisheth and disarmeth
    IACHIMO, and then leaves him]

IACHIMO    The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
    Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
    The princess of this country, and the air on't
    Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
    A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me
    In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
    As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
    If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
    This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
    Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.

    [Exit]

    [The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is
    taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS,
    GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS    Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;
    The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
    The villany of our fears.


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


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

CAIUS LUCIUS    Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
    For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
    As war were hoodwink'd.

IACHIMO    'Tis their fresh supplies.

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

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE III    Another part of the field.


    [Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord]

Lord    Camest thou from where they made the stand?

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

Lord    I did.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
    But that the heavens fought: the king himself
    Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
    And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
    Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
    Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
    More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
    Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
    Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd
    With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
    To die with lengthen'd shame.

Lord    Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf;
    Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
    An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
    So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
    In doing this for's country: athwart the lane,
    He, with two striplings-lads more like to run
    The country base than to commit such slaughter
    With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
    Than those for preservation cased, or shame--
    Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
    'Our Britain s harts die flying, not our men:
    To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand;
    Or we are Romans and will give you that
    Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save,
    But to look back in frown: stand, stand.'
    These three,
    Three thousand confident, in act as many--
    For three performers are the file when all
    The rest do nothing--with this word 'Stand, stand,'
    Accommodated by the place, more charming
    With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd
    A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
    Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some,
    turn'd coward
    But by example--O, a sin in war,
    Damn'd in the first beginners!--gan to look
    The way that they did, and to grin like lions
    Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
    A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon
    A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly
    Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
    The strides they victors made: and now our cowards,
    Like fragments in hard voyages, became
    The life o' the need: having found the backdoor open
    Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
    Some slain before; some dying; some their friends
    O'er borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,
    Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
    Those that would die or ere resist are grown
    The mortal bugs o' the field.

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

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made
    Rather to wonder at the things you hear
    Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
    And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
    'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
    Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'

Lord    Nay, be not angry, sir.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    'Lack, to what end?
    Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
    For if he'll do as he is made to do,
    I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
    You have put me into rhyme.

Lord    Farewell; you're angry.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Still going?

    [Exit Lord]

    This is a lord! O noble misery,
    To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me!
    To-day how many would have given their honours
    To have saved their carcasses! took heel to do't,
    And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
    Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
    Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,
    'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
    Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
    That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him
    For being now a favourer to the Briton,
    No more a Briton, I have resumed again
    The part I came in: fight I will no more,
    But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
    Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
    Here made by the Roman; great the answer be
    Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death;
    On either side I come to spend my breath;
    Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again,
    But end it by some means for Imogen.

    [Enter two British Captains and Soldiers]

First Captain    Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken.
    'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

Second Captain    There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
    That gave the affront with them.

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

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    A Roman,
    Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
    Had answer'd him.

Second Captain                      Lay hands on him; a dog!
    A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
    What crows have peck'd them here. He brags
    his service
    As if he were of note: bring him to the king.

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




    CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE IV    A British prison.


    [Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and two Gaolers]

First Gaoler    You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you;
    So graze as you find pasture.

Second Gaoler    Ay, or a stomach.

    [Exeunt Gaolers]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away,
    think, to liberty: yet am I better
    Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather
    Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
    By the sure physician, death, who is the key
    To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
    More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me
    The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
    Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
    So children temporal fathers do appease;
    Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
    I cannot do it better than in gyves,
    Desired more than constrain'd: to satisfy,
    If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
    No stricter render of me than my all.
    I know you are more clement than vile men,
    Who of their broken debtors take a third,
    A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
    On their abatement: that's not my desire:
    For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
    'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it:
    'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
    Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
    You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers,
    If you will take this audit, take this life,
    And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
    I'll speak to thee in silence.

    [Sleeps]

    [Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition,
    SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to Posthumus Leonatus,
    an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in
    his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother
    to Posthumus Leonatus, with music before them:
    then, after other music, follow the two young
    Leonati, brothers to Posthumus Leonatus, with
    wounds as they died in the wars. They circle
    Posthumus Leonatus round, as he lies sleeping]

Sicilius Leonatus    No more, thou thunder-master, show
    Thy spite on mortal flies:
    With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
    That thy adulteries
    Rates and revenges.
    Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
    Whose face I never saw?
    I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
    Attending nature's law:
    Whose father then, as men report
    Thou orphans' father art,
    Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
    From this earth-vexing smart.

Mother    Lucina lent not me her aid,
    But took me in my throes;
    That from me was Posthumus ript,
    Came crying 'mongst his foes,
    A thing of pity!

Sicilius Leonatus    Great nature, like his ancestry,
    Moulded the stuff so fair,
    That he deserved the praise o' the world,
    As great Sicilius' heir.

First Brother    When once he was mature for man,
    In Britain where was he
    That could stand up his parallel;
    Or fruitful object be
    In eye of Imogen, that best
    Could deem his dignity?

Mother    With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
    To be exiled, and thrown
    From Leonati seat, and cast
    From her his dearest one,
    Sweet Imogen?

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

Second Brother    For this from stiller seats we came,
    Our parents and us twain,
    That striking in our country's cause
    Fell bravely and were slain,
    Our fealty and Tenantius' right
    With honour to maintain.

First Brother    Like hardiment Posthumus hath
    To Cymbeline perform'd:
    Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
    Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
    The graces for his merits due,
    Being all to dolours turn'd?

Sicilius Leonatus    Thy crystal window ope; look out;
    No longer exercise
    Upon a valiant race thy harsh
    And potent injuries.

Mother    Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
    Take off his miseries.

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


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


    [Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
    upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The
    Apparitions fall on their knees]

Jupiter    No more, you petty spirits of region low,
    Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts
    Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,
    Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts?
    Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest
    Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
    Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
    No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours.
    Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
    The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
    Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
    His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
    Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
    Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
    He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
    And happier much by his affliction made.
    This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
    Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine:
    and so, away: no further with your din
    Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
    Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

    [Ascends]

Sicilius Leonatus    He came in thunder; his celestial breath
    Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
    Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is
    More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird
    Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,
    As when his god is pleased.

All    Thanks, Jupiter!

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

    [The Apparitions vanish]

Posthumus Leonatus    [Waking]  Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
    A father to me; and thou hast created
    A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn!
    Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:
    And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend
    On greatness' favour dream as I have done,
    Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:
    Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
    And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I,
    That have this golden chance and know not why.
    What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!
    Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
    Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects
    So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
    As good as promise.

    [Reads]

    'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown,
    without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of
    tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
    lopped branches, which, being dead many years,
    shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and
    freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
    Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
    'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
    Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
    Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
    As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
    The action of my life is like it, which
    I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

    [Re-enter First Gaoler]

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

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

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

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

First Gaoler    A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is,
    you shall be called to no more payments, fear no
    more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of
    parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in
    flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too
    much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and
    sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain
    both empty; the brain the heavier for being too
    light, the purse too light, being drawn of
    heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be
    quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up
    thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and
    creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
    the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and
    counters; so the acquittance follows.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

First Gaoler    Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
    tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your
    sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he
    would change places with his officer; for, look you,
    sir, you know not which way you shall go.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Yes, indeed do I, fellow.

First Gaoler    Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen
    him so pictured: you must either be directed by
    some that take upon them to know, or do take upon
    yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or
    jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and how
    you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll
    never return to tell one.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to
    direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and
    will not use them.

First Gaoler    What an infinite mock is this, that a man should
    have the best use of eyes to see the way of
    blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking.

    [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger    Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.

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

First Gaoler    I'll be hang'd then.

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

    [Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and Messenger]

First Gaoler    Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young
    gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my
    conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live,
    for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them
    too that die against their wills; so should I, if I
    were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one
    mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and
    gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but
    my wish hath a preferment in 't.

    [Exeunt]




    CYMBELINE


ACT V



SCENE V    Cymbeline's tent.


    [Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
    PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE    Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
    Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
    That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
    Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
    Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found:
    He shall be happy that can find him, if
    Our grace can make him so.

BELARIUS    I never saw
    Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
    Such precious deeds in one that promises nought
    But beggary and poor looks.

CYMBELINE    No tidings of him?

PISANIO    He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
    But no trace of him.

CYMBELINE    To my grief, I am
    The heir of his reward;

    [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

            which I will add
    To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain,
    By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
    To ask of whence you are. Report it.

BELARIUS    Sir,
    In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
    Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
    Unless I add, we are honest.

CYMBELINE    Bow your knees.
    Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you
    Companions to our person and will fit you
    With dignities becoming your estates.

    [Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies]

    There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
    Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
    And not o' the court of Britain.

CORNELIUS    Hail, great king!
    To sour your happiness, I must report
    The queen is dead.

CYMBELINE    Who worse than a physician
    Would this report become? But I consider,
    By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
    Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

CORNELIUS    With horror, madly dying, like her life,
    Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
    Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
    I will report, so please you: these her women
    Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
    Were present when she finish'd.

CYMBELINE    Prithee, say.

CORNELIUS    First, she confess'd she never loved you, only
    Affected greatness got by you, not you:
    Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
    Abhorr'd your person.

CYMBELINE    She alone knew this;
    And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
    Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

CORNELIUS    Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
    With such integrity, she did confess
    Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
    But that her flight prevented it, she had
    Ta'en off by poison.

CYMBELINE    O most delicate fiend!
    Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more?

CORNELIUS    More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
    For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
    Should by the minute feed on life and lingering
    By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,
    By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
    O'ercome you with her show, and in time,
    When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
    Her son into the adoption of the crown:
    But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
    Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
    Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
    The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so
    Despairing died.

CYMBELINE                      Heard you all this, her women?

First Lady    We did, so please your highness.

CYMBELINE    Mine eyes
    Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
    Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
    That thought her like her seeming; it had
    been vicious
    To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
    That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
    And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

    [Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other
    Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
    behind, and IMOGEN]

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

CAIUS LUCIUS    Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
    Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
    We should not, when the blood was cool,
    have threaten'd
    Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
    Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
    May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth
    A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
    Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
    For my peculiar care. This one thing only
    I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
    Let him be ransom'd: never master had
    A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
    So tender over his occasions, true,
    So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
    With my request, which I make bold your highness
    Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
    Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir,
    And spare no blood beside.

CYMBELINE    I have surely seen him:
    His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
    Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
    And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,
    To say 'live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master; live:
    And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
    Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
    Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
    The noblest ta'en.

IMOGEN                      I humbly thank your highness.

CAIUS LUCIUS    I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
    And yet I know thou wilt.

IMOGEN    No, no: alack,
    There's other work in hand: I see a thing
    Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
    Must shuffle for itself.

CAIUS LUCIUS    The boy disdains me,
    He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys
    That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
    Why stands he so perplex'd?

CYMBELINE    What wouldst thou, boy?
    I love thee more and more: think more and more
    What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
    Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?

IMOGEN    He is a Roman; no more kin to me
    Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
    Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE    Wherefore eyest him so?

IMOGEN    I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
    To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE    Ay, with all my heart,
    And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

IMOGEN    Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE                      Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
    I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.

    [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]

BELARIUS    Is not this boy revived from death?

ARVIRAGUS    One sand another
    Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
    Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

GUIDERIUS    The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS    Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;
    Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure
    He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS    But we saw him dead.

BELARIUS    Be silent; let's see further.

PISANIO    [Aside]    It is my mistress:
    Since she is living, let the time run on
    To good or bad.

    [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward]

CYMBELINE                      Come, stand thou by our side;
    Make thy demand aloud.

    [To IACHIMO]
          Sir, step you forth;
    Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
    Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
    Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
    Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

IMOGEN    My boon is, that this gentleman may render
    Of whom he had this ring.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    [Aside]                 What's that to him?

CYMBELINE    That diamond upon your finger, say
    How came it yours?

IACHIMO    Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
    Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.

CYMBELINE    How! me?

IACHIMO    I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
    Which torments me to conceal. By villany
    I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel;
    Whom thou didst banish; and--which more may
    grieve thee,
    As it doth me--a nobler sir ne'er lived
    'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

CYMBELINE    All that belongs to this.

IACHIMO    That paragon, thy daughter,--
    For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
    Quail to remember--Give me leave; I faint.

CYMBELINE    My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
    I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
    Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.

IACHIMO    Upon a time,--unhappy was the clock
    That struck the hour!--it was in Rome,--accursed
    The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would
    Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
    Those which I heaved to head!--the good Posthumus--
    What should I say? he was too good to be
    Where ill men were; and was the best of all
    Amongst the rarest of good ones,--sitting sadly,
    Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
    For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
    Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming
    The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva.
    Postures beyond brief nature, for condition,
    A shop of all the qualities that man
    Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
    Fairness which strikes the eye--

CYMBELINE    I stand on fire:
    Come to the matter.

IACHIMO    All too soon I shall,
    Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
    Most like a noble lord in love and one
    That had a royal lover, took his hint;
    And, not dispraising whom we praised,--therein
    He was as calm as virtue--he began
    His mistress' picture; which by his tongue
    being made,
    And then a mind put in't, either our brags
    Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description
    Proved us unspeaking sots.

CYMBELINE    Nay, nay, to the purpose.

IACHIMO    Your daughter's chastity--there it begins.
    He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
    And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
    Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
    Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
    Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
    In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
    By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
    No lesser of her honour confident
    Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
    And would so, had it been a carbuncle
    Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it
    Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
    Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
    Remember me at court; where I was taught
    Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
    'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
    Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
    'Gan in your duller Britain operate
    Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent:
    And, to be brief, my practise so prevail'd,
    That I return'd with simular proof enough
    To make the noble Leonatus mad,
    By wounding his belief in her renown
    With tokens thus, and thus; averting notes
    Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,--
    O cunning, how I got it!--nay, some marks
    Of secret on her person, that he could not
    But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
    I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon--
    Methinks, I see him now--

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    [Advancing]             Ay, so thou dost,
    Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
    Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
    That's due to all the villains past, in being,
    To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
    Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
    For torturers ingenious: it is I
    That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
    By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
    That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie--
    That caused a lesser villain than myself,
    A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple
    Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
    Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
    The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
    Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and
    Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
    My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
    Imogen, Imogen!

IMOGEN                      Peace, my lord; hear, hear--

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

    [Striking her: she falls]

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

CYMBELINE    Does the world go round?

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    How come these staggers on me?

PISANIO    Wake, my mistress!

CYMBELINE    If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
    To death with mortal joy.

PISANIO    How fares thy mistress?

IMOGEN    O, get thee from my sight;
    Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
    Breathe not where princes are.

CYMBELINE    The tune of Imogen!

PISANIO    Lady,
    The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
    That box I gave you was not thought by me
    A precious thing: I had it from the queen.

CYMBELINE    New matter still?

IMOGEN                      It poison'd me.

CORNELIUS    O gods!
    I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.
    Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio
    Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
    Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
    As I would serve a rat.'

CYMBELINE    What's this, Comelius?

CORNELIUS    The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
    To temper poisons for her, still pretending
    The satisfaction of her knowledge only
    In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
    Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
    Was of more danger, did compound for her
    A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
    The present power of life, but in short time
    All offices of nature should again
    Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

IMOGEN    Most like I did, for I was dead.

BELARIUS    My boys,
    There was our error.

GUIDERIUS    This is, sure, Fidele.

IMOGEN    Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
    Think that you are upon a rock; and now
    Throw me again.

    [Embracing him]

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
    Till the tree die!

CYMBELINE                      How now, my flesh, my child!
    What, makest thou me a dullard in this act?
    Wilt thou not speak to me?

IMOGEN    [Kneeling]               Your blessing, sir.

BELARIUS    [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]  Though you did love
    this youth, I blame ye not:
    You had a motive for't.

CYMBELINE    My tears that fall
    Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
    Thy mother's dead.

IMOGEN    I am sorry for't, my lord.

CYMBELINE    O, she was nought; and long of her it was
    That we meet here so strangely: but her son
    Is gone, we know not how nor where.

PISANIO    My lord,
    Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
    Upon my lady's missing, came to me
    With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
    If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
    It was my instant death. By accident,
    had a feigned letter of my master's
    Then in my pocket; which directed him
    To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
    Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
    Which he enforced from me, away he posts
    With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate
    My lady's honour: what became of him
    I further know not.

GUIDERIUS    Let me end the story:
    I slew him there.

CYMBELINE    Marry, the gods forfend!
    I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
    Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
    Deny't again.

GUIDERIUS                      I have spoke it, and I did it.

CYMBELINE    He was a prince.

GUIDERIUS    A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me
    Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
    With language that would make me spurn the sea,
    If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
    And am right glad he is not standing here
    To tell this tale of mine.

CYMBELINE    I am sorry for thee:
    By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
    Endure our law: thou'rt dead.

IMOGEN    That headless man
    I thought had been my lord.

CYMBELINE    Bind the offender,
    And take him from our presence.

BELARIUS    Stay, sir king:
    This man is better than the man he slew,
    As well descended as thyself; and hath
    More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
    Had ever scar for.

    [To the Guard]

    Let his arms alone;
    They were not born for bondage.

CYMBELINE    Why, old soldier,
    Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
    By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
    As good as we?

ARVIRAGUS                      In that he spake too far.

CYMBELINE    And thou shalt die for't.

BELARIUS    We will die all three:
    But I will prove that two on's are as good
    As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
    For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
    Though, haply, well for you.

ARVIRAGUS    Your danger's ours.

GUIDERIUS    And our good his.

BELARIUS                      Have at it then, by leave.
    Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
    Was call'd Belarius.

CYMBELINE    What of him? he is
    A banish'd traitor.

BELARIUS    He it is that hath
    Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man;
    I know not how a traitor.

CYMBELINE    Take him hence:
    The whole world shall not save him.

BELARIUS    Not too hot:
    First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
    And let it be confiscate all, so soon
    As I have received it.

CYMBELINE    Nursing of my sons!

BELARIUS    I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee:
    Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
    Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
    These two young gentlemen, that call me father
    And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
    They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
    And blood of your begetting.

CYMBELINE    How! my issue!

BELARIUS    So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
    Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
    Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
    Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
    Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes--
    For such and so they are--these twenty years
    Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I
    Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
    Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
    Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
    Upon my banishment: I moved her to't,
    Having received the punishment before,
    For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
    Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
    The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
    Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
    Here are your sons again; and I must lose
    Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
    The benediction of these covering heavens
    Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
    To inlay heaven with stars.

CYMBELINE    Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
    The service that you three have done is more
    Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children:
    If these be they, I know not how to wish
    A pair of worthier sons.

BELARIUS    Be pleased awhile.
    This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
    Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
    This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
    Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
    In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
    Of his queen mother, which for more probation
    I can with ease produce.

CYMBELINE    Guiderius had
    Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
    It was a mark of wonder.

BELARIUS    This is he;
    Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
    It was wise nature's end in the donation,
    To be his evidence now.

CYMBELINE    O, what, am I
    A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
    Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
    That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
    may reign in them now! O Imogen,
    Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

IMOGEN    No, my lord;
    I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
    Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
    But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
    When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
    When ye were so indeed.

CYMBELINE    Did you e'er meet?

ARVIRAGUS    Ay, my good lord.

GUIDERIUS                      And at first meeting loved;
    Continued so, until we thought he died.

CORNELIUS    By the queen's dram she swallow'd.

CYMBELINE    O rare instinct!
    When shall I hear all through? This fierce
    abridgement
    Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
    Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
    And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
    How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
    Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
    And your three motives to the battle, with
    I know not how much more, should be demanded;
    And all the other by-dependencies,
    From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
    Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
    Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
    And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
    On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
    Each object with a joy: the counterchange
    Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
    And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.

    [To BELARIUS]

    Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.

IMOGEN    You are my father too, and did relieve me,
    To see this gracious season.

CYMBELINE    All o'erjoy'd,
    Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
    For they shall taste our comfort.

IMOGEN    My good master,
    I will yet do you service.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Happy be you!

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

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    I am, sir,
    The soldier that did company these three
    In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
    The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
    Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
    Have made you finish.

IACHIMO    [Kneeling]          I am down again:
    But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
    As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
    Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
    And here the bracelet of the truest princess
    That ever swore her faith.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Kneel not to me:
    The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
    The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
    And deal with others better.

CYMBELINE    Nobly doom'd!
    We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
    Pardon's the word to all.

ARVIRAGUS    You holp us, sir,
    As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
    Joy'd are we that you are.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS    Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
    Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
    Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
    Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
    Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
    This label on my bosom; whose containing
    Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
    Make no collection of it: let him show
    His skill in the construction.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Philarmonus!

Soothsayer    Here, my good lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS    Read, and declare the meaning.

Soothsayer    [Reads]  'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
    unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
    piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
    shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
    years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
    stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
    his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
    peace and plenty.'
    Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
    The fit and apt construction of thy name,
    Being Leonatus, doth import so much.

    [To CYMBELINE]

    The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
    Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
    We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
    Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
    Answering the letter of the oracle,
    Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
    With this most tender air.

CYMBELINE    This hath some seeming.

Soothsayer    The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
    Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
    Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n,
    For many years thought dead, are now revived,
    To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
    Promises Britain peace and plenty.

CYMBELINE    Well
    My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
    Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
    And to the Roman empire; promising
    To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
    We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
    Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
    Have laid most heavy hand.

Soothsayer    The fingers of the powers above do tune
    The harmony of this peace. The vision
    Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
    Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
    Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
    From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
    Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
    So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
    The imperial Caesar, should again unite
    His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
    Which shines here in the west.

CYMBELINE    Laud we the gods;
    And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
    From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
    To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
    A Roman and a British ensign wave
    Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
    And in the temple of great Jupiter
    Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
    Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
    Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


ALONSO    King of Naples.

SEBASTIAN    his brother.

PROSPERO    the right Duke of Milan.

ANTONIO    his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.

FERDINAND    son to the King of Naples.

GONZALO    an honest old Counsellor.


ADRIAN    |
    |  Lords.
FRANCISCO    |


CALIBAN    a savage and deformed Slave.

TRINCULO    a Jester.

STEPHANO    a drunken Butler.

    Master of a Ship. (Master:)

    Boatswain. (Boatswain:)

    Mariners. (Mariners:)

MIRANDA    daughter to Prospero.

ARIEL    an airy Spirit.


IRIS    |
    |
CERES    |
    |
JUNO    |  presented by Spirits.
    |
Nymphs    |
    |
Reapers    |


    Other Spirits attending on Prospero.


SCENE    A ship at Sea: an island.




    THE TEMPEST


ACT I



SCENE I    On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise
    of thunder and lightning heard.


    [Enter a Master and a Boatswain]

Master    Boatswain!

Boatswain    Here, master: what cheer?

Master    Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely,
    or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

    [Exit]

    [Enter Mariners]

Boatswain    Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!
    yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the
    master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind,
    if room enough!

    [Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND,
    GONZALO, and others]

ALONSO    Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?
    Play the men.

Boatswain    I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO    Where is the master, boatswain?

Boatswain    Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your
    cabins: you do assist the storm.

GONZALO    Nay, good, be patient.

Boatswain    When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers
    for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GONZALO    Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boatswain    None that I more love than myself. You are a
    counsellor; if you can command these elements to
    silence, and work the peace of the present, we will
    not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you
    cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make
    yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of
    the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out
    of our way, I say.

    [Exit]

GONZALO    I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he
    hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is
    perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his
    hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable,
    for our own doth little advantage. If he be not
    born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

    [Exeunt]

    [Re-enter Boatswain]

Boatswain    Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring
    her to try with main-course.

    [A cry within]

    A plague upon this howling! they are louder than
    the weather or our office.

    [Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO]

    Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er
    and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN    A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
    incharitable dog!

Boatswain    Work you then.

ANTONIO    Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!
    We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

GONZALO    I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were
    no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an
    unstanched wench.

Boatswain    Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to
    sea again; lay her off.

    [Enter Mariners wet]

Mariners    All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boatswain    What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO    The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,
    For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN    I'm out of patience.

ANTONIO    We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:
    This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning
    The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO    He'll be hang'd yet,
    Though every drop of water swear against it
    And gape at widest to glut him.

    [A confused noise within:   'Mercy on us!'--
    'We split, we split!'--'Farewell, my wife and
    children!'--
    'Farewell, brother!'--'We split, we split, we split!']

ANTONIO    Let's all sink with the king.

SEBASTIAN    Let's take leave of him.

    [Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN]

GONZALO    Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
    acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any
    thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain
    die a dry death.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT I



SCENE II    The island. Before PROSPERO'S cell.


    [Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA]

MIRANDA    If by your art, my dearest father, you have
    Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
    The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
    But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
    Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
    With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
    Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
    Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
    Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
    Had I been any god of power, I would
    Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
    It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
    The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO    Be collected:
    No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
    There's no harm done.

MIRANDA    O, woe the day!

PROSPERO    No harm.
    I have done nothing but in care of thee,
    Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
    Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
    Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
    Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
    And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA    More to know
    Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO    'Tis time
    I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
    And pluck my magic garment from me. So:

    [Lays down his mantle]

    Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
    The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
    The very virtue of compassion in thee,
    I have with such provision in mine art
    So safely ordered that there is no soul--
    No, not so much perdition as an hair
    Betid to any creature in the vessel
    Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
    For thou must now know farther.

MIRANDA    You have often
    Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
    And left me to a bootless inquisition,
    Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

PROSPERO    The hour's now come;
    The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
    Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
    A time before we came unto this cell?
    I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
    Out three years old.

MIRANDA    Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO    By what? by any other house or person?
    Of any thing the image tell me that
    Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA    'Tis far off
    And rather like a dream than an assurance
    That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
    Four or five women once that tended me?

PROSPERO    Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
    That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
    In the dark backward and abysm of time?
    If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
    How thou camest here thou mayst.

MIRANDA    But that I do not.

PROSPERO    Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
    Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
    A prince of power.

MIRANDA                      Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO    Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
    She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
    Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir
    And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA    O the heavens!
    What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
    Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO    Both, both, my girl:
    By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
    But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA    O, my heart bleeds
    To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
    Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

PROSPERO    My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio--
    I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should
    Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself
    Of all the world I loved and to him put
    The manage of my state; as at that time
    Through all the signories it was the first
    And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
    In dignity, and for the liberal arts
    Without a parallel; those being all my study,
    The government I cast upon my brother
    And to my state grew stranger, being transported
    And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle--
    Dost thou attend me?

MIRANDA    Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO    Being once perfected how to grant suits,
    How to deny them, who to advance and who
    To trash for over-topping, new created
    The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,
    Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
    Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
    To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
    The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
    And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.

MIRANDA    O, good sir, I do.

PROSPERO                      I pray thee, mark me.
    I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
    To closeness and the bettering of my mind
    With that which, but by being so retired,
    O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
    Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
    Like a good parent, did beget of him
    A falsehood in its contrary as great
    As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
    A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
    Not only with what my revenue yielded,
    But what my power might else exact, like one
    Who having into truth, by telling of it,
    Made such a sinner of his memory,
    To credit his own lie, he did believe
    He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution
    And executing the outward face of royalty,
    With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing--
    Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA                      Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO    To have no screen between this part he play'd
    And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
    Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
    Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
    He thinks me now incapable; confederates--
    So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples
    To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
    Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
    The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!--
    To most ignoble stooping.

MIRANDA    O the heavens!

PROSPERO    Mark his condition and the event; then tell me
    If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA    I should sin
    To think but nobly of my grandmother:
    Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO    Now the condition.
    The King of Naples, being an enemy
    To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
    Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
    Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
    Should presently extirpate me and mine
    Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan
    With all the honours on my brother: whereon,
    A treacherous army levied, one midnight
    Fated to the purpose did Antonio open
    The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness,
    The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
    Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA    Alack, for pity!
    I, not remembering how I cried out then,
    Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint
    That wrings mine eyes to't.

PROSPERO    Hear a little further
    And then I'll bring thee to the present business
    Which now's upon's; without the which this story
    Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA    Wherefore did they not
    That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO    Well demanded, wench:
    My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
    So dear the love my people bore me, nor set
    A mark so bloody on the business, but
    With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
    In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
    Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
    A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd,
    Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
    Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us,
    To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh
    To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,
    Did us but loving wrong.

MIRANDA    Alack, what trouble
    Was I then to you!

PROSPERO                      O, a cherubim
    Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile.
    Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
    When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
    Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me
    An undergoing stomach, to bear up
    Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA    How came we ashore?

PROSPERO    By Providence divine.
    Some food we had and some fresh water that
    A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
    Out of his charity, being then appointed
    Master of this design, did give us, with
    Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
    Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
    Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
    From mine own library with volumes that
    I prize above my dukedom.

MIRANDA    Would I might
    But ever see that man!

PROSPERO    Now I arise:

    [Resumes his mantle]

    Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
    Here in this island we arrived; and here
    Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
    Than other princesses can that have more time
    For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.

MIRANDA    Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,
    For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
    For raising this sea-storm?

PROSPERO    Know thus far forth.
    By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
    Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
    Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
    I find my zenith doth depend upon
    A most auspicious star, whose influence
    If now I court not but omit, my fortunes
    Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions:
    Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,
    And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.

    [MIRANDA sleeps]

    Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.
    Approach, my Ariel, come.

    [Enter ARIEL]

ARIEL    All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
    To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
    To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
    On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task
    Ariel and all his quality.

PROSPERO    Hast thou, spirit,
    Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?

ARIEL    To every article.
    I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,
    Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
    I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide,
    And burn in many places; on the topmast,
    The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
    Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors
    O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
    And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
    Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
    Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,
    Yea, his dread trident shake.

PROSPERO    My brave spirit!
    Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
    Would not infect his reason?

ARIEL    Not a soul
    But felt a fever of the mad and play'd
    Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
    Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
    Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand,
    With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,--
    Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty
    And all the devils are here.'

PROSPERO    Why that's my spirit!
    But was not this nigh shore?

ARIEL    Close by, my master.

PROSPERO    But are they, Ariel, safe?

ARIEL    Not a hair perish'd;
    On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
    But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me,
    In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle.
    The king's son have I landed by himself;
    Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
    In an odd angle of the isle and sitting,
    His arms in this sad knot.

PROSPERO    Of the king's ship
    The mariners say how thou hast disposed
    And all the rest o' the fleet.

ARIEL    Safely in harbour
    Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
    Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
    From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:
    The mariners all under hatches stow'd;
    Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
    I have left asleep; and for the rest o' the fleet
    Which I dispersed, they all have met again
    And are upon the Mediterranean flote,
    Bound sadly home for Naples,
    Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd
    And his great person perish.

PROSPERO    Ariel, thy charge
    Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work.
    What is the time o' the day?

ARIEL    Past the mid season.

PROSPERO    At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now
    Must by us both be spent most preciously.

ARIEL    Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
    Let me remember thee what thou hast promised,
    Which is not yet perform'd me.

PROSPERO    How now? moody?
    What is't thou canst demand?

ARIEL    My liberty.

PROSPERO    Before the time be out? no more!

ARIEL    I prithee,
    Remember I have done thee worthy service;
    Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served
    Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise
    To bate me a full year.

PROSPERO    Dost thou forget
    From what a torment I did free thee?

ARIEL    No.

PROSPERO    Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze
    Of the salt deep,
    To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
    To do me business in the veins o' the earth
    When it is baked with frost.

ARIEL    I do not, sir.

PROSPERO    Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
    The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
    Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?

ARIEL    No, sir.

PROSPERO         Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.

ARIEL    Sir, in Argier.

PROSPERO                      O, was she so? I must
    Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
    Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax,
    For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
    To enter human hearing, from Argier,
    Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did
    They would not take her life. Is not this true?

ARIEL    Ay, sir.

PROSPERO    This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child
    And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,
    As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;
    And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
    To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
    Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
    By help of her more potent ministers
    And in her most unmitigable rage,
    Into a cloven pine; within which rift
    Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
    A dozen years; within which space she died
    And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans
    As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island--
    Save for the son that she did litter here,
    A freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with
    A human shape.

ARIEL                      Yes, Caliban her son.

PROSPERO    Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
    Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
    What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
    Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts
    Of ever angry bears: it was a torment
    To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
    Could not again undo: it was mine art,
    When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
    The pine and let thee out.

ARIEL    I thank thee, master.

PROSPERO    If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak
    And peg thee in his knotty entrails till
    Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.

ARIEL    Pardon, master;
    I will be correspondent to command
    And do my spiriting gently.

PROSPERO    Do so, and after two days
    I will discharge thee.

ARIEL    That's my noble master!
    What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?

PROSPERO    Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: be subject
    To no sight but thine and mine, invisible
    To every eyeball else. Go take this shape
    And hither come in't: go, hence with diligence!

    [Exit ARIEL]

    Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake!

MIRANDA         The strangeness of your story put
    Heaviness in me.

PROSPERO                      Shake it off. Come on;
    We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never
    Yields us kind answer.

MIRANDA    'Tis a villain, sir,
    I do not love to look on.

PROSPERO    But, as 'tis,
    We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
    Fetch in our wood and serves in offices
    That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban!
    Thou earth, thou! speak.

CALIBAN    [Within]  There's wood enough within.

PROSPERO    Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee:
    Come, thou tortoise! when?

    [Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph]

    Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
    Hark in thine ear.

ARIEL                      My lord it shall be done.

    [Exit]

PROSPERO    Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
    Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

    [Enter CALIBAN]

CALIBAN    As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
    With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
    Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye
    And blister you all o'er!

PROSPERO    For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
    Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
    Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
    All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd
    As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
    Than bees that made 'em.

CALIBAN    I must eat my dinner.
    This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
    Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,
    Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
    Water with berries in't, and teach me how
    To name the bigger light, and how the less,
    That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee
    And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
    The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:
    Cursed be I that did so! All the charms
    Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
    For I am all the subjects that you have,
    Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me
    In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
    The rest o' the island.

PROSPERO    Thou most lying slave,
    Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,
    Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee
    In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
    The honour of my child.

CALIBAN    O ho, O ho! would't had been done!
    Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
    This isle with Calibans.

PROSPERO    Abhorred slave,
    Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
    Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
    Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
    One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
    Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
    A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
    With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
    Though thou didst learn, had that in't which
    good natures
    Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
    Deservedly confined into this rock,
    Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

CALIBAN    You taught me language; and my profit on't
    Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you
    For learning me your language!

PROSPERO    Hag-seed, hence!
    Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best,
    To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
    If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly
    What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
    Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar
    That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

CALIBAN    No, pray thee.

    [Aside]

    I must obey: his art is of such power,
    It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
    and make a vassal of him.

PROSPERO    So, slave; hence!

    [Exit CALIBAN]

    [Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, playing and singing;
    FERDINAND following]

    ARIEL'S song.

    Come unto these yellow sands,
    And then take hands:
    Courtsied when you have and kiss'd
    The wild waves whist,
    Foot it featly here and there;
    And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
    Hark, hark!

    [Burthen [dispersedly, within]  Bow-wow]

    The watch-dogs bark!

    [Burthen Bow-wow]

    Hark, hark! I hear
    The strain of strutting chanticleer
    Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

FERDINAND    Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth?
    It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon
    Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank,
    Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
    This music crept by me upon the waters,
    Allaying both their fury and my passion
    With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
    Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.
    No, it begins again.

    [ARIEL sings]

    Full fathom five thy father lies;
    Of his bones are coral made;
    Those are pearls that were his eyes:
    Nothing of him that doth fade
    But doth suffer a sea-change
    Into something rich and strange.
    Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell

    [Burthen Ding-dong]

    Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell.

FERDINAND    The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
    This is no mortal business, nor no sound
    That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.

PROSPERO    The fringed curtains of thine eye advance
    And say what thou seest yond.

MIRANDA    What is't? a spirit?
    Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
    It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.

PROSPERO    No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses
    As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest
    Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd
    With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him
    A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows
    And strays about to find 'em.

MIRANDA    I might call him
    A thing divine, for nothing natural
    I ever saw so noble.

PROSPERO    [Aside] It goes on, I see,
    As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee
    Within two days for this.

FERDINAND    Most sure, the goddess
    On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer
    May know if you remain upon this island;
    And that you will some good instruction give
    How I may bear me here: my prime request,
    Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
    If you be maid or no?

MIRANDA    No wonder, sir;
    But certainly a maid.

FERDINAND    My language! heavens!
    I am the best of them that speak this speech,
    Were I but where 'tis spoken.

PROSPERO    How? the best?
    What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

FERDINAND    A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
    To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;
    And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,
    Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
    The king my father wreck'd.

MIRANDA    Alack, for mercy!

FERDINAND    Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan
    And his brave son being twain.

PROSPERO    [Aside]    The Duke of Milan
    And his more braver daughter could control thee,
    If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight
    They have changed eyes. Delicate Ariel,
    I'll set thee free for this.

    [To FERDINAND]

                A word, good sir;
    I fear you have done yourself some wrong: a word.

MIRANDA    Why speaks my father so ungently? This
    Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first
    That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father
    To be inclined my way!

FERDINAND    O, if a virgin,
    And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
    The queen of Naples.

PROSPERO    Soft, sir! one word more.

    [Aside]

    They are both in either's powers; but this swift business
    I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
    Make the prize light.

    [To FERDINAND]

        One word more; I charge thee
    That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp
    The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself
    Upon this island as a spy, to win it
    From me, the lord on't.

FERDINAND    No, as I am a man.

MIRANDA    There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
    If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
    Good things will strive to dwell with't.

PROSPERO    Follow me.
    Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come;
    I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:
    Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
    The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks
    Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

FERDINAND    No;
    I will resist such entertainment till
    Mine enemy has more power.

    [Draws, and is charmed from moving]

MIRANDA    O dear father,
    Make not too rash a trial of him, for
    He's gentle and not fearful.

PROSPERO    What? I say,
    My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
    Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience
    Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward,
    For I can here disarm thee with this stick
    And make thy weapon drop.

MIRANDA    Beseech you, father.

PROSPERO    Hence! hang not on my garments.

MIRANDA    Sir, have pity;
    I'll be his surety.

PROSPERO    Silence! one word more
    Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What!
    An advocate for an imposter! hush!
    Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,
    Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!
    To the most of men this is a Caliban
    And they to him are angels.

MIRANDA    My affections
    Are then most humble; I have no ambition
    To see a goodlier man.

PROSPERO    Come on; obey:
    Thy nerves are in their infancy again
    And have no vigour in them.

FERDINAND    So they are;
    My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
    My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
    The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats,
    To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
    Might I but through my prison once a day
    Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
    Let liberty make use of; space enough
    Have I in such a prison.

PROSPERO    [Aside]                It works.

    [To FERDINAND]

                          Come on.
    Thou hast done well, fine Ariel!

    [To FERDINAND]

                          Follow me.

    [To ARIEL]

    Hark what thou else shalt do me.

MIRANDA    Be of comfort;
    My father's of a better nature, sir,
    Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
    Which now came from him.

PROSPERO    Thou shalt be free
    As mountain winds: but then exactly do
    All points of my command.

ARIEL    To the syllable.

PROSPERO    Come, follow. Speak not for him.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT II



SCENE I    Another part of the island.


    [Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO,
    ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others]

GONZALO    Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
    So have we all, of joy; for our escape
    Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
    Is common; every day some sailor's wife,
    The masters of some merchant and the merchant
    Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
    I mean our preservation, few in millions
    Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
    Our sorrow with our comfort.

ALONSO    Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN    He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO    The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEBASTIAN    Look he's winding up the watch of his wit;
    by and by it will strike.

GONZALO    Sir,--

SEBASTIAN    One: tell.

GONZALO    When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
    Comes to the entertainer--

SEBASTIAN    A dollar.

GONZALO    Dolour comes to him, indeed: you
    have spoken truer than you purposed.

SEBASTIAN    You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

GONZALO    Therefore, my lord,--

ANTONIO    Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALONSO    I prithee, spare.

GONZALO    Well, I have done: but yet,--

SEBASTIAN    He will be talking.

ANTONIO    Which, of he or Adrian, for a good
    wager, first begins to crow?

SEBASTIAN    The old cock.

ANTONIO    The cockerel.

SEBASTIAN    Done. The wager?

ANTONIO    A laughter.

SEBASTIAN    A match!

ADRIAN    Though this island seem to be desert,--

SEBASTIAN    Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid.

ADRIAN    Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--

SEBASTIAN    Yet,--

ADRIAN    Yet,--

ANTONIO    He could not miss't.

ADRIAN    It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate
    temperance.

ANTONIO    Temperance was a delicate wench.

SEBASTIAN    Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

ADRIAN    The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

SEBASTIAN    As if it had lungs and rotten ones.

ANTONIO    Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.

GONZALO    Here is everything advantageous to life.

ANTONIO    True; save means to live.

SEBASTIAN    Of that there's none, or little.

GONZALO    How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

ANTONIO    The ground indeed is tawny.

SEBASTIAN    With an eye of green in't.

ANTONIO    He misses not much.

SEBASTIAN    No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

GONZALO    But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost
    beyond credit,--

SEBASTIAN    As many vouched rarities are.

GONZALO    That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in
    the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and
    glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with
    salt water.

ANTONIO    If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not
    say he lies?

SEBASTIAN    Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report

GONZALO    Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we
    put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of
    the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

SEBASTIAN    'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

ADRIAN    Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to
    their queen.

GONZALO    Not since widow Dido's time.

ANTONIO    Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in?
    widow Dido!

SEBASTIAN    What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord,
    how you take it!

ADRIAN    'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that:
    she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

GONZALO    This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

ADRIAN    Carthage?

GONZALO    I assure you, Carthage.

SEBASTIAN    His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath
    raised the wall and houses too.

ANTONIO    What impossible matter will he make easy next?

SEBASTIAN    I think he will carry this island home in his pocket
    and give it his son for an apple.

ANTONIO    And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
    forth more islands.

GONZALO    Ay.

ANTONIO    Why, in good time.

GONZALO    Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now
    as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage
    of your daughter, who is now queen.

ANTONIO    And the rarest that e'er came there.

SEBASTIAN    Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

ANTONIO    O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido.

GONZALO    Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
    wore it? I mean, in a sort.

ANTONIO    That sort was well fished for.

GONZALO    When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?

ALONSO    You cram these words into mine ears against
    The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
    Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
    My son is lost and, in my rate, she too,
    Who is so far from Italy removed
    I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
    Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
    Hath made his meal on thee?

FRANCISCO    Sir, he may live:
    I saw him beat the surges under him,
    And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
    Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
    The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head
    'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
    Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
    To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
    As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt
    He came alive to land.

ALONSO    No, no, he's gone.

SEBASTIAN    Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,
    That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,
    But rather lose her to an African;
    Where she at least is banish'd from your eye,
    Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.

ALONSO    Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN    You were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise
    By all of us, and the fair soul herself
    Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at
    Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost your
    son,
    I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
    More widows in them of this business' making
    Than we bring men to comfort them:
    The fault's your own.

ALONSO    So is the dear'st o' the loss.

GONZALO    My lord Sebastian,
    The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
    And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
    When you should bring the plaster.

SEBASTIAN    Very well.

ANTONIO    And most chirurgeonly.

GONZALO    It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
    When you are cloudy.

SEBASTIAN    Foul weather?

ANTONIO    Very foul.

GONZALO    Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,--

ANTONIO    He'ld sow't with nettle-seed.

SEBASTIAN    Or docks, or mallows.

GONZALO    And were the king on't, what would I do?

SEBASTIAN    'Scape being drunk for want of wine.

GONZALO    I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
    Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
    Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
    Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
    And use of service, none; contract, succession,
    Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
    No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
    No occupation; all men idle, all;
    And women too, but innocent and pure;
    No sovereignty;--

SEBASTIAN                      Yet he would be king on't.

ANTONIO    The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
    beginning.

GONZALO    All things in common nature should produce
    Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,
    Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
    Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
    Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,
    To feed my innocent people.

SEBASTIAN    No marrying 'mong his subjects?

ANTONIO    None, man; all idle: whores and knaves.

GONZALO    I would with such perfection govern, sir,
    To excel the golden age.

SEBASTIAN    God save his majesty!

ANTONIO    Long live Gonzalo!

GONZALO                      And,--do you mark me, sir?

ALONSO    Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

GONZALO    I do well believe your highness; and
    did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen,
    who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that
    they always use to laugh at nothing.

ANTONIO    'Twas you we laughed at.

GONZALO    Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing
    to you: so you may continue and laugh at
    nothing still.

ANTONIO    What a blow was there given!

SEBASTIAN    An it had not fallen flat-long.

GONZALO    You are gentlemen of brave metal; you would lift
    the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue
    in it five weeks without changing.

    [Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music]

SEBASTIAN    We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.

ANTONIO    Nay, good my lord, be not angry.

GONZALO    No, I warrant you; I will not adventure
    my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh
    me asleep, for I am very heavy?

ANTONIO    Go sleep, and hear us.

    [All sleep except ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, and ANTONIO]

ALONSO    What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes
    Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find
    They are inclined to do so.

SEBASTIAN    Please you, sir,
    Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
    It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
    It is a comforter.

ANTONIO                      We two, my lord,
    Will guard your person while you take your rest,
    And watch your safety.

ALONSO    Thank you. Wondrous heavy.

    [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL]

SEBASTIAN    What a strange drowsiness possesses them!

ANTONIO    It is the quality o' the climate.

SEBASTIAN    Why
    Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
    Myself disposed to sleep.

ANTONIO    Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
    They fell together all, as by consent;
    They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
    Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?--No more:--
    And yet me thinks I see it in thy face,
    What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee, and
    My strong imagination sees a crown
    Dropping upon thy head.

SEBASTIAN    What, art thou waking?

ANTONIO    Do you not hear me speak?

SEBASTIAN    I do; and surely
    It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st
    Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say?
    This is a strange repose, to be asleep
    With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving,
    And yet so fast asleep.

ANTONIO    Noble Sebastian,
    Thou let'st thy fortune sleep--die, rather; wink'st
    Whiles thou art waking.

SEBASTIAN    Thou dost snore distinctly;
    There's meaning in thy snores.

ANTONIO    I am more serious than my custom: you
    Must be so too, if heed me; which to do
    Trebles thee o'er.

SEBASTIAN                      Well, I am standing water.

ANTONIO    I'll teach you how to flow.

SEBASTIAN    Do so: to ebb
    Hereditary sloth instructs me.

ANTONIO    O,
    If you but knew how you the purpose cherish
    Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it,
    You more invest it! Ebbing men, indeed,
    Most often do so near the bottom run
    By their own fear or sloth.

SEBASTIAN    Prithee, say on:
    The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim
    A matter from thee, and a birth indeed
    Which throes thee much to yield.

ANTONIO    Thus, sir:
    Although this lord of weak remembrance, this,
    Who shall be of as little memory
    When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuade,--
    For he's a spirit of persuasion, only
    Professes to persuade,--the king his son's alive,
    'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd
    And he that sleeps here swims.

SEBASTIAN    I have no hope
    That he's undrown'd.

ANTONIO    O, out of that 'no hope'
    What great hope have you! no hope that way is
    Another way so high a hope that even
    Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
    But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me
    That Ferdinand is drown'd?

SEBASTIAN    He's gone.

ANTONIO    Then, tell me,
    Who's the next heir of Naples?

SEBASTIAN    Claribel.

ANTONIO    She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells
    Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples
    Can have no note, unless the sun were post--
    The man i' the moon's too slow--till new-born chins
    Be rough and razorable; she that--from whom?
    We all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast again,
    And by that destiny to perform an act
    Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come
    In yours and my discharge.

SEBASTIAN    What stuff is this! how say you?
    'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis;
    So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions
    There is some space.

ANTONIO    A space whose every cubit
    Seems to cry out, 'How shall that Claribel
    Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis,
    And let Sebastian wake.' Say, this were death
    That now hath seized them; why, they were no worse
    Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples
    As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate
    As amply and unnecessarily
    As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
    A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
    The mind that I do! what a sleep were this
    For your advancement! Do you understand me?

SEBASTIAN    Methinks I do.

ANTONIO                      And how does your content
    Tender your own good fortune?

SEBASTIAN    I remember
    You did supplant your brother Prospero.

ANTONIO    True:
    And look how well my garments sit upon me;
    Much feater than before: my brother's servants
    Were then my fellows; now they are my men.

SEBASTIAN    But, for your conscience?

ANTONIO    Ay, sir; where lies that? if 'twere a kibe,
    'Twould put me to my slipper: but I feel not
    This deity in my bosom: twenty consciences,
    That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they
    And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
    No better than the earth he lies upon,
    If he were that which now he's like, that's dead;
    Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
    Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,
    To the perpetual wink for aye might put
    This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
    Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
    They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
    They'll tell the clock to any business that
    We say befits the hour.

SEBASTIAN    Thy case, dear friend,
    Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
    I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword: one stroke
    Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest;
    And I the king shall love thee.

ANTONIO    Draw together;
    And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
    To fall it on Gonzalo.

SEBASTIAN    O, but one word.

    [They talk apart]

    [Re-enter ARIEL, invisible]

ARIEL    My master through his art foresees the danger
    That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forth--
    For else his project dies--to keep them living.

    [Sings in GONZALO's ear]

    While you here do snoring lie,
    Open-eyed conspiracy
    His time doth take.
    If of life you keep a care,
    Shake off slumber, and beware:
    Awake, awake!

ANTONIO    Then let us both be sudden.

GONZALO    Now, good angels
    Preserve the king.

    [They wake]

ALONSO    Why, how now? ho, awake! Why are you drawn?
    Wherefore this ghastly looking?

GONZALO    What's the matter?

SEBASTIAN    Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
    Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
    Like bulls, or rather lions: did't not wake you?
    It struck mine ear most terribly.

ALONSO    I heard nothing.

ANTONIO    O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,
    To make an earthquake! sure, it was the roar
    Of a whole herd of lions.

ALONSO    Heard you this, Gonzalo?

GONZALO    Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,
    And that a strange one too, which did awake me:
    I shaked you, sir, and cried: as mine eyes open'd,
    I saw their weapons drawn: there was a noise,
    That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard,
    Or that we quit this place; let's draw our weapons.

ALONSO    Lead off this ground; and let's make further search
    For my poor son.

GONZALO    Heavens keep him from these beasts!
    For he is, sure, i' the island.

ALONSO    Lead away.

ARIEL    Prospero my lord shall know what I have done:
    So, king, go safely on to seek thy son.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT II



SCENE II    Another part of the island.


    [Enter CALIBAN with a burden of wood. A noise of
    thunder heard]

CALIBAN    All the infections that the sun sucks up
    From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him
    By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me
    And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,
    Fright me with urchin--shows, pitch me i' the mire,
    Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
    Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
    For every trifle are they set upon me;
    Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me
    And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which
    Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount
    Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I
    All wound with adders who with cloven tongues
    Do hiss me into madness.

    [Enter TRINCULO]

            Lo, now, lo!

    Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
    For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat;
    Perchance he will not mind me.

TRINCULO    Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off
    any weather at all, and another storm brewing;
    I hear it sing i' the wind: yond same black
    cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul
    bombard that would shed his liquor. If it
    should thunder as it did before, I know not
    where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot
    choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we
    here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish:
    he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-
    like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor-
    John. A strange fish! Were I in England now,
    as once I was, and had but this fish painted,
    not a holiday fool there but would give a piece
    of silver: there would this monster make a
    man; any strange beast there makes a man:
    when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame
    beggar, they will lazy out ten to see a dead
    Indian. Legged like a man and his fins like
    arms! Warm o' my troth! I do now let loose
    my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish,
    but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a
    thunderbolt.

    [Thunder]

    Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to
    creep under his gaberdine; there is no other
    shelter hereabouts: misery acquaints a man with
    strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the
    dregs of the storm be past.

    [Enter STEPHANO, singing: a bottle in his hand]

STEPHANO       I shall no more to sea, to sea,
    Here shall I die ashore--

    This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's
    funeral: well, here's my comfort. [Drinks]

    [Sings]

    The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
    The gunner and his mate
    Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,
    But none of us cared for Kate;
    For she had a tongue with a tang,
    Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
    She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
    Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch:
    Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!

    This is a scurvy tune too: but here's my comfort.
    [Drinks]

CALIBAN    Do not torment me: Oh!

STEPHANO    What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put
    tricks upon's with savages and men of Ind, ha? I
    have not scaped drowning to be afeard now of your
    four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as
    ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground;
    and it shall be said so again while Stephano
    breathes at's nostrils.

CALIBAN    The spirit torments me; Oh!

STEPHANO    This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who
    hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil
    should he learn our language? I will give him some
    relief, if it be but for that. if I can recover him
    and keep him tame and get to Naples with him, he's a
    present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's leather.

CALIBAN    Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my wood home faster.

STEPHANO    He's in his fit now and does not talk after the
    wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have
    never drunk wine afore will go near to remove his
    fit. If I can recover him and keep him tame, I will
    not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that
    hath him, and that soundly.

CALIBAN    Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I
    know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.

STEPHANO    Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is that
    which will give language to you, cat: open your
    mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you,
    and that soundly: you cannot tell who's your friend:
    open your chaps again.

TRINCULO    I should know that voice: it should be--but he is
    drowned; and these are devils: O defend me!

STEPHANO    Four legs and two voices: a most delicate monster!
    His forward voice now is to speak well of his
    friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches
    and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will
    recover him, I will help his ague. Come. Amen! I
    will pour some in thy other mouth.

TRINCULO    Stephano!

STEPHANO    Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy! This is
    a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no
    long spoon.

TRINCULO    Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me and
    speak to me: for I am Trinculo--be not afeard--thy
    good friend Trinculo.

STEPHANO    If thou beest Trinculo, come forth: I'll pull thee
    by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs,
    these are they. Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How
    camest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can
    he vent Trinculos?

TRINCULO    I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But
    art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope now thou art
    not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me
    under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of
    the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O
    Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scaped!

STEPHANO    Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant.

CALIBAN    [Aside]  These be fine things, an if they be
    not sprites.
    That's a brave god and bears celestial liquor.
    I will kneel to him.

STEPHANO    How didst thou 'scape? How camest thou hither?
    swear by this bottle how thou camest hither. I
    escaped upon a butt of sack which the sailors
    heaved o'erboard, by this bottle; which I made of
    the bark of a tree with mine own hands since I was
    cast ashore.

CALIBAN    I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject;
    for the liquor is not earthly.

STEPHANO    Here; swear then how thou escapedst.

TRINCULO    Swum ashore. man, like a duck: I can swim like a
    duck, I'll be sworn.

STEPHANO    Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a
    duck, thou art made like a goose.

TRINCULO    O Stephano. hast any more of this?

STEPHANO    The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the
    sea-side where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf!
    how does thine ague?

CALIBAN    Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven?

STEPHANO    Out o' the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i'
    the moon when time was.

CALIBAN    I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee:
    My mistress show'd me thee and thy dog and thy bush.

STEPHANO    Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish
    it anon with new contents swear.

TRINCULO    By this good light, this is a very shallow monster!
    I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The man i'
    the moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well
    drawn, monster, in good sooth!

CALIBAN    I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;
    And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god.

TRINCULO    By this light, a most perfidious and drunken
    monster! when 's god's asleep, he'll rob his bottle.

CALIBAN    I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy subject.

STEPHANO    Come on then; down, and swear.

TRINCULO    I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed
    monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my
    heart to beat him,--

STEPHANO    Come, kiss.

TRINCULO    But that the poor monster's in drink: an abominable monster!

CALIBAN    I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries;
    I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.
    A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
    I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
    Thou wondrous man.

TRINCULO    A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a
    Poor drunkard!

CALIBAN    I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
    And I with my long nails will dig thee pignuts;
    Show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how
    To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee
    To clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get thee
    Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?

STEPHANO    I prithee now, lead the way without any more
    talking. Trinculo, the king and all our company
    else being drowned, we will inherit here: here;
    bear my bottle: fellow Trinculo, we'll fill him by
    and by again.

CALIBAN    [Sings drunkenly]
    Farewell master; farewell, farewell!

TRINCULO    A howling monster: a drunken monster!

CALIBAN       No more dams I'll make for fish
    Nor fetch in firing
    At requiring;
    Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish
    'Ban, 'Ban, Cacaliban
    Has a new master: get a new man.

    Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom,
    hey-day, freedom!

STEPHANO    O brave monster! Lead the way.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT III



SCENE I    Before PROSPERO'S Cell.


    [Enter FERDINAND, bearing a log]

FERDINAND    There be some sports are painful, and their labour
    Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
    Are nobly undergone and most poor matters
    Point to rich ends. This my mean task
    Would be as heavy to me as odious, but
    The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead
    And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is
    Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed,
    And he's composed of harshness. I must remove
    Some thousands of these logs and pile them up,
    Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress
    Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness
    Had never like executor. I forget:
    But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours,
    Most busy lest, when I do it.

    [Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance, unseen]

MIRANDA    Alas, now, pray you,
    Work not so hard: I would the lightning had
    Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile!
    Pray, set it down and rest you: when this burns,
    'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father
    Is hard at study; pray now, rest yourself;
    He's safe for these three hours.

FERDINAND    O most dear mistress,
    The sun will set before I shall discharge
    What I must strive to do.

MIRANDA    If you'll sit down,
    I'll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that;
    I'll carry it to the pile.

FERDINAND    No, precious creature;
    I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
    Than you should such dishonour undergo,
    While I sit lazy by.

MIRANDA    It would become me
    As well as it does you: and I should do it
    With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
    And yours it is against.

PROSPERO    Poor worm, thou art infected!
    This visitation shows it.

MIRANDA    You look wearily.

FERDINAND    No, noble mistress;'tis fresh morning with me
    When you are by at night. I do beseech you--
    Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers--
    What is your name?

MIRANDA                      Miranda.--O my father,
    I have broke your hest to say so!

FERDINAND    Admired Miranda!
    Indeed the top of admiration! worth
    What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
    I have eyed with best regard and many a time
    The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
    Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
    Have I liked several women; never any
    With so fun soul, but some defect in her
    Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed
    And put it to the foil: but you, O you,
    So perfect and so peerless, are created
    Of every creature's best!

MIRANDA    I do not know
    One of my sex; no woman's face remember,
    Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen
    More that I may call men than you, good friend,
    And my dear father: how features are abroad,
    I am skilless of; but, by my modesty,
    The jewel in my dower, I would not wish
    Any companion in the world but you,
    Nor can imagination form a shape,
    Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle
    Something too wildly and my father's precepts
    I therein do forget.

FERDINAND    I am in my condition
    A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
    I would, not so!--and would no more endure
    This wooden slavery than to suffer
    The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:
    The very instant that I saw you, did
    My heart fly to your service; there resides,
    To make me slave to it; and for your sake
    Am I this patient log--man.

MIRANDA    Do you love me?

FERDINAND    O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound
    And crown what I profess with kind event
    If I speak true! if hollowly, invert
    What best is boded me to mischief! I
    Beyond all limit of what else i' the world
    Do love, prize, honour you.

MIRANDA    I am a fool
    To weep at what I am glad of.

PROSPERO    Fair encounter
    Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace
    On that which breeds between 'em!

FERDINAND    Wherefore weep you?

MIRANDA    At mine unworthiness that dare not offer
    What I desire to give, and much less take
    What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;
    And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
    The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!
    And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!
    I am your wife, it you will marry me;
    If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
    You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,
    Whether you will or no.

FERDINAND    My mistress, dearest;
    And I thus humble ever.

MIRANDA    My husband, then?

FERDINAND    Ay, with a heart as willing
    As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand.

MIRANDA    And mine, with my heart in't; and now farewell
    Till half an hour hence.

FERDINAND    A thousand thousand!

    [Exeunt FERDINAND and MIRANDA severally]

PROSPERO    So glad of this as they I cannot be,
    Who are surprised withal; but my rejoicing
    At nothing can be more. I'll to my book,
    For yet ere supper-time must I perform
    Much business appertaining.

    [Exit]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT III



SCENE II    Another part of the island.


    [Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO]

STEPHANO    Tell not me; when the butt is out, we will drink
    water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and
    board 'em. Servant-monster, drink to me.

TRINCULO    Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They
    say there's but five upon this isle: we are three
    of them; if th' other two be brained like us, the
    state totters.

STEPHANO    Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes
    are almost set in thy head.

TRINCULO    Where should they be set else? he were a brave
    monster indeed, if they were set in his tail.

STEPHANO    My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in sack:
    for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I
    could recover the shore, five and thirty leagues off
    and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant,
    monster, or my standard.

TRINCULO    Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard.

STEPHANO    We'll not run, Monsieur Monster.

TRINCULO    Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs and yet say
    nothing neither.

STEPHANO    Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a
    good moon-calf.

CALIBAN    How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe.
    I'll not serve him; he's not valiant.

TRINCULO    Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to
    justle a constable. Why, thou deboshed fish thou,
    was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much
    sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie,
    being but half a fish and half a monster?

CALIBAN    Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord?

TRINCULO    'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural!

CALIBAN    Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I prithee.

STEPHANO    Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you
    prove a mutineer,--the next tree! The poor monster's
    my subject and he shall not suffer indignity.

CALIBAN    I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased to
    hearken once again to the suit I made to thee?

STEPHANO    Marry, will I    kneel and repeat it; I will stand,
    and so shall Trinculo.

    [Enter ARIEL, invisible]

CALIBAN    As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a
    sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island.

ARIEL    Thou liest.

CALIBAN    Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: I would my
    valiant master would destroy thee! I do not lie.

STEPHANO    Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale, by
    this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth.

TRINCULO    Why, I said nothing.

STEPHANO    Mum, then, and no more. Proceed.

CALIBAN    I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
    From me he got it. if thy greatness will
    Revenge it on him,--for I know thou darest,
    But this thing dare not,--

STEPHANO    That's most certain.

CALIBAN    Thou shalt be lord of it and I'll serve thee.

STEPHANO    How now shall this be compassed?
    Canst thou bring me to the party?

CALIBAN    Yea, yea, my lord: I'll yield him thee asleep,
    Where thou mayst knock a nail into his bead.

ARIEL    Thou liest; thou canst not.

CALIBAN    What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy patch!
    I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows
    And take his bottle from him: when that's gone
    He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him
    Where the quick freshes are.

STEPHANO    Trinculo, run into no further danger:
    interrupt the monster one word further, and,
    by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors
    and make a stock-fish of thee.

TRINCULO    Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther
    off.

STEPHANO    Didst thou not say he lied?

ARIEL    Thou liest.

STEPHANO    Do I so? take thou that.

    [Beats TRINCULO]

    As you like this, give me the lie another time.

TRINCULO    I did not give the lie. Out o' your
    wits and bearing too? A pox o' your bottle!
    this can sack and drinking do. A murrain on
    your monster, and the devil take your fingers!

CALIBAN    Ha, ha, ha!

STEPHANO    Now, forward with your tale. Prithee, stand farther
    off.

CALIBAN    Beat him enough: after a little time
    I'll beat him too.

STEPHANO                      Stand farther. Come, proceed.

CALIBAN    Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him,
    I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,
    Having first seized his books, or with a log
    Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
    Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
    First to possess his books; for without them
    He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
    One spirit to command: they all do hate him
    As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
    He has brave utensils,--for so he calls them--
    Which when he has a house, he'll deck withal
    And that most deeply to consider is
    The beauty of his daughter; he himself
    Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman,
    But only Sycorax my dam and she;
    But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
    As great'st does least.

STEPHANO    Is it so brave a lass?

CALIBAN    Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant.
    And bring thee forth brave brood.

STEPHANO    Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and I
    will be king and queen--save our graces!--and
    Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou
    like the plot, Trinculo?

TRINCULO    Excellent.

STEPHANO    Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but,
    while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head.

CALIBAN    Within this half hour will he be asleep:
    Wilt thou destroy him then?

STEPHANO    Ay, on mine honour.

ARIEL    This will I tell my master.

CALIBAN    Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure:
    Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch
    You taught me but while-ere?

STEPHANO    At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any
    reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing.

    [Sings]

    Flout 'em and scout 'em
    And scout 'em and flout 'em
    Thought is free.

CALIBAN    That's not the tune.

    [Ariel plays the tune on a tabour and pipe]

STEPHANO    What is this same?

TRINCULO    This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture
    of Nobody.

STEPHANO    If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness:
    if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list.

TRINCULO    O, forgive me my sins!

STEPHANO    He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us!

CALIBAN    Art thou afeard?

STEPHANO    No, monster, not I.

CALIBAN    Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
    Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
    Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
    Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
    That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
    Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
    The clouds methought would open and show riches
    Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
    I cried to dream again.

STEPHANO    This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall
    have my music for nothing.

CALIBAN    When Prospero is destroyed.

STEPHANO    That shall be by and by: I remember the story.

TRINCULO    The sound is going away; let's follow it, and
    after do our work.

STEPHANO    Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see
    this tabourer; he lays it on.

TRINCULO    Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT III



SCENE III    Another part of the island.


    [Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO,
    ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and others]

GONZALO    By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir;
    My old bones ache: here's a maze trod indeed
    Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience,
    I needs must rest me.

ALONSO    Old lord, I cannot blame thee,
    Who am myself attach'd with weariness,
    To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest.
    Even here I will put off my hope and keep it
    No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd
    Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks
    Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go.

ANTONIO    [Aside to SEBASTIAN]  I am right glad that he's so
    out of hope.
    Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose
    That you resolved to effect.

SEBASTIAN    [Aside to ANTONIO]  The next advantage
    Will we take throughly.

ANTONIO    [Aside to SEBASTIAN]  Let it be to-night;
    For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they
    Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance
    As when they are fresh.

SEBASTIAN    [Aside to ANTONIO]  I say, to-night: no more.

    [Solemn and strange music]

ALONSO    What harmony is this? My good friends, hark!

GONZALO    Marvellous sweet music!

    [Enter PROSPERO above, invisible. Enter several
    strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet;
    they dance about it with gentle actions of
    salutation; and, inviting the King, &c. to
    eat, they depart]

ALONSO    Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were these?

SEBASTIAN    A living drollery. Now I will believe
    That there are unicorns, that in Arabia
    There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix
    At this hour reigning there.

ANTONIO    I'll believe both;
    And what does else want credit, come to me,
    And I'll be sworn 'tis true: travellers ne'er did
    lie,
    Though fools at home condemn 'em.

GONZALO    If in Naples
    I should report this now, would they believe me?
    If I should say, I saw such islanders--
    For, certes, these are people of the island--
    Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note,
    Their manners are more gentle-kind than of
    Our human generation you shall find
    Many, nay, almost any.

PROSPERO    [Aside]              Honest lord,
    Thou hast said well; for some of you there present
    Are worse than devils.

ALONSO    I cannot too much muse
    Such shapes, such gesture and such sound, expressing,
    Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
    Of excellent dumb discourse.

PROSPERO    [Aside]    Praise in departing.

FRANCISCO    They vanish'd strangely.

SEBASTIAN    No matter, since
    They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.
    Will't please you taste of what is here?

ALONSO    Not I.

GONZALO    Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys,
    Who would believe that there were mountaineers
    Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em
    Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men
    Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find
    Each putter-out of five for one will bring us
    Good warrant of.

ALONSO                      I will stand to and feed,
    Although my last: no matter, since I feel
    The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke,
    Stand to and do as we.

    [Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a
    harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and,
    with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes]

ARIEL    You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,
    That hath to instrument this lower world
    And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
    Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island
    Where man doth not inhabit; you 'mongst men
    Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
    And even with such-like valour men hang and drown
    Their proper selves.

    [ALONSO, SEBASTIAN &c. draw their swords]

        You fools! I and my fellows
    Are ministers of Fate: the elements,
    Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well
    Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs
    Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
    One dowle that's in my plume: my fellow-ministers
    Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
    Your swords are now too massy for your strengths
    And will not be uplifted. But remember--
    For that's my business to you--that you three
    From Milan did supplant good Prospero;
    Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it,
    Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed
    The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have
    Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,
    Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,
    They have bereft; and do pronounce by me:
    Lingering perdition, worse than any death
    Can be at once, shall step by step attend
    You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from--
    Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls
    Upon your heads--is nothing but heart-sorrow
    And a clear life ensuing.

    [He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music
    enter the Shapes again, and dance, with
    mocks and mows, and carrying out the table]

PROSPERO    Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
    Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring:
    Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated
    In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life
    And observation strange, my meaner ministers
    Their several kinds have done. My high charms work
    And these mine enemies are all knit up
    In their distractions; they now are in my power;
    And in these fits I leave them, while I visit
    Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd,
    And his and mine loved darling.

    [Exit above]

GONZALO    I' the name of something holy, sir, why stand you
    In this strange stare?

ALONSO    O, it is monstrous, monstrous:
    Methought the billows spoke and told me of it;
    The winds did sing it to me, and the thunder,
    That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced
    The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass.
    Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded, and
    I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded
    And with him there lie mudded.
    [Exit]

SEBASTIAN    But one fiend at a time,
    I'll fight their legions o'er.

ANTONIO    I'll be thy second.

    [Exeunt SEBASTIAN, and ANTONIO]

GONZALO    All three of them are desperate: their great guilt,
    Like poison given to work a great time after,
    Now 'gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you
    That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly
    And hinder them from what this ecstasy
    May now provoke them to.

ADRIAN    Follow, I pray you.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT IV



SCENE I    Before PROSPERO'S cell.


    [Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA]

PROSPERO    If I have too austerely punish'd you,
    Your compensation makes amends, for I
    Have given you here a third of mine own life,
    Or that for which I live; who once again
    I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations
    Were but my trials of thy love and thou
    Hast strangely stood the test here, afore Heaven,
    I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,
    Do not smile at me that I boast her off,
    For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise
    And make it halt behind her.

FERDINAND    I do believe it
    Against an oracle.

PROSPERO    Then, as my gift and thine own acquisition
    Worthily purchased take my daughter: but
    If thou dost break her virgin-knot before
    All sanctimonious ceremonies may
    With full and holy rite be minister'd,
    No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall
    To make this contract grow: but barren hate,
    Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew
    The union of your bed with weeds so loathly
    That you shall hate it both: therefore take heed,
    As Hymen's lamps shall light you.

FERDINAND    As I hope
    For quiet days, fair issue and long life,
    With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den,
    The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion.
    Our worser genius can, shall never melt
    Mine honour into lust, to take away
    The edge of that day's celebration
    When I shall think: or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd,
    Or Night kept chain'd below.

PROSPERO    Fairly spoke.
    Sit then and talk with her; she is thine own.
    What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!

    [Enter ARIEL]

ARIEL    What would my potent master? here I am.

PROSPERO    Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
    Did worthily perform; and I must use you
    In such another trick. Go bring the rabble,
    O'er whom I give thee power, here to this place:
    Incite them to quick motion; for I must
    Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple
    Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise,
    And they expect it from me.

ARIEL    Presently?

PROSPERO    Ay, with a twink.

ARIEL       Before you can say 'come' and 'go,'
    And breathe twice and cry 'so, so,'
    Each one, tripping on his toe,
    Will be here with mop and mow.
    Do you love me, master? no?

PROSPERO    Dearly my delicate Ariel. Do not approach
    Till thou dost hear me call.

ARIEL    Well, I conceive.

    [Exit]

PROSPERO    Look thou be true; do not give dalliance
    Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw
    To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious,
    Or else, good night your vow!

FERDINAND    I warrant you sir;
    The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
    Abates the ardour of my liver.

PROSPERO    Well.
    Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary,
    Rather than want a spirit: appear and pertly!
    No tongue! all eyes! be silent.

    [Soft music]

    [Enter IRIS]

IRIS    Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
    Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats and pease;
    Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
    And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep;
    Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
    Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
    To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom -groves,
    Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
    Being lass-lorn: thy pole-clipt vineyard;
    And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard,
    Where thou thyself dost air;--the queen o' the sky,
    Whose watery arch and messenger am I,
    Bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace,
    Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
    To come and sport: her peacocks fly amain:
    Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.

    [Enter CERES]

CERES    Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er
    Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
    Who with thy saffron wings upon my flowers
    Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers,
    And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
    My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down,
    Rich scarf to my proud earth; why hath thy queen
    Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green?

IRIS    A contract of true love to celebrate;
    And some donation freely to estate
    On the blest lovers.

CERES    Tell me, heavenly bow,
    If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,
    Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot
    The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,
    Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company
    I have forsworn.

IRIS                      Of her society
    Be not afraid: I met her deity
    Cutting the clouds towards Paphos and her son
    Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done
    Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,
    Whose vows are, that no bed-right shall be paid
    Till Hymen's torch be lighted: but vain;
    Mars's hot minion is returned again;
    Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows,
    Swears he will shoot no more but play with sparrows
    And be a boy right out.

CERES    High'st queen of state,
    Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait.

    [Enter JUNO]

JUNO    How does my bounteous sister? Go with me
    To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be
    And honour'd in their issue.

    [They sing:]

JUNO       Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
    Long continuance, and increasing,
    Hourly joys be still upon you!
    Juno sings her blessings upon you.

CERES       Earth's increase, foison plenty,
    Barns and garners never empty,
    Vines and clustering bunches growing,
    Plants with goodly burthen bowing;
    Spring come to you at the farthest
    In the very end of harvest!
    Scarcity and want shall shun you;
    Ceres' blessing so is on you.

FERDINAND    This is a most majestic vision, and
    Harmoniously charmingly. May I be bold
    To think these spirits?

PROSPERO    Spirits, which by mine art
    I have from their confines call'd to enact
    My present fancies.

FERDINAND    Let me live here ever;
    So rare a wonder'd father and a wife
    Makes this place Paradise.

    [Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on
    employment]

PROSPERO    Sweet, now, silence!
    Juno and Ceres whisper seriously;
    There's something else to do: hush, and be mute,
    Or else our spell is marr'd.

IRIS    You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the windring brooks,
    With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks,
    Leave your crisp channels and on this green land
    Answer your summons; Juno does command:
    Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
    A contract of true love; be not too late.

    [Enter certain Nymphs]

    You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
    Come hither from the furrow and be merry:
    Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on
    And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
    In country footing.

    [Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they
    join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance;
    towards the end whereof PROSPERO starts
    suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a
    strange, hollow, and confused noise, they
    heavily vanish]

PROSPERO    [Aside]  I had forgot that foul conspiracy
    Of the beast Caliban and his confederates
    Against my life: the minute of their plot
    Is almost come.

    [To the Spirits]

    Well done! avoid; no more!

FERDINAND    This is strange: your father's in some passion
    That works him strongly.

MIRANDA    Never till this day
    Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

PROSPERO    You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
    As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir.
    Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
    As I foretold you, were all spirits and
    Are melted into air, into thin air:
    And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
    The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
    The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
    Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
    And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
    Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
    As dreams are made on, and our little life
    Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
    Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
    Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
    If you be pleased, retire into my cell
    And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,
    To still my beating mind.


FERDINAND    |
    |  We wish your peace.
MIRANDA    |


    [Exeunt]

PROSPERO    Come with a thought I thank thee, Ariel: come.

    [Enter ARIEL]

ARIEL    Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure?

PROSPERO    Spirit,
    We must prepare to meet with Caliban.

ARIEL    Ay, my commander: when I presented Ceres,
    I thought to have told thee of it, but I fear'd
    Lest I might anger thee.

PROSPERO    Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets?

ARIEL    I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;
    So fun of valour that they smote the air
    For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
    For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
    Towards their project. Then I beat my tabour;
    At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd
    their ears,
    Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses
    As they smelt music: so I charm'd their ears
    That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
    Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns,
    Which entered their frail shins: at last I left them
    I' the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell,
    There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake
    O'erstunk their feet.

PROSPERO    This was well done, my bird.
    Thy shape invisible retain thou still:
    The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither,
    For stale to catch these thieves.

ARIEL    I go, I go.

    [Exit]

PROSPERO    A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
    Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
    Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;
    And as with age his body uglier grows,
    So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,
    Even to roaring.

    [Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c]

    Come, hang them on this line.

    [PROSPERO and ARIEL remain invisible. Enter
    CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet]

CALIBAN    Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not
    Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell.

STEPHANO    Monster, your fairy, which you say is
    a harmless fairy, has done little better than
    played the Jack with us.

TRINCULO    Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at
    which my nose is in great indignation.

STEPHANO    So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should take
    a displeasure against you, look you,--

TRINCULO    Thou wert but a lost monster.

CALIBAN    Good my lord, give me thy favour still.
    Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
    Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly.
    All's hush'd as midnight yet.

TRINCULO    Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,--

STEPHANO    There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that,
    monster, but an infinite loss.

TRINCULO    That's more to me than my wetting: yet this is your
    harmless fairy, monster.

STEPHANO    I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er ears
    for my labour.

CALIBAN    Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here,
    This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise, and enter.
    Do that good mischief which may make this island
    Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
    For aye thy foot-licker.

STEPHANO    Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts.

TRINCULO    O king Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! look
    what a wardrobe here is for thee!

CALIBAN    Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.

TRINCULO    O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a frippery.
    O king Stephano!

STEPHANO    Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll have
    that gown.

TRINCULO    Thy grace shall have it.

CALIBAN    The dropsy drown this fool I what do you mean
    To dote thus on such luggage? Let's alone
    And do the murder first: if he awake,
    From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches,
    Make us strange stuff.

STEPHANO    Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line,
    is not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under
    the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your
    hair and prove a bald jerkin.

TRINCULO    Do, do: we steal by line and level, an't like your grace.

STEPHANO    I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment for't:
    wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of this
    country. 'Steal by line and level' is an excellent
    pass of pate; there's another garment for't.

TRINCULO    Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and
    away with the rest.

CALIBAN    I will have none on't: we shall lose our time,
    And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes
    With foreheads villanous low.

STEPHANO    Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this
    away where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll turn you
    out of my kingdom: go to, carry this.

TRINCULO    And this.

STEPHANO    Ay, and this.

    [A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits,
    in shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt them about,
    PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on]

PROSPERO    Hey, Mountain, hey!

ARIEL    Silver I there it goes, Silver!

PROSPERO    Fury, Fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark! hark!

    [CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, are
    driven out]

    Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints
    With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews
    With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them
    Than pard or cat o' mountain.

ARIEL    Hark, they roar!

PROSPERO    Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour
    Lie at my mercy all mine enemies:
    Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou
    Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little
    Follow, and do me service.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST


ACT V



SCENE I    Before PROSPERO'S cell.


    [Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL]

PROSPERO    Now does my project gather to a head:
    My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time
    Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day?

ARIEL    On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,
    You said our work should cease.

PROSPERO    I did say so,
    When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit,
    How fares the king and's followers?

ARIEL    Confined together
    In the same fashion as you gave in charge,
    Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir,
    In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;
    They cannot budge till your release. The king,
    His brother and yours, abide all three distracted
    And the remainder mourning over them,
    Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly
    Him that you term'd, sir, 'The good old lord Gonzalo;'
    His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
    From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em
    That if you now beheld them, your affections
    Would become tender.

PROSPERO    Dost thou think so, spirit?

ARIEL    Mine would, sir, were I human.

PROSPERO    And mine shall.
    Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
    Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
    One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
    Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?
    Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,
    Yet with my nobler reason 'gaitist my fury
    Do I take part: the rarer action is
    In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,
    The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
    Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel:
    My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
    And they shall be themselves.

ARIEL    I'll fetch them, sir.

    [Exit]

PROSPERO    Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
    And ye that on the sands with printless foot
    Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
    When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
    By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
    Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
    Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
    To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
    Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm'd
    The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
    And 'twixt the green sea and the azured vault
    Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
    Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
    With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
    Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
    The pine and cedar: graves at my command
    Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth
    By my so potent art. But this rough magic
    I here abjure, and, when I have required
    Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
    To work mine end upon their senses that
    This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
    Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
    And deeper than did ever plummet sound
    I'll drown my book.

    [Solemn music]

    [Re-enter ARIEL before: then ALONSO, with a
    frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO;
    SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO in like manner,
    attended by ADRIAN and FRANCISCO   they all
    enter the circle which PROSPERO had made,
    and there stand charmed; which PROSPERO
    observing, speaks:]

    A solemn air and the best comforter
    To an unsettled fancy cure thy brains,
    Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand,
    For you are spell-stopp'd.
    Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
    Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine,
    Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace,
    And as the morning steals upon the night,
    Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
    Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
    Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo,
    My true preserver, and a loyal sir
    To him you follow'st! I will pay thy graces
    Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly
    Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
    Thy brother was a furtherer in the act.
    Thou art pinch'd fort now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,
    You, brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
    Expell'd remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian,
    Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,
    Would here have kill'd your king; I do forgive thee,
    Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding
    Begins to swell, and the approaching tide
    Will shortly fill the reasonable shore
    That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them
    That yet looks on me, or would know me Ariel,
    Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell:
    I will discase me, and myself present
    As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit;
    Thou shalt ere long be free.

    [ARIEL sings and helps to attire him]

    Where the bee sucks. there suck I:
    In a cowslip's bell I lie;
    There I couch when owls do cry.
    On the bat's back I do fly
    After summer merrily.
    Merrily, merrily shall I live now
    Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

PROSPERO    Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee:
    But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so.
    To the king's ship, invisible as thou art:
    There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
    Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain
    Being awake, enforce them to this place,
    And presently, I prithee.

ARIEL    I drink the air before me, and return
    Or ere your pulse twice beat.

    [Exit]

GONZALO    All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement
    Inhabits here: some heavenly power guide us
    Out of this fearful country!

PROSPERO    Behold, sir king,
    The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero:
    For more assurance that a living prince
    Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body;
    And to thee and thy company I bid
    A hearty welcome.

ALONSO                      Whether thou best he or no,
    Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me,
    As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse
    Beats as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee,
    The affliction of my mind amends, with which,
    I fear, a madness held me: this must crave,
    An if this be at all, a most strange story.
    Thy dukedom I resign and do entreat
    Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero
    Be living and be here?

PROSPERO    First, noble friend,
    Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot
    Be measured or confined.

GONZALO    Whether this be
    Or be not, I'll not swear.

PROSPERO    You do yet taste
    Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you
    Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all!

    [Aside to SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO]

    But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,
    I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you
    And justify you traitors: at this time
    I will tell no tales.

SEBASTIAN    [Aside]  The devil speaks in him.

PROSPERO    No.
    For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
    Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
    Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require
    My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know,
    Thou must restore.

ALONSO                      If thou be'st Prospero,
    Give us particulars of thy preservation;
    How thou hast met us here, who three hours since
    Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost--
    How sharp the point of this remembrance is!--
    My dear son Ferdinand.

PROSPERO    I am woe for't, sir.

ALONSO    Irreparable is the loss, and patience
    Says it is past her cure.

PROSPERO    I rather think
    You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace
    For the like loss I have her sovereign aid
    And rest myself content.

ALONSO    You the like loss!

PROSPERO    As great to me as late; and, supportable
    To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
    Than you may call to comfort you, for I
    Have lost my daughter.

ALONSO    A daughter?
    O heavens, that they were living both in Naples,
    The king and queen there! that they were, I wish
    Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
    Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?

PROSPERO    In this last tempest. I perceive these lords
    At this encounter do so much admire
    That they devour their reason and scarce think
    Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
    Are natural breath: but, howsoe'er you have
    Been justled from your senses, know for certain
    That I am Prospero and that very duke
    Which was thrust forth of Milan, who most strangely
    Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed,
    To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
    For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
    Not a relation for a breakfast nor
    Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
    This cell's my court: here have I few attendants
    And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.
    My dukedom since you have given me again,
    I will requite you with as good a thing;
    At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye
    As much as me my dukedom.

    [Here PROSPERO discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA
    playing at chess]

MIRANDA    Sweet lord, you play me false.

FERDINAND    No, my dear'st love,
    I would not for the world.

MIRANDA    Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle,
    And I would call it, fair play.

ALONSO    If this prove
    A vision of the Island, one dear son
    Shall I twice lose.

SEBASTIAN    A most high miracle!

FERDINAND    Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;
    I have cursed them without cause.

    [Kneels]

ALONSO    Now all the blessings
    Of a glad father compass thee about!
    Arise, and say how thou camest here.

MIRANDA    O, wonder!
    How many goodly creatures are there here!
    How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
    That has such people in't!

PROSPERO    'Tis new to thee.

ALONSO    What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?
    Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours:
    Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
    And brought us thus together?

FERDINAND    Sir, she is mortal;
    But by immortal Providence she's mine:
    I chose her when I could not ask my father
    For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
    Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
    Of whom so often I have heard renown,
    But never saw before; of whom I have
    Received a second life; and second father
    This lady makes him to me.

ALONSO    I am hers:
    But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
    Must ask my child forgiveness!

PROSPERO    There, sir, stop:
    Let us not burthen our remembrance with
    A heaviness that's gone.

GONZALO    I have inly wept,
    Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you god,
    And on this couple drop a blessed crown!
    For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way
    Which brought us hither.

ALONSO    I say, Amen, Gonzalo!

GONZALO    Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
    Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
    Beyond a common joy, and set it down
    With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage
    Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
    And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
    Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom
    In a poor isle and all of us ourselves
    When no man was his own.

ALONSO    [To FERDINAND and MIRANDA]  Give me your hands:
    Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart
    That doth not wish you joy!

GONZALO    Be it so! Amen!

    [Re-enter ARIEL, with the Master and Boatswain
    amazedly following]

    O, look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us:
    I prophesied, if a gallows were on land,
    This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,
    That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore?
    Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news?

Boatswain    The best news is, that we have safely found
    Our king and company; the next, our ship--
    Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split--
    Is tight and yare and bravely rigg'd as when
    We first put out to sea.

ARIEL    [Aside to PROSPERO]  Sir, all this service
    Have I done since I went.

PROSPERO    [Aside to ARIEL]  My tricksy spirit!

ALONSO    These are not natural events; they strengthen
    From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither?

Boatswain    If I did think, sir, I were well awake,
    I'ld strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,
    And--how we know not--all clapp'd under hatches;
    Where but even now with strange and several noises
    Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains,
    And more diversity of sounds, all horrible,
    We were awaked; straightway, at liberty;
    Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
    Our royal, good and gallant ship, our master
    Capering to eye her: on a trice, so please you,
    Even in a dream, were we divided from them
    And were brought moping hither.

ARIEL    [Aside to PROSPERO]          Was't well done?

PROSPERO    [Aside to ARIEL]  Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free.

ALONSO    This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod
    And there is in this business more than nature
    Was ever conduct of: some oracle
    Must rectify our knowledge.

PROSPERO    Sir, my liege,
    Do not infest your mind with beating on
    The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure
    Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you,
    Which to you shall seem probable, of every
    These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful
    And think of each thing well.

    [Aside to ARIEL]

                Come hither, spirit:
    Set Caliban and his companions free;
    Untie the spell.

    [Exit ARIEL]

    How fares my gracious sir?
    There are yet missing of your company
    Some few odd lads that you remember not.

    [Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO
    and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel]

STEPHANO    Every man shift for all the rest, and
    let no man take care for himself; for all is
    but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio!

TRINCULO    If these be true spies which I wear in my head,
    here's a goodly sight.

CALIBAN    O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed!
    How fine my master is! I am afraid
    He will chastise me.

SEBASTIAN    Ha, ha!
    What things are these, my lord Antonio?
    Will money buy 'em?

ANTONIO    Very like; one of them
    Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.

PROSPERO    Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
    Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave,
    His mother was a witch, and one so strong
    That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
    And deal in her command without her power.
    These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil--
    For he's a bastard one--had plotted with them
    To take my life. Two of these fellows you
    Must know and own; this thing of darkness!
    Acknowledge mine.

CALIBAN                      I shall be pinch'd to death.

ALONSO    Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?

SEBASTIAN    He is drunk now: where had he wine?

ALONSO    And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they
    Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
    How camest thou in this pickle?

TRINCULO    I have been in such a pickle since I
    saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of
    my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.

SEBASTIAN    Why, how now, Stephano!

STEPHANO    O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp.

PROSPERO    You'ld be king o' the isle, sirrah?

STEPHANO    I should have been a sore one then.

ALONSO    This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on.

    [Pointing to Caliban]

PROSPERO    He is as disproportion'd in his manners
    As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
    Take with you your companions; as you look
    To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

CALIBAN    Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter
    And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
    Was I, to take this drunkard for a god
    And worship this dull fool!

PROSPERO    Go to; away!

ALONSO    Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it.

SEBASTIAN    Or stole it, rather.

    [Exeunt CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO]

PROSPERO    Sir, I invite your highness and your train
    To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest
    For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste
    With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
    Go quick away; the story of my life
    And the particular accidents gone by
    Since I came to this isle: and in the morn
    I'll bring you to your ship and so to Naples,
    Where I have hope to see the nuptial
    Of these our dear-beloved solemnized;
    And thence retire me to my Milan, where
    Every third thought shall be my grave.

ALONSO    I long
    To hear the story of your life, which must
    Take the ear strangely.

PROSPERO    I'll deliver all;
    And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales
    And sail so expeditious that shall catch
    Your royal fleet far off.

    [Aside to ARIEL]

            My Ariel, chick,
    That is thy charge: then to the elements
    Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near.

    [Exeunt]




    THE TEMPEST

    EPILOGUE


    SPOKEN BY PROSPERO

    Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
    And what strength I have's mine own,
    Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
    I must be here confined by you,
    Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
    Since I have my dukedom got
    And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
    In this bare island by your spell;
    But release me from my bands
    With the help of your good hands:
    Gentle breath of yours my sails
    Must fill, or else my project fails,
    Which was to please. Now I want
    Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
    And my ending is despair,
    Unless I be relieved by prayer,
    Which pierces so that it assaults
    Mercy itself and frees all faults.
    As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
    Let your indulgence set me free.




The Complete Shakespeare: TRAGEDIES
-----------------------------------




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


    DRAMATIS PERSONAE


SATURNINUS    son to the late Emperor of Rome, and afterwards
    declared Emperor.

BASSIANUS    brother to Saturninus; in love with Lavinia.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    a noble Roman, general against the Goths.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    tribune of the people, and brother to Titus.


LUCIUS    |
    |
QUINTUS    |
    |  sons to Titus Andronicus.
MARTIUS    |
    |
MUTIUS    |


Young LUCIUS    a boy, son to Lucius.

PUBLIUS    son to Marcus the Tribune.


SEMPRONIUS    |
    |
CAIUS    |  kinsmen to Titus.
    |
VALENTINE    |


AEMILIUS    a noble Roman.


ALARBUS    |
    |
DEMETRIUS    |  sons to Tamora.
    |
CHIRON    |


AARON    a Moor, beloved by Tamora.

    A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Romans.
    (Captain:)
    (Messenger:)
    (Clown:)

    Goths and Romans.
    (First Goth:)
    (Second Goth:)
    (Third Goth:)

TAMORA    Queen of the Goths.

LAVINIA    daughter of Titus Andronicus.

    A Nurse. (Nurse:)

    Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and
    Attendants.



SCENE    Rome, and the country near it.




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT I



SCENE I    Rome. Before the Capitol.


    [The Tomb of the ANDRONICI appearing; the Tribunes
    and Senators aloft. Enter, below, from one side,
    SATURNINUS and his Followers; and, from the other
    side, BASSIANUS and his Followers; with drum and colours]

SATURNINUS    Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
    Defend the justice of my cause with arms,
    And, countrymen, my loving followers,
    Plead my successive title with your swords:
    I am his first-born son, that was the last
    That wore the imperial diadem of Rome;
    Then let my father's honours live in me,
    Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.

BASSIANUS    Romans, friends, followers, favorers of my right,
    If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,
    Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
    Keep then this passage to the Capitol
    And suffer not dishonour to approach
    The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
    To justice, continence and nobility;
    But let desert in pure election shine,
    And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.

    [Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Princes, that strive by factions and by friends
    Ambitiously for rule and empery,
    Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
    A special party, have, by common voice,
    In election for the Roman empery,
    Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius
    For many good and great deserts to Rome:
    A nobler man, a braver warrior,
    Lives not this day within the city walls:
    He by the senate is accit'd home
    From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
    That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
    Hath yoked a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
    Ten years are spent since first he undertook
    This cause of Rome and chastised with arms
    Our enemies' pride: five times he hath return'd
    Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
    In coffins from the field;
    And now at last, laden with horror's spoils,
    Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
    Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
    Let us entreat, by honour of his name,
    Whom worthily you would have now succeed.
    And in the Capitol and senate's right,
    Whom you pretend to honour and adore,
    That you withdraw you and abate your strength;
    Dismiss your followers and, as suitors should,
    Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

SATURNINUS    How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!

BASSIANUS    Marcus Andronicus, so I do ally
    In thy uprightness and integrity,
    And so I love and honour thee and thine,
    Thy noble brother Titus and his sons,
    And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
    Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
    That I will here dismiss my loving friends,
    And to my fortunes and the people's favor
    Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.

    [Exeunt the followers of BASSIANUS]

SATURNINUS    Friends, that have been thus forward in my right,
    I thank you all and here dismiss you all,
    And to the love and favor of my country
    Commit myself, my person and the cause.

    [Exeunt the followers of SATURNINUS]

    Rome, be as just and gracious unto me
    As I am confident and kind to thee.
    Open the gates, and let me in.

BASSIANUS    Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor.

    [Flourish. SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS go up into the Capitol]

    [Enter a Captain]

Captain    Romans, make way: the good Andronicus.
    Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
    Successful in the battles that he fights,
    With honour and with fortune is return'd
    From where he circumscribed with his sword,
    And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.

    [Drums and trumpets sounded. Enter MARTIUS and
    MUTIUS; After them, two Men bearing a coffin
    covered with black; then LUCIUS and QUINTUS. After
    them, TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA, with
    ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, AARON, and other Goths,
    prisoners; Soldiers and people following. The
    Bearers set down the coffin, and TITUS speaks]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
    Lo, as the bark, that hath discharged her fraught,
    Returns with precious jading to the bay
    From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
    Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs,
    To re-salute his country with his tears,
    Tears of true joy for his return to Rome.
    Thou great defender of this Capitol,
    Stand gracious to the rites that we intend!
    Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
    Half of the number that King Priam had,
    Behold the poor remains, alive and dead!
    These that survive let Rome reward with love;
    These that I bring unto their latest home,
    With burial amongst their ancestors:
    Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.
    Titus, unkind and careless of thine own,
    Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
    To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
    Make way to lay them by their brethren.

    [The tomb is opened]

    There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
    And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars!
    O sacred receptacle of my joys,
    Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
    How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
    That thou wilt never render to me more!

LUCIUS    Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
    That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
    Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
    Before this earthy prison of their bones;
    That so the shadows be not unappeased,
    Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    I give him you, the noblest that survives,
    The eldest son of this distressed queen.

TAMORA    Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror,
    Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
    A mother's tears in passion for her son:
    And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
    O, think my son to be as dear to me!
    Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome,
    To beautify thy triumphs and return,
    Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke,
    But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets,
    For valiant doings in their country's cause?
    O, if to fight for king and commonweal
    Were piety in thine, it is in these.
    Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood:
    Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
    Draw near them then in being merciful:
    Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge:
    Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
    These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld
    Alive and dead, and for their brethren slain
    Religiously they ask a sacrifice:
    To this your son is mark'd, and die he must,
    To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.

LUCIUS    Away with him! and make a fire straight;
    And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
    Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consumed.

    [Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and MUTIUS, with ALARBUS]

TAMORA    O cruel, irreligious piety!

CHIRON    Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?

DEMETRIUS    Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
    Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive
    To tremble under Titus' threatening looks.
    Then, madam, stand resolved, but hope withal
    The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy
    With opportunity of sharp revenge
    Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent,
    May favor Tamora, the Queen of Goths--
    When Goths were Goths and Tamora was queen--
    To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.

    [Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS and MUTIUS, with
    their swords bloody]

LUCIUS    See, lord and father, how we have perform'd
    Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,
    And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,
    Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky.
    Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren,
    And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Let it be so; and let Andronicus
    Make this his latest farewell to their souls.

    [Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb]

    In peace and honour rest you here, my sons;
    Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
    Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
    Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
    Here grow no damned grudges; here are no storms,
    No noise, but silence and eternal sleep:
    In peace and honour rest you here, my sons!

    [Enter LAVINIA]

LAVINIA    In peace and honour live Lord Titus long;
    My noble lord and father, live in fame!
    Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears
    I render, for my brethren's obsequies;
    And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy,
    Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome:
    O, bless me here with thy victorious hand,
    Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud!

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserved
    The cordial of mine age to glad my heart!
    Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,
    And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise!

    [Enter, below, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and Tribunes;
    re-enter SATURNINUS and BASSIANUS, attended]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother,
    Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome!

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    And welcome, nephews, from successful wars,
    You that survive, and you that sleep in fame!
    Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all,
    That in your country's service drew your swords:
    But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,
    That hath aspired to Solon's happiness
    And triumphs over chance in honour's bed.
    Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
    Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been,
    Send thee by me, their tribune and their trust,
    This palliament of white and spotless hue;
    And name thee in election for the empire,
    With these our late-deceased emperor's sons:
    Be candidatus then, and put it on,
    And help to set a head on headless Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    A better head her glorious body fits
    Than his that shakes for age and feebleness:
    What should I don this robe, and trouble you?
    Be chosen with proclamations to-day,
    To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,
    And set abroad new business for you all?
    Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years,
    And led my country's strength successfully,
    And buried one and twenty valiant sons,
    Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms,
    In right and service of their noble country
    Give me a staff of honour for mine age,
    But not a sceptre to control the world:
    Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.

SATURNINUS    Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou tell?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Patience, Prince Saturninus.

SATURNINUS    Romans, do me right:
    Patricians, draw your swords: and sheathe them not
    Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor.
    Andronicus, would thou wert shipp'd to hell,
    Rather than rob me of the people's hearts!

LUCIUS    Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
    That noble-minded Titus means to thee!

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee
    The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.

BASSIANUS    Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,
    But honour thee, and will do till I die:
    My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
    I will most thankful be; and thanks to men
    Of noble minds is honourable meed.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    People of Rome, and people's tribunes here,
    I ask your voices and your suffrages:
    Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?

Tribunes    To gratify the good Andronicus,
    And gratulate his safe return to Rome,
    The people will accept whom he admits.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make,
    That you create your emperor's eldest son,
    Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,
    Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth,
    And ripen justice in this commonweal:
    Then, if you will elect by my advice,
    Crown him and say 'Long live our emperor!'

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    With voices and applause of every sort,
    Patricians and plebeians, we create
    Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor,
    And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!'

    [A long flourish till they come down]

SATURNINUS    Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done
    To us in our election this day,
    I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,
    And will with deeds requite thy gentleness:
    And, for an onset, Titus, to advance
    Thy name and honourable family,
    Lavinia will I make my empress,
    Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart,
    And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse:
    Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    It doth, my worthy lord; and in this match
    I hold me highly honour'd of your grace:
    And here in sight of Rome to Saturnine,
    King and commander of our commonweal,
    The wide world's emperor, do I consecrate
    My sword, my chariot and my prisoners;
    Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord:
    Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,
    Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.

SATURNINUS    Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life!
    How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts
    Rome shall record, and when I do forget
    The least of these unspeakable deserts,
    Romans, forget your fealty to me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    [To TAMORA]  Now, madam, are you prisoner to
    an emperor;
    To him that, for your honour and your state,
    Will use you nobly and your followers.

SATURNINUS    A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue
    That I would choose, were I to choose anew.
    Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance:
    Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer,
    Thou comest not to be made a scorn in Rome:
    Princely shall be thy usage every way.
    Rest on my word, and let not discontent
    Daunt all your hopes: madam, he comforts you
    Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.
    Lavinia, you are not displeased with this?

LAVINIA    Not I, my lord; sith true nobility
    Warrants these words in princely courtesy.

SATURNINUS    Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go;
    Ransomless here we set our prisoners free:
    Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.

    [Flourish. SATURNINUS courts TAMORA in dumb show]

BASSIANUS    Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.

    [Seizing LAVINIA]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    How, sir! are you in earnest then, my lord?

BASSIANUS    Ay, noble Titus; and resolved withal
    To do myself this reason and this right.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    'Suum cuique' is our Roman justice:
    This prince in justice seizeth but his own.

LUCIUS    And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's guard?
    Treason, my lord! Lavinia is surprised!

SATURNINUS    Surprised! by whom?

BASSIANUS    By him that justly may
    Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.

    [Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA]

MUTIUS    Brothers, help to convey her hence away,
    And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.

    [Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back.

MUTIUS    My lord, you pass not here.


TITUS ANDRONICUS    What, villain boy!
    Barr'st me my way in Rome?

    [Stabbing MUTIUS]

MUTIUS    Help, Lucius, help!

    [Dies]

    [During the fray, SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS,
    CHIRON and AARON go out and re-enter, above]

    [Re-enter LUCIUS]

LUCIUS    My lord, you are unjust, and, more than so,
    In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine;
    My sons would never so dishonour me:
    Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.

LUCIUS    Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife,
    That is another's lawful promised love.

    [Exit]

SATURNINUS    No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not,
    Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock:
    I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once;
    Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons,
    Confederates all thus to dishonour me.
    Was there none else in Rome to make a stale,
    But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus,
    Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine,
    That said'st I begg'd the empire at thy hands.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    O monstrous! what reproachful words are these?

SATURNINUS    But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece
    To him that flourish'd for her with his sword
    A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy;
    One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons,
    To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    These words are razors to my wounded heart.

SATURNINUS    And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of Goths,
    That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs
    Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome,
    If thou be pleased with this my sudden choice,
    Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride,
    And will create thee empress of Rome,
    Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice?
    And here I swear by all the Roman gods,
    Sith priest and holy water are so near
    And tapers burn so bright and every thing
    In readiness for Hymenaeus stand,
    I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
    Or climb my palace, till from forth this place
    I lead espoused my bride along with me.

TAMORA    And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear,
    If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths,
    She will a handmaid be to his desires,
    A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.

SATURNINUS    Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany
    Your noble emperor and his lovely bride,
    Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine,
    Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered:
    There shall we consummate our spousal rites.

    [Exeunt all but TITUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    I am not bid to wait upon this bride.
    Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
    Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs?

    [Re-enter MARCUS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done!
    In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    No, foolish tribune, no; no son of mine,
    Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed
    That hath dishonour'd all our family;
    Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons!

LUCIUS    But let us give him burial, as becomes;
    Give Mutius burial with our brethren.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Traitors, away! he rests not in this tomb:
    This monument five hundred years hath stood,
    Which I have sumptuously re-edified:
    Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors
    Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls:
    Bury him where you can; he comes not here.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    My lord, this is impiety in you:
    My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him
    He must be buried with his brethren.

QUINTUS    |
    | And shall, or him we will accompany.
MARTIUS    |


TITUS ANDRONICUS    'And shall!' what villain was it that spake
    that word?

QUINTUS    He that would vouch it in any place but here.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    What, would you bury him in my despite?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee
    To pardon Mutius and to bury him.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,
    And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded:
    My foes I do repute you every one;
    So, trouble me no more, but get you gone.

MARTIUS    He is not with himself; let us withdraw.

QUINTUS    Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.

    [MARCUS and the Sons of TITUS kneel]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Brother, for in that name doth nature plead,--

QUINTUS    Father, and in that name doth nature speak,--

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Renowned Titus, more than half my soul,--

LUCIUS    Dear father, soul and substance of us all,--

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
    His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
    That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
    Thou art a Roman; be not barbarous:
    The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax
    That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
    Did graciously plead for his funerals:
    Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy
    Be barr'd his entrance here.


TITUS ANDRONICUS    Rise, Marcus, rise.
    The dismall'st day is this that e'er I saw,
    To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome!
    Well, bury him, and bury me the next.

    [MUTIUS is put into the tomb]

LUCIUS    There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy friends,
    Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.

All    [Kneeling]  No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
    He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    My lord, to step out of these dreary dumps,
    How comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths
    Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    I know not, Marcus; but I know it is,
    Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell:
    Is she not then beholding to the man
    That brought her for this high good turn so far?
    Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.

    [Flourish. Re-enter, from one side, SATURNINUS
    attended, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON and AARON; from
    the other, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, and others]

SATURNINUS    So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize:
    God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!

BASSIANUS    And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,
    Nor wish no less; and so, I take my leave.

SATURNINUS    Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,
    Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.

BASSIANUS    Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,
    My truth-betrothed love and now my wife?
    But let the laws of Rome determine all;
    Meanwhile I am possess'd of that is mine.

SATURNINUS    'Tis good, sir: you are very short with us;
    But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you.

BASSIANUS    My lord, what I have done, as best I may,
    Answer I must and shall do with my life.
    Only thus much I give your grace to know:
    By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
    This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,
    Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd;
    That in the rescue of Lavinia
    With his own hand did slay his youngest son,
    In zeal to you and highly moved to wrath
    To be controll'd in that he frankly gave:
    Receive him, then, to favor, Saturnine,
    That hath express'd himself in all his deeds
    A father and a friend to thee and Rome.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds:
    'Tis thou and those that have dishonour'd me.
    Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,
    How I have loved and honour'd Saturnine!

TAMORA    My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
    Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine,
    Then hear me speak in indifferently for all;
    And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.

SATURNINUS    What, madam! be dishonour'd openly,
    And basely put it up without revenge?

TAMORA    Not so, my lord; the gods of Rome forfend
    I should be author to dishonour you!
    But on mine honour dare I undertake
    For good Lord Titus' innocence in all;
    Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs:
    Then, at my suit, look graciously on him;
    Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose,
    Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart.
    [Aside to SATURNINUS]  My lord, be ruled by me,
    be won at last;
    Dissemble all your griefs and discontents:
    You are but newly planted in your throne;
    Lest, then, the people, and patricians too,
    Upon a just survey, take Titus' part,
    And so supplant you for ingratitude,
    Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,
    Yield at entreats; and then let me alone:
    I'll find a day to massacre them all
    And raze their faction and their family,
    The cruel father and his traitorous sons,
    To whom I sued for my dear son's life,
    And make them know what 'tis to let a queen
    Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.

    [Aloud]

    Come, come, sweet emperor; come, Andronicus;
    Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart
    That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.

SATURNINUS    Rise, Titus, rise; my empress hath prevail'd.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    I thank your majesty, and her, my lord:
    These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.

TAMORA    Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
    A Roman now adopted happily,
    And must advise the emperor for his good.
    This day all quarrels die, Andronicus;
    And let it be mine honour, good my lord,
    That I have reconciled your friends and you.
    For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd
    My word and promise to the emperor,
    That you will be more mild and tractable.
    And fear not lords, and you, Lavinia;
    By my advice, all humbled on your knees,
    You shall ask pardon of his majesty.

LUCIUS    We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness,
    That what we did was mildly as we might,
    Tendering our sister's honour and our own.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    That, on mine honour, here I do protest.

SATURNINUS    Away, and talk not; trouble us no more.

TAMORA    Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be friends:
    The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace;
    I will not be denied: sweet heart, look back.

SATURNINUS    Marcus, for thy sake and thy brother's here,
    And at my lovely Tamora's entreats,
    I do remit these young men's heinous faults: Stand up.
    Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
    I found a friend, and sure as death I swore
    I would not part a bachelor from the priest.
    Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides,
    You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends.
    This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    To-morrow, an it please your majesty
    To hunt the panther and the hart with me,
    With horn and hound we'll give your grace bonjour.

SATURNINUS    Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too.

    [Flourish. Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE I    Rome. Before the Palace.


    [Enter AARON]

AARON    Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,
    Safe out of fortune's shot; and sits aloft,
    Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash;
    Advanced above pale envy's threatening reach.
    As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
    And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
    Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach,
    And overlooks the highest-peering hills;
    So Tamora:
    Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,
    And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
    Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts,
    To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,
    And mount her pitch, whom thou in triumph long
    Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chains
    And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes
    Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.
    Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!
    I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold,
    To wait upon this new-made empress.
    To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen,
    This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,
    This siren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
    And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.
    Holloa! what storm is this?

    [Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, braving]

DEMETRIUS    Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit wants edge,
    And manners, to intrude where I am graced;
    And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be.

CHIRON    Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;
    And so in this, to bear me down with braves.
    'Tis not the difference of a year or two
    Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:
    I am as able and as fit as thou
    To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace;
    And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
    And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.

AARON    [Aside]  Clubs, clubs! these lovers will not keep
    the peace.

DEMETRIUS    Why, boy, although our mother, unadvised,
    Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side,
    Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends?
    Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath
    Till you know better how to handle it.

CHIRON    Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,
    Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.

DEMETRIUS    Ay, boy, grow ye so brave?

    [They draw]

AARON    [Coming forward]  Why, how now, lords!
    So near the emperor's palace dare you draw,
    And maintain such a quarrel openly?
    Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:
    I would not for a million of gold
    The cause were known to them it most concerns;
    Nor would your noble mother for much more
    Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome.
    For shame, put up.

DEMETRIUS                      Not I, till I have sheathed
    My rapier in his bosom and withal
    Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat
    That he hath breathed in my dishonour here.

CHIRON    For that I am prepared and full resolved.
    Foul-spoken coward, that thunder'st with thy tongue,
    And with thy weapon nothing darest perform!

AARON    Away, I say!
    Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore,
    This petty brabble will undo us all.
    Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous
    It is to jet upon a prince's right?
    What, is Lavinia then become so loose,
    Or Bassianus so degenerate,
    That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd
    Without controlment, justice, or revenge?
    Young lords, beware! and should the empress know
    This discord's ground, the music would not please.

CHIRON    I care not, I, knew she and all the world:
    I love Lavinia more than all the world.

DEMETRIUS    Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice:
    Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope.

AARON    Why, are ye mad? or know ye not, in Rome
    How furious and impatient they be,
    And cannot brook competitors in love?
    I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths
    By this device.

CHIRON                      Aaron, a thousand deaths
    Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.

AARON    To achieve her! how?

DEMETRIUS    Why makest thou it so strange?
    She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;
    She is a woman, therefore may be won;
    She is Lavinia, therefore must be loved.
    What, man! more water glideth by the mill
    Than wots the miller of; and easy it is
    Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know:
    Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother.
    Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge.

AARON    [Aside]  Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.

DEMETRIUS    Then why should he despair that knows to court it
    With words, fair looks and liberality?
    What, hast not thou full often struck a doe,
    And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose?

AARON    Why, then, it seems, some certain snatch or so
    Would serve your turns.

CHIRON    Ay, so the turn were served.

DEMETRIUS    Aaron, thou hast hit it.

AARON    Would you had hit it too!
    Then should not we be tired with this ado.
    Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools
    To square for this? would it offend you, then
    That both should speed?

CHIRON    Faith, not me.

DEMETRIUS                      Nor me, so I were one.

AARON    For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar:
    'Tis policy and stratagem must do
    That you affect; and so must you resolve,
    That what you cannot as you would achieve,
    You must perforce accomplish as you may.
    Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste
    Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.
    A speedier course than lingering languishment
    Must we pursue, and I have found the path.
    My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand;
    There will the lovely Roman ladies troop:
    The forest walks are wide and spacious;
    And many unfrequented plots there are
    Fitted by kind for rape and villany:
    Single you thither then this dainty doe,
    And strike her home by force, if not by words:
    This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.
    Come, come, our empress, with her sacred wit
    To villany and vengeance consecrate,
    Will we acquaint with all that we intend;
    And she shall file our engines with advice,
    That will not suffer you to square yourselves,
    But to your wishes' height advance you both.
    The emperor's court is like the house of Fame,
    The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears:
    The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull;
    There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take
    your turns;
    There serve your lusts, shadow'd from heaven's eye,
    And revel in Lavinia's treasury.

CHIRON    Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice,

DEMETRIUS    Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream
    To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits.
    Per Styga, per manes vehor.

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE II    A forest near Rome. Horns and cry of hounds heard.


    [Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, with Hunters, &c., MARCUS,
    LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,
    The fields are fragrant and the woods are green:
    Uncouple here and let us make a bay
    And wake the emperor and his lovely bride
    And rouse the prince and ring a hunter's peal,
    That all the court may echo with the noise.
    Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
    To attend the emperor's person carefully:
    I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
    But dawning day new comfort hath inspired.

    [A cry of hounds and horns, winded in a peal. Enter
    SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS, LAVINIA, DEMETRIUS,
    CHIRON, and Attendants]

    Many good morrows to your majesty;
    Madam, to you as many and as good:
    I promised your grace a hunter's peal.

SATURNINUS    And you have rung it lustily, my lord;
    Somewhat too early for new-married ladies.

BASSIANUS    Lavinia, how say you?

LAVINIA    I say, no;
    I have been broad awake two hours and more.

SATURNINUS    Come on, then; horse and chariots let us have,
    And to our sport.

    [To TAMORA]

    Madam, now shall ye see
    Our Roman hunting.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS                      I have dogs, my lord,
    Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,
    And climb the highest promontory top.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    And I have horse will follow where the game
    Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.

DEMETRIUS    Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound,
    But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground.

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE III    A lonely part of the forest.


    [Enter AARON, with a bag of gold]

AARON    He that had wit would think that I had none,
    To bury so much gold under a tree,
    And never after to inherit it.
    Let him that thinks of me so abjectly
    Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,
    Which, cunningly effected, will beget
    A very excellent piece of villany:
    And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest

    [Hides the gold]

    That have their alms out of the empress' chest.

    [Enter TAMORA]

TAMORA    My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad,
    When every thing doth make a gleeful boast?
    The birds chant melody on every bush,
    The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun,
    The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind
    And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground:
    Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
    And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
    Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns,
    As if a double hunt were heard at once,
    Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise;
    And, after conflict such as was supposed
    The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy'd,
    When with a happy storm they were surprised
    And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave,
    We may, each wreathed in the other's arms,
    Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber;
    Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds
    Be unto us as is a nurse's song
    Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.

AARON    Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
    Saturn is dominator over mine:
    What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
    My silence and my cloudy melancholy,
    My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls
    Even as an adder when she doth unroll
    To do some fatal execution?
    No, madam, these are no venereal signs:
    Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
    Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
    Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul,
    Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee,
    This is the day of doom for Bassianus:
    His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day,
    Thy sons make pillage of her chastity
    And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
    Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee,
    And give the king this fatal plotted scroll.
    Now question me no more; we are espied;
    Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty,
    Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.

TAMORA    Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!

AARON    No more, great empress; Bassianus comes:
    Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons
    To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be.

    [Exit]

    [Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA]

BASSIANUS    Who have we here? Rome's royal empress,
    Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop?
    Or is it Dian, habited like her,
    Who hath abandoned her holy groves
    To see the general hunting in this forest?

TAMORA    Saucy controller of our private steps!
    Had I the power that some say Dian had,
    Thy temples should be planted presently
    With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds
    Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,
    Unmannerly intruder as thou art!

LAVINIA    Under your patience, gentle empress,
    'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning;
    And to be doubted that your Moor and you
    Are singled forth to try experiments:
    Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day!
    'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.

BASSIANUS    Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian
    Doth make your honour of his body's hue,
    Spotted, detested, and abominable.
    Why are you sequester'd from all your train,
    Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed.
    And wander'd hither to an obscure plot,
    Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor,
    If foul desire had not conducted you?

LAVINIA    And, being intercepted in your sport,
    Great reason that my noble lord be rated
    For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence,
    And let her joy her raven-colour'd love;
    This valley fits the purpose passing well.

BASSIANUS    The king my brother shall have note of this.

LAVINIA    Ay, for these slips have made him noted long:
    Good king, to be so mightily abused!

TAMORA    Why have I patience to endure all this?

    [Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON]

DEMETRIUS    How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother!
    Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?

TAMORA    Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
    These two have 'ticed me hither to this place:
    A barren detested vale, you see it is;
    The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
    O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe:
    Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
    Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven:
    And when they show'd me this abhorred pit,
    They told me, here, at dead time of the night,
    A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
    Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
    Would make such fearful and confused cries
    As any mortal body hearing it
    Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.
    No sooner had they told this hellish tale,
    But straight they told me they would bind me here
    Unto the body of a dismal yew,
    And leave me to this miserable death:
    And then they call'd me foul adulteress,
    Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
    That ever ear did hear to such effect:
    And, had you not by wondrous fortune come,
    This vengeance on me had they executed.
    Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
    Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.

DEMETRIUS    This is a witness that I am thy son.

    [Stabs BASSIANUS]

CHIRON    And this for me, struck home to show my strength.

    [Also stabs BASSIANUS, who dies]

LAVINIA    Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora,
    For no name fits thy nature but thy own!

TAMORA    Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys
    Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.

DEMETRIUS    Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her;
    First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw:
    This minion stood upon her chastity,
    Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,
    And with that painted hope braves your mightiness:
    And shall she carry this unto her grave?

CHIRON    An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.
    Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,
    And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.

TAMORA    But when ye have the honey ye desire,
    Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.

CHIRON    I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.
    Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
    That nice-preserved honesty of yours.

LAVINIA    O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,--

TAMORA    I will not hear her speak; away with her!

LAVINIA    Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.

DEMETRIUS    Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory
    To see her tears; but be your heart to them
    As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.

LAVINIA    When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?
    O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee;
    The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble;
    Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.
    Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:

    [To CHIRON]

    Do thou entreat her show a woman pity.

CHIRON    What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?

LAVINIA    'Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark:
    Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!--
    The lion moved with pity did endure
    To have his princely paws pared all away:
    Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,
    The whilst their own birds famish in their nests:
    O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,
    Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!

TAMORA    I know not what it means; away with her!

LAVINIA    O, let me teach thee! for my father's sake,
    That gave thee life, when well he might have
    slain thee,
    Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.

TAMORA    Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,
    Even for his sake am I pitiless.
    Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain,
    To save your brother from the sacrifice;
    But fierce Andronicus would not relent;
    Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will,
    The worse to her, the better loved of me.

LAVINIA    O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen,
    And with thine own hands kill me in this place!
    For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long;
    Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.

TAMORA    What begg'st thou, then? fond woman, let me go.

LAVINIA    'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more
    That womanhood denies my tongue to tell:
    O, keep me from their worse than killing lust,
    And tumble me into some loathsome pit,
    Where never man's eye may behold my body:
    Do this, and be a charitable murderer.

TAMORA    So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee:
    No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.

DEMETRIUS    Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long.

LAVINIA    No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature!
    The blot and enemy to our general name!
    Confusion fall--

CHIRON    Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband:
    This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.

    [DEMETRIUS throws the body of BASSIANUS into the
    pit; then exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging
    off LAVINIA]

TAMORA    Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure.
    Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed,
    Till all the Andronici be made away.
    Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
    And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow'r.

    [Exit]

    [Re-enter AARON, with QUINTUS and MARTIUS]

AARON    Come on, my lords, the better foot before:
    Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit
    Where I espied the panther fast asleep.

QUINTUS    My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.

MARTIUS    And mine, I promise you; were't not for shame,
    Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.

    [Falls into the pit]

QUINTUS    What art thou fall'n? What subtle hole is this,
    Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briers,
    Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood
    As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers?
    A very fatal place it seems to me.

    Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?

MARTIUS    O brother, with the dismall'st object hurt
    That ever eye with sight made heart lament!

AARON    [Aside]  Now will I fetch the king to find them here,
    That he thereby may give a likely guess
    How these were they that made away his brother.

    [Exit]

MARTIUS    Why dost not comfort me, and help me out
    From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole?

QUINTUS    I am surprised with an uncouth fear;
    A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints:
    My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.

MARTIUS    To prove thou hast a true-divining heart,
    Aaron and thou look down into this den,
    And see a fearful sight of blood and death.

QUINTUS    Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart
    Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
    The thing whereat it trembles by surmise;
    O, tell me how it is; for ne'er till now
    Was I a child to fear I know not what.

MARTIUS    Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here,
    All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb,
    In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.

QUINTUS    If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he?

MARTIUS    Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
    A precious ring, that lightens all the hole,
    Which, like a taper in some monument,
    Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks,
    And shows the ragged entrails of the pit:
    So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus
    When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood.
    O brother, help me with thy fainting hand--
    If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath--
    Out of this fell devouring receptacle,
    As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

QUINTUS    Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out;
    Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
    I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
    Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.
    I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.

MARTIUS    Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.

QUINTUS    Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,
    Till thou art here aloft, or I below:
    Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee.

    [Falls in]

    [Enter SATURNINUS with AARON]

SATURNINUS    Along with me: I'll see what hole is here,
    And what he is that now is leap'd into it.
    Say who art thou that lately didst descend
    Into this gaping hollow of the earth?

MARTIUS    The unhappy son of old Andronicus:
    Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
    To find thy brother Bassianus dead.

SATURNINUS    My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:
    He and his lady both are at the lodge
    Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;
    'Tis not an hour since I left him there.

MARTIUS    We know not where you left him all alive;
    But, out, alas! here have we found him dead.

    [Re-enter TAMORA, with Attendants; TITUS
    ANDRONICUS, and Lucius]

TAMORA    Where is my lord the king?

SATURNINUS    Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief.

TAMORA    Where is thy brother Bassianus?

SATURNINUS    Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound:
    Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.

TAMORA    Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,
    The complot of this timeless tragedy;
    And wonder greatly that man's face can fold
    In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.

    [She giveth SATURNINUS a letter]

SATURNINUS    [Reads]  'An if we miss to meet him handsomely--
    Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis we mean--
    Do thou so much as dig the grave for him:
    Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward
    Among the nettles at the elder-tree
    Which overshades the mouth of that same pit
    Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
    Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.'
    O Tamora! was ever heard the like?
    This is the pit, and this the elder-tree.
    Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out
    That should have murdered Bassianus here.

AARON    My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.

SATURNINUS    [To TITUS]  Two of thy whelps, fell curs of
    bloody kind,
    Have here bereft my brother of his life.
    Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison:
    There let them bide until we have devised
    Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.

TAMORA    What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!
    How easily murder is discovered!

TITUS ANDRONICUS    High emperor, upon my feeble knee
    I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
    That this fell fault of my accursed sons,
    Accursed if the fault be proved in them,--

SATURNINUS    If it be proved! you see it is apparent.
    Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?

TAMORA    Andronicus himself did take it up.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail;
    For, by my father's reverend tomb, I vow
    They shall be ready at your highness' will
    To answer their suspicion with their lives.

SATURNINUS    Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me.
    Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers:
    Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain;
    For, by my soul, were there worse end than death,
    That end upon them should be executed.

TAMORA    Andronicus, I will entreat the king;
    Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them.

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT II



SCENE IV    Another part of the forest.


    [Enter DEMETRIUS and CHIRON with LAVINIA, ravished;
    her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out]

DEMETRIUS    So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
    Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee.

CHIRON    Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,
    An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.

DEMETRIUS    See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.

CHIRON    Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.

DEMETRIUS    She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;
    And so let's leave her to her silent walks.

CHIRON    An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself.

DEMETRIUS    If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.

    [Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON]

    [Enter MARCUS]

MARCUS    Who is this? my niece, that flies away so fast!
    Cousin, a word; where is your husband?
    If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me!
    If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
    That I may slumber in eternal sleep!
    Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
    Have lopp'd and hew'd and made thy body bare
    Of her two branches, those sweet ornaments,
    Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in,
    And might not gain so great a happiness
    As have thy love? Why dost not speak to me?
    Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
    Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
    Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
    Coming and going with thy honey breath.
    But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee,
    And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
    Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame!
    And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood,
    As from a conduit with three issuing spouts,
    Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face
    Blushing to be encountered with a cloud.
    Shall I speak for thee? shall I say 'tis so?
    O, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast,
    That I might rail at him, to ease my mind!
    Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
    Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
    Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue,
    And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind:
    But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee;
    A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met,
    And he hath cut those pretty fingers off,
    That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
    O, had the monster seen those lily hands
    Tremble, like aspen-leaves, upon a lute,
    And make the silken strings delight to kiss them,
    He would not then have touch'd them for his life!
    Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony
    Which that sweet tongue hath made,
    He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep
    As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.
    Come, let us go, and make thy father blind;
    For such a sight will blind a father's eye:
    One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads;
    What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?
    Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee
    O, could our mourning ease thy misery!

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT III



SCENE I    Rome. A street.


    [Enter Judges, Senators and Tribunes, with MARTIUS
    and QUINTUS, bound, passing on to the place of
    execution; TITUS going before, pleading]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay!
    For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
    In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept;
    For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed;
    For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd;
    And for these bitter tears, which now you see
    Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks;
    Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
    Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought.
    For two and twenty sons I never wept,
    Because they died in honour's lofty bed.

    [Lieth down; the Judges, &c., pass by him, and Exeunt]

    For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write
    My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears:
    Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;
    My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
    O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
    That shall distil from these two ancient urns,
    Than youthful April shall with all his showers:
    In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
    In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow
    And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
    So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.

    [Enter LUCIUS, with his sword drawn]

    O reverend tribunes! O gentle, aged men!
    Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death;
    And let me say, that never wept before,
    My tears are now prevailing orators.

LUCIUS    O noble father, you lament in vain:
    The tribunes hear you not; no man is by;
    And you recount your sorrows to a stone.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead.
    Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you,--

LUCIUS    My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Why, tis no matter, man; if they did hear,
    They would not mark me, or if they did mark,
    They would not pity me, yet plead I must;
    And bootless unto them [                  ]
    Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
    Who, though they cannot answer my distress,
    Yet in some sort they are better than the tribunes,
    For that they will not intercept my tale:
    When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
    Receive my tears and seem to weep with me;
    And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
    Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
    A stone is soft as wax,--tribunes more hard than stones;
    A stone is silent, and offendeth not,
    And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.

    [Rises]

    But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?

LUCIUS    To rescue my two brothers from their death:
    For which attempt the judges have pronounced
    My everlasting doom of banishment.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    O happy man! they have befriended thee.
    Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
    That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
    Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
    But me and mine: how happy art thou, then,
    From these devourers to be banished!
    But who comes with our brother Marcus here?

    [Enter MARCUS and LAVINIA]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep;
    Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break:
    I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Will it consume me? let me see it, then.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    This was thy daughter.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Why, Marcus, so she is.

LUCIUS    Ay me, this object kills me!

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her.
    Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand
    Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
    What fool hath added water to the sea,
    Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy?
    My grief was at the height before thou camest,
    And now like Nilus, it disdaineth bounds.
    Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too;
    For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain;
    And they have nursed this woe, in feeding life;
    In bootless prayer have they been held up,
    And they have served me to effectless use:
    Now all the service I require of them
    Is that the one will help to cut the other.
    'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands;
    For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.

LUCIUS    Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O, that delightful engine of her thoughts
    That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
    Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,
    Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
    Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear!

LUCIUS    O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O, thus I found her, straying in the park,
    Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer
    That hath received some unrecuring wound.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    It was my deer; and he that wounded her
    Hath hurt me more than had he killed me dead:
    For now I stand as one upon a rock
    Environed with a wilderness of sea,
    Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
    Expecting ever when some envious surge
    Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
    This way to death my wretched sons are gone;
    Here stands my other son, a banished man,
    And here my brother, weeping at my woes.
    But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn,
    Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul.
    Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
    It would have madded me: what shall I do
    Now I behold thy lively body so?
    Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears:
    Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee:
    Thy husband he is dead: and for his death
    Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this.
    Look, Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her!
    When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
    Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew
    Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband;
    Perchance because she knows them innocent.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful
    Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them.
    No, no, they would not do so foul a deed;
    Witness the sorrow that their sister makes.
    Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips.
    Or make some sign how I may do thee ease:
    Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
    And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain,
    Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks
    How they are stain'd, as meadows, yet not dry,
    With miry slime left on them by a flood?
    And in the fountain shall we gaze so long
    Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness,
    And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
    Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine?
    Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows
    Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
    What shall we do? let us, that have our tongues,
    Plot some deuce of further misery,
    To make us wonder'd at in time to come.

LUCIUS    Sweet father, cease your tears; for, at your grief,
    See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Ah, Marcus, Marcus! brother, well I wot
    Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
    For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.

LUCIUS    Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs:
    Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
    That to her brother which I said to thee:
    His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
    Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
    O, what a sympathy of woe is this,
    As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!

    [Enter AARON]

AARON    Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor
    Sends thee this word,--that, if thou love thy sons,
    Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
    Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
    And send it to the king: he for the same
    Will send thee hither both thy sons alive;
    And that shall be the ransom for their fault.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    O gracious emperor! O gentle Aaron!
    Did ever raven sing so like a lark,
    That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?
    With all my heart, I'll send the emperor My hand:
    Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?

LUCIUS    Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,
    That hath thrown down so many enemies,
    Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn:
    My youth can better spare my blood than you;
    And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS     Which of your hands hath not defended Rome,
    And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
    Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
    O, none of both but are of high desert:
    My hand hath been but idle; let it serve
    To ransom my two nephews from their death;
    Then have I kept it to a worthy end.

AARON    Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
    For fear they die before their pardon come.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    My hand shall go.

LUCIUS                      By heaven, it shall not go!

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Sirs, strive no more: such wither'd herbs as these
    Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.

LUCIUS    Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
    Let me redeem my brothers both from death.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    And, for our father's sake and mother's care,
    Now let me show a brother's love to thee.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Agree between you; I will spare my hand.

LUCIUS    Then I'll go fetch an axe.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    But I will use the axe.

    [Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Come hither, Aaron; I'll deceive them both:
    Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.

AARON    [Aside]  If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest,
    And never, whilst I live, deceive men so:
    But I'll deceive you in another sort,
    And that you'll say, ere half an hour pass.

    [Cuts off TITUS's hand]

    [Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Now stay your strife: what shall be is dispatch'd.
    Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand:
    Tell him it was a hand that warded him
    From thousand dangers; bid him bury it
    More hath it merited; that let it have.
    As for my sons, say I account of them
    As jewels purchased at an easy price;
    And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.

AARON    I go, Andronicus: and for thy hand
    Look by and by to have thy sons with thee.

    [Aside]

    Their heads, I mean. O, how this villany
    Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it!
    Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace.
    Aaron will have his soul black like his face.

    [Exit]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
    And bow this feeble ruin to the earth:
    If any power pities wretched tears,
    To that I call!

    [To LAVINIA]
    What, wilt thou kneel with me?
    Do, then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear our prayers;
    Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim,
    And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds
    When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O brother, speak with possibilities,
    And do not break into these deep extremes.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom?
    Then be my passions bottomless with them.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    But yet let reason govern thy lament.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    If there were reason for these miseries,
    Then into limits could I bind my woes:
    When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow?
    If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
    Threatening the welkin with his big-swoln face?
    And wilt thou have a reason for this coil?
    I am the sea; hark, how her sighs do blow!
    She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:
    Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;
    Then must my earth with her continual tears
    Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd;
    For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,
    But like a drunkard must I vomit them.
    Then give me leave, for losers will have leave
    To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.

    [Enter a Messenger, with two heads and a hand]

Messenger    Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid
    For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor.
    Here are the heads of thy two noble sons;
    And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back;
    Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd;
    That woe is me to think upon thy woes
    More than remembrance of my father's death.

    [Exit]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Now let hot AEtna cool in Sicily,
    And be my heart an ever-burning hell!
    These miseries are more than may be borne.
    To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal;
    But sorrow flouted at is double death.

LUCIUS    Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound,
    And yet detested life not shrink thereat!
    That ever death should let life bear his name,
    Where life hath no more interest but to breathe!

    [LAVINIA kisses TITUS]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless
    As frozen water to a starved snake.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    When will this fearful slumber have an end?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Now, farewell, flattery: die, Andronicus;
    Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads,
    Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here:
    Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
    Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I,
    Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
    Ah, now no more will I control thy griefs:
    Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand
    Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight
    The closing up of our most wretched eyes;
    Now is a time to storm; why art thou still?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Ha, ha, ha!

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Why dost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Why, I have not another tear to shed:
    Besides, this sorrow is an enemy,
    And would usurp upon my watery eyes
    And make them blind with tributary tears:
    Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave?
    For these two heads do seem to speak to me,
    And threat me I shall never come to bliss
    Till all these mischiefs be return'd again
    Even in their throats that have committed them.
    Come, let me see what task I have to do.
    You heavy people, circle me about,
    That I may turn me to each one of you,
    And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
    The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head;
    And in this hand the other I will bear.
    Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd: these arms!
    Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
    As for thee, boy, go get thee from my sight;
    Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay:
    Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there:
    And, if you love me, as I think you do,
    Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.

    [Exeunt TITUS, MARCUS, and LAVINIA]

LUCIUS    Farewell Andronicus, my noble father,
    The wofull'st man that ever lived in Rome:
    Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,
    He leaves his pledges dearer than his life:
    Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;
    O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!
    But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives
    But in oblivion and hateful griefs.
    If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs;
    And make proud Saturnine and his empress
    Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
    Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power,
    To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine.

    [Exit]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT III



SCENE II    A room in Titus's house. A banquet set out.


    [Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA and Young LUCIUS, a boy]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    So, so; now sit: and look you eat no more
    Than will preserve just so much strength in us
    As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
    Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot:
    Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
    And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
    With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
    Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
    Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,
    Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
    Then thus I thump it down.

    [To LAVINIA]

    Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs!
    When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
    Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
    Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
    Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
    And just against thy heart make thou a hole;
    That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
    May run into that sink, and soaking in
    Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Fie, brother, fie! teach her not thus to lay
    Such violent hands upon her tender life.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    How now! has sorrow made thee dote already?
    Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
    What violent hands can she lay on her life?
    Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands;
    To bid AEneas tell the tale twice o'er,
    How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?
    O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
    Lest we remember still that we have none.
    Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,
    As if we should forget we had no hands,
    If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
    Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:
    Here is no drink! Hark, Marcus, what she says;
    I can interpret all her martyr'd signs;
    She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
    Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks:
    Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
    In thy dumb action will I be as perfect
    As begging hermits in their holy prayers:
    Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven,
    Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
    But I of these will wrest an alphabet
    And by still practise learn to know thy meaning.

Young LUCIUS    Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments:
    Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Alas, the tender boy, in passion moved,
    Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears,
    And tears will quickly melt thy life away.

    [MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife]

    What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart;
    Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny:
    A deed of death done on the innocent
    Becomes not Titus' brother: get thee gone:
    I see thou art not for my company.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    But how, if that fly had a father and mother?
    How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
    And buzz lamenting doings in the air!
    Poor harmless fly,
    That, with his pretty buzzing melody,
    Came here to make us merry! and thou hast
    kill'd him.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favor'd fly,
    Like to the empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    O, O, O,
    Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
    For thou hast done a charitable deed.
    Give me thy knife, I will insult on him;
    Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor
    Come hither purposely to poison me.--
    There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora.
    Ah, sirrah!
    Yet, I think, we are not brought so low,
    But that between us we can kill a fly
    That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him,
    He takes false shadows for true substances.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me:
    I'll to thy closet; and go read with thee
    Sad stories chanced in the times of old.
    Come, boy, and go with me: thy sight is young,
    And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle.

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE I    Rome. Titus's garden.


    [Enter young LUCIUS, and LAVINIA running after him,
    and the boy flies from her, with books under his
    arm. Then enter TITUS and MARCUS]

Young LUCIUS    Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia
    Follows me every where, I know not why:
    Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes.
    Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.

Young LUCIUS    Ay, when my father was in Rome she did.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    What means my niece Lavinia by these signs?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Fear her not, Lucius: somewhat doth she mean:
    See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee:
    Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
    Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
    Read to her sons than she hath read to thee
    Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?

Young LUCIUS    My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
    Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her:
    For I have heard my grandsire say full oft,
    Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
    And I have read that Hecuba of Troy
    Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear;
    Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
    Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,
    And would not, but in fury, fright my youth:
    Which made me down to throw my books, and fly--
    Causeless, perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt:
    And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
    I will most willingly attend your ladyship.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Lucius, I will.

    [LAVINIA turns over with her stumps the books which
    LUCIUS has let fall]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means this?
    Some book there is that she desires to see.
    Which is it, girl, of these? Open them, boy.
    But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd
    Come, and take choice of all my library,
    And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
    Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.
    Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    I think she means that there was more than one
    Confederate in the fact: ay, more there was;
    Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?

Young LUCIUS    Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
    My mother gave it me.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    For love of her that's gone,
    Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Soft! see how busily she turns the leaves!

    [Helping her]

    What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?
    This is the tragic tale of Philomel,
    And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape:
    And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    See, brother, see; note how she quotes the leaves.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Lavinia, wert thou thus surprised, sweet girl,
    Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
    Forced in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods? See, see!
    Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt--
    O, had we never, never hunted there!--
    Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
    By nature made for murders and for rapes.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O, why should nature build so foul a den,
    Unless the gods delight in tragedies?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none
    but friends,
    What Roman lord it was durst do the deed:
    Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
    That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Sit down, sweet niece: brother, sit down by me.
    Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
    Inspire me, that I may this treason find!
    My lord, look here: look here, Lavinia:
    This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst
    This after me, when I have writ my name
    Without the help of any hand at all.

    [He writes his name with his staff, and guides it
    with feet and mouth]

    Cursed be that heart that forced us to this shift!
    Write thou good niece; and here display, at last,
    What God will have discover'd for revenge;
    Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
    That we may know the traitors and the truth!

    [She takes the staff in her mouth, and guides it
    with her stumps, and writes]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?
    'Stuprum. Chiron. Demetrius.'

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora
    Performers of this heinous, bloody deed?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Magni Dominator poli,
    Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O, calm thee, gentle lord; although I know
    There is enough written upon this earth
    To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts
    And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
    My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel;
    And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope;
    And swear with me, as, with the woful fere
    And father of that chaste dishonour'd dame,
    Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,
    That we will prosecute by good advice
    Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
    And see their blood, or die with this reproach.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    'Tis sure enough, an you knew how.
    But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware:
    The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once,
    She's with the lion deeply still in league,
    And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back,
    And when he sleeps will she do what she list.
    You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone;
    And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass,
    And with a gad of steel will write these words,
    And lay it by: the angry northern wind
    Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad,
    And where's your lesson, then? Boy, what say you?

Young LUCIUS    I say, my lord, that if I were a man,
    Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
    For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft
    For his ungrateful country done the like.

Young LUCIUS    And, uncle, so will I, an if I live.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Come, go with me into mine armoury;
    Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal, my boy,
    Shalt carry from me to the empress' sons
    Presents that I intend to send them both:
    Come, come; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not?

Young LUCIUS    Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course.
    Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house:
    Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court:
    Ay, marry, will we, sir; and we'll be waited on.

    [Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and Young LUCIUS]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,
    And not relent, or not compassion him?
    Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy,
    That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart
    Than foemen's marks upon his batter'd shield;
    But yet so just that he will not revenge.
    Revenge, ye heavens, for old Andronicus!

    [Exit]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE II    The same. A room in the palace.


    [Enter, from one side, AARON, DEMETRIUS, and
    CHIRON; from the other side, Young LUCIUS, and an
    Attendant, with a bundle of weapons, and verses
    writ upon them]

CHIRON    Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius;
    He hath some message to deliver us.

AARON    Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather.

Young LUCIUS    My lords, with all the humbleness I may,
    I greet your honours from Andronicus.

    [Aside]

    And pray the Roman gods confound you both!

DEMETRIUS    Gramercy, lovely Lucius: what's the news?

Young LUCIUS    [Aside]  That you are both decipher'd, that's the news,
    For villains mark'd with rape.--May it please you,
    My grandsire, well advised, hath sent by me
    The goodliest weapons of his armoury
    To gratify your honourable youth,
    The hope of Rome; for so he bade me say;
    And so I do, and with his gifts present
    Your lordships, that, whenever you have need,
    You may be armed and appointed well:
    And so I leave you both:

    [Aside]
           like bloody villains.

    [Exeunt Young LUCIUS, and Attendant]

DEMETRIUS    What's here? A scroll; and written round about?
    Let's see;

    [Reads]

    'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,
    Non eget Mauri jaculis, nec arcu.'

CHIRON    O, 'tis a verse in Horace; I know it well:
    I read it in the grammar long ago.

AARON    Ay, just; a verse in Horace; right, you have it.

    [Aside]

    Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!
    Here's no sound jest! the old man hath found their guilt;
    And sends them weapons wrapped about with lines,
    That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.
    But were our witty empress well afoot,
    She would applaud Andronicus' conceit:
    But let her rest in her unrest awhile.

    And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
    Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
    Captives, to be advanced to this height?
    It did me good, before the palace gate
    To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.

DEMETRIUS    But me more good, to see so great a lord
    Basely insinuate and send us gifts.

AARON    Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?
    Did you not use his daughter very friendly?

DEMETRIUS    I would we had a thousand Roman dames
    At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.

CHIRON    A charitable wish and full of love.

AARON    Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.

CHIRON    And that would she for twenty thousand more.

DEMETRIUS    Come, let us go; and pray to all the gods
    For our beloved mother in her pains.

AARON    [Aside]  Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.

    [Trumpets sound within]

DEMETRIUS    Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus?

CHIRON    Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son.

DEMETRIUS    Soft! who comes here?

    [Enter a Nurse, with a blackamoor Child in her arms]

Nurse    Good morrow, lords:
    O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?

AARON    Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
    Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?

Nurse    O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
    Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!

AARON    Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!
    What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms?

Nurse    O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye,
    Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace!
    She is deliver'd, lords; she is deliver'd.

AARON    To whom?

Nurse           I mean, she is brought a-bed.

AARON    Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her?

Nurse    A devil.

AARON    Why, then she is the devil's dam; a joyful issue.

Nurse    A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue:
    Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
    Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime:
    The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,
    And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.

AARON    'Zounds, ye whore! is black so base a hue?
    Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure.

DEMETRIUS    Villain, what hast thou done?

AARON    That which thou canst not undo.

CHIRON    Thou hast undone our mother.

AARON    Villain, I have done thy mother.

DEMETRIUS    And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone.
    Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice!
    Accursed the offspring of so foul a fiend!

CHIRON    It shall not live.

AARON    It shall not die.

Nurse    Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.

AARON    What, must it, nurse? then let no man but I
    Do execution on my flesh and blood.

DEMETRIUS    I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point:
    Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.

AARON    Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.

    [Takes the Child from the Nurse, and draws]

    Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother?
    Now, by the burning tapers of the sky,
    That shone so brightly when this boy was got,
    He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point
    That touches this my first-born son and heir!
    I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
    With all his threatening band of Typhon's brood,
    Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war,
    Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
    What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys!
    Ye white-limed walls! ye alehouse painted signs!
    Coal-black is better than another hue,
    In that it scorns to bear another hue;
    For all the water in the ocean
    Can never turn the swan's black legs to white,
    Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
    Tell the empress from me, I am of age
    To keep mine own, excuse it how she can.

DEMETRIUS    Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus?

AARON    My mistress is my mistress; this myself,
    The vigour and the picture of my youth:
    This before all the world do I prefer;
    This maugre all the world will I keep safe,
    Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.

DEMETRIUS    By this our mother is forever shamed.

CHIRON    Rome will despise her for this foul escape.

Nurse    The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death.

CHIRON    I blush to think upon this ignomy.

AARON    Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears:
    Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing
    The close enacts and counsels of the heart!
    Here's a young lad framed of another leer:
    Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father,
    As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.'
    He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed
    Of that self-blood that first gave life to you,
    And from that womb where you imprison'd were
    He is enfranchised and come to light:
    Nay, he is your brother by the surer side,
    Although my seal be stamped in his face.

Nurse    Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress?

DEMETRIUS    Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
    And we will all subscribe to thy advice:
    Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.

AARON    Then sit we down, and let us all consult.
    My son and I will have the wind of you:
    Keep there: now talk at pleasure of your safety.

    [They sit]

DEMETRIUS    How many women saw this child of his?

AARON    Why, so, brave lords! when we join in league,
    I am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor,
    The chafed boar, the mountain lioness,
    The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.
    But say, again; how many saw the child?

Nurse    Cornelia the midwife and myself;
    And no one else but the deliver'd empress.

AARON    The empress, the midwife, and yourself:
    Two may keep counsel when the third's away:
    Go to the empress, tell her this I said.

    [He kills the nurse]

    Weke, weke! so cries a pig prepared to the spit.

DEMETRIUS    What mean'st thou, Aaron? wherefore didst thou this?

AARON    O Lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy:
    Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours,
    A long-tongued babbling gossip? no, lords, no:
    And now be it known to you my full intent.
    Not far, one Muli lives, my countryman;
    His wife but yesternight was brought to bed;
    His child is like to her, fair as you are:
    Go pack with him, and give the mother gold,
    And tell them both the circumstance of all;
    And how by this their child shall be advanced,
    And be received for the emperor's heir,
    And substituted in the place of mine,
    To calm this tempest whirling in the court;
    And let the emperor dandle him for his own.
    Hark ye, lords; ye see I have given her physic,

    [Pointing to the nurse]

    And you must needs bestow her funeral;
    The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms:
    This done, see that you take no longer days,
    But send the midwife presently to me.
    The midwife and the nurse well made away,
    Then let the ladies tattle what they please.

CHIRON    Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air
    With secrets.

DEMETRIUS                      For this care of Tamora,
    Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.

    [Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON bearing off the
    Nurse's body]

AARON    Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies;
    There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
    And secretly to greet the empress' friends.
    Come on, you thick lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence;
    For it is you that puts us to our shifts:
    I'll make you feed on berries and on roots,
    And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,
    And cabin in a cave, and bring you up
    To be a warrior, and command a camp.

    [Exit]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE III    The same. A public place.


    [Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters at the
    ends of them; with him, MARCUS, Young LUCIUS,
    PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, CAIUS, and other Gentlemen,
    with bows]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Come, Marcus; come, kinsmen; this is the way.
    Sir boy, now let me see your archery;
    Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
    Terras Astraea reliquit:
    Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled.
    Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
    Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets;
    Happily you may catch her in the sea;
    Yet there's as little justice as at land:
    No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
    'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
    And pierce the inmost centre of the earth:
    Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
    I pray you, deliver him this petition;
    Tell him, it is for justice and for aid,
    And that it comes from old Andronicus,
    Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
    Ah, Rome! Well, well; I made thee miserable
    What time I threw the people's suffrages
    On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
    Go, get you gone; and pray be careful all,
    And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd:
    This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence;
    And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
    To see thy noble uncle thus distract?

PUBLIUS    Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns
    By day and night to attend him carefully,
    And feed his humour kindly as we may,
    Till time beget some careful remedy.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
    Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war
    Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
    And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Publius, how now! how now, my masters!
    What, have you met with her?

PUBLIUS    No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
    If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall:
    Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd,
    He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
    So that perforce you must needs stay a time.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
    I'll dive into the burning lake below,
    And pull her out of Acheron by the heels.
    Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we
    No big-boned men framed of the Cyclops' size;
    But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back,
    Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear:
    And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell,
    We will solicit heaven and move the gods
    To send down Justice for to wreak our wrongs.
    Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus;

    [He gives them the arrows]

    'Ad Jovem,' that's for you: here, 'Ad Apollinem:'
    'Ad Martem,' that's for myself:
    Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury:
    To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine;
    You were as good to shoot against the wind.
    To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid.
    Of my word, I have written to effect;
    There's not a god left unsolicited.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court:
    We will afflict the emperor in his pride.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Now, masters, draw.

    [They shoot]
        O, well said, Lucius!
    Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon;
    Your letter is with Jupiter by this.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Ha, ha!
    Publius, Publius, what hast thou done?
    See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot,
    The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock
    That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court;
    And who should find them but the empress' villain?
    She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose
    But give them to his master for a present.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Why, there it goes: God give his lordship joy!

    [Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two pigeons in
    it]

    News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come.
    Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?
    Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?

Clown    O, the gibbet-maker! he says that he hath taken
    them down again, for the man must not be hanged till
    the next week.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?

Clown    Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter; I never drank with him
    in all my life.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Why, villain, art not thou the carrier?

Clown    Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Why, didst thou not come from heaven?

Clown    From heaven! alas, sir, I never came there     God
    forbid I should be so bold to press to heaven in my
    young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the
    tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl
    betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Why, sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for
    your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons to
    the emperor from you.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the emperor
    with a grace?

Clown    Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado,
    But give your pigeons to the emperor:
    By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
    Hold, hold; meanwhile here's money for thy charges.
    Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace
    deliver a supplication?

Clown    Ay, sir.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Then here is a supplication for you. And when you
    come to him, at the first approach you must kneel,
    then kiss his foot, then deliver up your pigeons, and
    then look for your reward. I'll be at hand, sir; see
    you do it bravely.

Clown    I warrant you, sir, let me alone.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Sirrah, hast thou a knife? come, let me see it.
    Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration;
    For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant.
    And when thou hast given it the emperor,
    Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.

Clown    God be with you, sir; I will.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me.

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT IV



SCENE IV    The same. Before the palace.


    [Enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON,
    Lords, and others; SATURNINUS with the arrows in
    his hand that TITUS shot]

SATURNINUS    Why, lords, what wrongs are these! was ever seen
    An emperor in Rome thus overborne,
    Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
    Of egal justice, used in such contempt?
    My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,
    However these disturbers of our peace
    Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd,
    But even with law, against the willful sons
    Of old Andronicus. And what an if
    His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
    Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
    His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
    And now he writes to heaven for his redress:
    See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury;
    This to Apollo; this to the god of war;
    Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
    What's this but libelling against the senate,
    And blazoning our injustice every where?
    A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
    As who would say, in Rome no justice were.
    But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
    Shall be no shelter to these outrages:
    But he and his shall know that justice lives
    In Saturninus' health, whom, if she sleep,
    He'll so awake as she in fury shall
    Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.

TAMORA    My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,
    Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,
    Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
    The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons,
    Whose loss hath pierced him deep and scarr'd his heart;
    And rather comfort his distressed plight
    Than prosecute the meanest or the best
    For these contempts.

    [Aside]

        Why, thus it shall become
    High-witted Tamora to gloze with all:
    But, Titus, I have touched thee to the quick,
    Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise,
    Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port.

    [Enter Clown]

    How now, good fellow! wouldst thou speak with us?

Clown    Yea, forsooth, an your mistership be emperial.

TAMORA    Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.

Clown    'Tis he. God and Saint Stephen give you good den:
    I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here.

    [SATURNINUS reads the letter]

SATURNINUS    Go, take him away, and hang him presently.

Clown    How much money must I have?

TAMORA    Come, sirrah, you must be hanged.

Clown    Hanged! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to
    a fair end.

    [Exit, guarded]

SATURNINUS    Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!
    Shall I endure this monstrous villany?
    I know from whence this same device proceeds:
    May this be borne?--as if his traitorous sons,
    That died by law for murder of our brother,
    Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully!
    Go, drag the villain hither by the hair;
    Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege:
    For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman;
    Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
    In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.

    [Enter AEMILIUS]

    What news with thee, AEmilius?

AEMILIUS    Arm, arm, my lord;--Rome never had more cause.
    The Goths have gather'd head; and with a power
    high-resolved men, bent to the spoil,
    They hither march amain, under conduct
    Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;
    Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do
    As much as ever Coriolanus did.

SATURNINUS    Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?
    These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
    As flowers with frost or grass beat down with storms:
    Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach:
    'Tis he the common people love so much;
    Myself hath often over-heard them say,
    When I have walked like a private man,
    That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,
    And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor.

TAMORA    Why should you fear? is not your city strong?

SATURNINUS    Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius,
    And will revolt from me to succor him.

TAMORA    King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy name.
    Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it?
    The eagle suffers little birds to sing,
    And is not careful what they mean thereby,
    Knowing that with the shadow of his wings
    He can at pleasure stint their melody:
    Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome.
    Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor,
    I will enchant the old Andronicus
    With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,
    Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep,
    When as the one is wounded with the bait,
    The other rotted with delicious feed.

SATURNINUS    But he will not entreat his son for us.

TAMORA    If Tamora entreat him, then he will:
    For I can smooth and fill his aged ear
    With golden promises; that, were his heart
    Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf,
    Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue.

    [To AEmilius]

    Go thou before, be our ambassador:
    Say that the emperor requests a parley
    Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting
    Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus.

SATURNINUS    AEmilius, do this message honourably:
    And if he stand on hostage for his safety,
    Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.

AEMILIUS    Your bidding shall I do effectually.

    [Exit]

TAMORA    Now will I to that old Andronicus;
    And temper him with all the art I have,
    To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
    And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again,
    And bury all thy fear in my devices.

SATURNINUS    Then go successantly, and plead to him.

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT V



SCENE I    Plains near Rome.


    [Enter LUCIUS with an army of Goths, with drum and colours]

LUCIUS    Approved warriors, and my faithful friends,
    I have received letters from great Rome,
    Which signify what hate they bear their emperor
    And how desirous of our sight they are.
    Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness,
    Imperious and impatient of your wrongs,
    And wherein Rome hath done you any scath,
    Let him make treble satisfaction.

First Goth    Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus,
    Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort;
    Whose high exploits and honourable deeds
    Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt,
    Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st,
    Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day
    Led by their master to the flowered fields,
    And be avenged on cursed Tamora.

All the Goths    And as he saith, so say we all with him.

LUCIUS    I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
    But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?

    [Enter a Goth, leading AARON with his Child in his arms]

Second Goth    Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd
    To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;
    And, as I earnestly did fix mine eye
    Upon the wasted building, suddenly
    I heard a child cry underneath a wall.
    I made unto the noise; when soon I heard
    The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:
    'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!
    Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,
    Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look,
    Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor:
    But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,
    They never do beget a coal-black calf.
    Peace, villain, peace!'--even thus he rates
    the babe,--
    'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth;
    Who, when he knows thou art the empress' babe,
    Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'
    With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,
    Surprised him suddenly, and brought him hither,
    To use as you think needful of the man.

LUCIUS    O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil
    That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand;
    This is the pearl that pleased your empress' eye,
    And here's the base fruit of his burning lust.
    Say, wall-eyed slave, whither wouldst thou convey
    This growing image of thy fiend-like face?
    Why dost not speak? what, deaf? not a word?
    A halter, soldiers! hang him on this tree.
    And by his side his fruit of bastardy.

AARON    Touch not the boy; he is of royal blood.

LUCIUS    Too like the sire for ever being good.
    First hang the child, that he may see it sprawl;
    A sight to vex the father's soul withal.
    Get me a ladder.

    [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to ascend]

AARON                      Lucius, save the child,
    And bear it from me to the empress.
    If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things,
    That highly may advantage thee to hear:
    If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
    I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!'

LUCIUS    Say on: an if it please me which thou speak'st
    Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.

AARON    An if it please thee! why, assure thee, Lucius,
    'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;
    For I must talk of murders, rapes and massacres,
    Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
    Complots of mischief, treason, villanies
    Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd:
    And this shall all be buried by my death,
    Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.

LUCIUS    Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.

AARON    Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.

LUCIUS    Who should I swear by? thou believest no god:
    That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?

AARON    What if I do not? as, indeed, I do not;
    Yet, for I know thou art religious
    And hast a thing within thee called conscience,
    With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies,
    Which I have seen thee careful to observe,
    Therefore I urge thy oath; for that I know
    An idiot holds his bauble for a god
    And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,
    To that I'll urge him: therefore thou shalt vow
    By that same god, what god soe'er it be,
    That thou adorest and hast in reverence,
    To save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;
    Or else I will discover nought to thee.

LUCIUS    Even by my god I swear to thee I will.

AARON    First know thou, I begot him on the empress.

LUCIUS    O most insatiate and luxurious woman!

AARON    Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity
    To that which thou shalt hear of me anon.
    'Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus;
    They cut thy sister's tongue and ravish'd her
    And cut her hands and trimm'd her as thou saw'st.

LUCIUS    O detestable villain! call'st thou that trimming?

AARON    Why, she was wash'd and cut and trimm'd, and 'twas
    Trim sport for them that had the doing of it.

LUCIUS    O barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself!

AARON    Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them:
    That codding spirit had they from their mother,
    As sure a card as ever won the set;
    That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me,
    As true a dog as ever fought at head.
    Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.
    I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole
    Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay:
    I wrote the letter that thy father found
    And hid the gold within the letter mention'd,
    Confederate with the queen and her two sons:
    And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,
    Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it?
    I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand,
    And, when I had it, drew myself apart
    And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter:
    I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall
    When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads;
    Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily,
    That both mine eyes were rainy like to his :
    And when I told the empress of this sport,
    She swooned almost at my pleasing tale,
    And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses.

First Goth    What, canst thou say all this, and never blush?

AARON    Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.

LUCIUS    Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?

AARON    Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
    Even now I curse the day--and yet, I think,
    Few come within the compass of my curse,--
    Wherein I did not some notorious ill,
    As kill a man, or else devise his death,
    Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it,
    Accuse some innocent and forswear myself,
    Set deadly enmity between two friends,
    Make poor men's cattle break their necks;
    Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night,
    And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
    Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
    And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
    Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
    And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
    Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
    'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.'
    Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things
    As willingly as one would kill a fly,
    And nothing grieves me heartily indeed
    But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

LUCIUS    Bring down the devil; for he must not die
    So sweet a death as hanging presently.

AARON    If there be devils, would I were a devil,
    To live and burn in everlasting fire,
    So I might have your company in hell,
    But to torment you with my bitter tongue!

LUCIUS    Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more.

    [Enter a Goth]

Third Goth    My lord, there is a messenger from Rome
    Desires to be admitted to your presence.

LUCIUS    Let him come near.

    [Enter AEMILIUS]

    Welcome, AEmilius    what's the news from Rome?

AEMILIUS    Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths,
    The Roman emperor greets you all by me;
    And, for he understands you are in arms,
    He craves a parley at your father's house,
    Willing you to demand your hostages,
    And they shall be immediately deliver'd.

First Goth    What says our general?

LUCIUS    AEmilius, let the emperor give his pledges
    Unto my father and my uncle Marcus,
    And we will come. March away.

    [Exeunt]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT V



SCENE II    Rome. Before TITUS's house.


    [Enter TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, disguised]

TAMORA    Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,
    I will encounter with Andronicus,
    And say I am Revenge, sent from below
    To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.
    Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps,
    To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;
    Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,
    And work confusion on his enemies.

    [They knock]

    [Enter TITUS, above]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Who doth molest my contemplation?
    Is it your trick to make me ope the door,
    That so my sad decrees may fly away,
    And all my study be to no effect?
    You are deceived: for what I mean to do
    See here in bloody lines I have set down;
    And what is written shall be executed.

TAMORA    Titus, I am come to talk with thee.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    No, not a word; how can I grace my talk,
    Wanting a hand to give it action?
    Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.

TAMORA    If thou didst know me, thou wouldest talk with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    I am not mad; I know thee well enough:
    Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines;
    Witness these trenches made by grief and care,
    Witness the tiring day and heavy night;
    Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well
    For our proud empress, mighty Tamora:
    Is not thy coming for my other hand?

TAMORA    Know, thou sad man, I am not Tamora;
    She is thy enemy, and I thy friend:
    I am Revenge: sent from the infernal kingdom,
    To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind,
    By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
    Come down, and welcome me to this world's light;
    Confer with me of murder and of death:
    There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place,
    No vast obscurity or misty vale,
    Where bloody murder or detested rape
    Can couch for fear, but I will find them out;
    And in their ears tell them my dreadful name,
    Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me,
    To be a torment to mine enemies?

TAMORA    I am; therefore come down, and welcome me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Do me some service, ere I come to thee.
    Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;
    Now give me some surance that thou art Revenge,
    Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels;
    And then I'll come and be thy waggoner,
    And whirl along with thee about the globe.
    Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,
    To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,
    And find out murderers in their guilty caves:
    And when thy car is loaden with their heads,
    I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel
    Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,
    Even from Hyperion's rising in the east
    Until his very downfall in the sea:
    And day by day I'll do this heavy task,
    So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.

TAMORA    These are my ministers, and come with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Are these thy ministers? what are they call'd?

TAMORA    Rapine and Murder; therefore called so,
    Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Good Lord, how like the empress' sons they are!
    And you, the empress! but we worldly men
    Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.
    O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;
    And, if one arm's embracement will content thee,
    I will embrace thee in it by and by.

    [Exit above]

TAMORA    This closing with him fits his lunacy
    Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick fits,
    Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches,
    For now he firmly takes me for Revenge;
    And, being credulous in this mad thought,
    I'll make him send for Lucius his son;
    And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure,
    I'll find some cunning practise out of hand,
    To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,
    Or, at the least, make them his enemies.
    See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.

    [Enter TITUS below]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee:
    Welcome, dread Fury, to my woful house:
    Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too.
    How like the empress and her sons you are!
    Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor:
    Could not all hell afford you such a devil?
    For well I wot the empress never wags
    But in her company there is a Moor;
    And, would you represent our queen aright,
    It were convenient you had such a devil:
    But welcome, as you are. What shall we do?

TAMORA    What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?

DEMETRIUS    Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him.

CHIRON    Show me a villain that hath done a rape,
    And I am sent to be revenged on him.

TAMORA    Show me a thousand that have done thee wrong,
    And I will be revenged on them all.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Look round about the wicked streets of Rome;
    And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself.
    Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer.
    Go thou with him; and when it is thy hap
    To find another that is like to thee,
    Good Rapine, stab him; he's a ravisher.
    Go thou with them; and in the emperor's court
    There is a queen, attended by a Moor;
    Well mayst thou know her by thy own proportion,
    for up and down she doth resemble thee:
    I pray thee, do on them some violent death;
    They have been violent to me and mine.

TAMORA    Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do.
    But would it please thee, good Andronicus,
    To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son,
    Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,
    And bid him come and banquet at thy house;
    When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,
    I will bring in the empress and her sons,
    The emperor himself and all thy foes;
    And at thy mercy shalt they stoop and kneel,
    And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.
    What says Andronicus to this device?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Marcus, my brother! 'tis sad Titus calls.

    [Enter MARCUS]

    Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius;
    Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths:
    Bid him repair to me, and bring with him
    Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths;
    Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are:
    Tell him the emperor and the empress too
    Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them.
    This do thou for my love; and so let him,
    As he regards his aged father's life.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    This will I do, and soon return again.

    [Exit]

TAMORA    Now will I hence about thy business,
    And take my ministers along with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me;
    Or else I'll call my brother back again,
    And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.

TAMORA    [Aside to her sons]  What say you, boys? will you
    bide with him,
    Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor
    How I have govern'd our determined jest?
    Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,
    And tarry with him till I turn again.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    [Aside]  I know them all, though they suppose me mad,
    And will o'erreach them in their own devices:
    A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam!

DEMETRIUS    Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.

TAMORA    Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goes
    To lay a complot to betray thy foes.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.

    [Exit TAMORA]

CHIRON    Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Tut, I have work enough for you to do.
    Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine!

    [Enter PUBLIUS and others]

PUBLIUS    What is your will?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Know you these two?

PUBLIUS    The empress' sons, I take them, Chiron and Demetrius.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Fie, Publius, fie! thou art too much deceived;
    The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name;
    And therefore bind them, gentle Publius.
    Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them.
    Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,
    And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,
    And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry.

    [Exit]

    [PUBLIUS, &c. lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]

CHIRON    Villains, forbear! we are the empress' sons.

PUBLIUS    And therefore do we what we are commanded.
    Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.
    Is he sure bound? look that you bind them fast.

    [Re-enter TITUS, with LAVINIA; he bearing a knife,
    and she a basin]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.
    Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;
    But let them hear what fearful words I utter.
    O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!
    Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud,
    This goodly summer with your winter mix'd.
    You kill'd her husband, and for that vile fault
    Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death,
    My hand cut off and made a merry jest;
    Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear
    Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,
    Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forced.
    What would you say, if I should let you speak?
    Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
    Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.
    This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,
    Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold
    The basin that receives your guilty blood.
    You know your mother means to feast with me,
    And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad:
    Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust
    And with your blood and it I'll make a paste,
    And of the paste a coffin I will rear
    And make two pasties of your shameful heads,
    And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam,
    Like to the earth swallow her own increase.
    This is the feast that I have bid her to,
    And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;
    For worse than Philomel you used my daughter,
    And worse than Progne I will be revenged:
    And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,

    [He cuts their throats]

    Receive the blood: and when that they are dead,
    Let me go grind their bones to powder small
    And with this hateful liquor temper it;
    And in that paste let their vile heads be baked.
    Come, come, be every one officious
    To make this banquet; which I wish may prove
    More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast.
    So, now bring them in, for I'll play the cook,
    And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes.

    [Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies]




    TITUS ANDRONICUS


ACT V



SCENE III    Court of TITUS's house. A banquet set out.


    [Enter LUCIUS, MARCUS, and Goths, with AARON prisoner]

LUCIUS    Uncle Marcus, since it is my father's mind
    That I repair to Rome, I am content.

First Goth    And ours with thine, befall what fortune will.

LUCIUS    Good uncle, take you in this barbarous Moor,
    This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil;
    Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him
    Till he be brought unto the empress' face,
    For testimony of her foul proceedings:
    And see the ambush of our friends be strong;
    I fear the emperor means no good to us.

AARON    Some devil whisper curses in mine ear,
    And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth
    The venomous malice of my swelling heart!

LUCIUS    Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd slave!
    Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.

    [Exeunt Goths, with AARON. Flourish within]

    The trumpets show the emperor is at hand.

    [Enter SATURNINUS and TAMORA, with AEMILIUS,
    Tribunes, Senators, and others]

SATURNINUS    What, hath the firmament more suns than one?

LUCIUS    What boots it thee to call thyself a sun?

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle;
    These quarrels must be quietly debated.
    The feast is ready, which the careful Titus
    Hath ordain'd to an honourable end,
    For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome:
    Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your places.

SATURNINUS    Marcus, we will.

    [Hautboys sound. The Company sit down at table]

    [Enter TITUS dressed like a Cook, LAVINIA veiled,
    Young LUCIUS, and others. TITUS places the dishes
    on the table]

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread queen;
    Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;
    And welcome, all: although the cheer be poor,
    'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it.

SATURNINUS    Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Because I would be sure to have all well,
    To entertain your highness and your empress.

TAMORA    We are beholding to you, good Andronicus.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    An if your highness knew my heart, you were.
    My lord the emperor, resolve me this:
    Was it well done of rash Virginius
    To slay his daughter with his own right hand,
    Because she was enforced, stain'd, and deflower'd?

SATURNINUS    It was, Andronicus.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Your reason, mighty lord?

SATURNINUS    Because the girl should not survive her shame,
    And by her presence still renew his sorrows.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    A reason mighty, strong, and effectual;
    A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant,
    For me, most wretched, to perform the like.
    Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee;

    [Kills LAVINIA]

    And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die!

SATURNINUS    What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made me blind.
    I am as woful as Virginius was,
    And have a thousand times more cause than he
    To do this outrage: and it now is done.

SATURNINUS    What, was she ravish'd? tell who did the deed.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Will't please you eat? will't please your
    highness feed?

TAMORA    Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus?

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius:
    They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue;
    And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong.

SATURNINUS    Go fetch them hither to us presently.

TITUS ANDRONICUS    Why, there they are both, baked in that pie;
    Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,
    Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
    'Tis true, 'tis true; witness my knife's sharp point.

    [Kills TAMORA]

SATURNINUS    Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!

    [Kills TITUS]

LUCIUS    Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?
    There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed!

    [Kills SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS, MARCUS,
    and others go up into the balcony]

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    You sad-faced men, people and sons of Rome,
    By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl
    Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts,
    O, let me teach you how to knit again
    This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf,
    These broken limbs again into one body;
    Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,
    And she whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to,
    Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,
    Do shameful execution on herself.
    But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,
    Grave witnesses of true experience,
    Cannot induce you to attend my words,

    [To LUCIUS]

    Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor,
    When with his solemn tongue he did discourse
    To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear
    The story of that baleful burning night
    When subtle Greeks surprised King Priam's Troy,
    Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,
    Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
    That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.
    My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;
    Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,
    But floods of tears will drown my oratory,
    And break my utterance, even in the time
    When it should move you to attend me most,
    Lending your kind commiseration.
    Here is a captain, let him tell the tale;
    Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.

LUCIUS    Then, noble auditory, be it known to you,
    That cursed Chiron and Demetrius
    Were they that murdered our emperor's brother;
    And they it were that ravished our sister:
    For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded;
    Our father's tears despised, and basely cozen'd
    Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out,
    And sent her enemies unto the grave.
    Lastly, myself unkindly banished,
    The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,
    To beg relief among Rome's enemies:
    Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears.
    And oped their arms to embrace me as a friend.
    I am the turned forth, be it known to you,
    That have preserved her welfare in my blood;
    And from her bosom took the enemy's point,
    Sheathing the steel in my adventurous body.
    Alas, you know I am no vaunter, I;
    My scars can witness, dumb although they are,
    That my report is just and full of truth.
    But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,
    Citing my worthless praise: O, pardon me;
    For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Now is my turn to speak. Behold this child:

    [Pointing to the Child in the arms of an Attendant]

    Of this was Tamora delivered;
    The issue of an irreligious Moor,
    Chief architect and plotter of these woes:
    The villain is alive in Titus' house,
    And as he is, to witness this is true.
    Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge
    These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience,
    Or more than any living man could bear.
    Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Romans?
    Have we done aught amiss,--show us wherein,
    And, from the place where you behold us now,
    The poor remainder of Andronici
    Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down.
    And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains,
    And make a mutual closure of our house.
    Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall,
    Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.

AEMILIUS    Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,
    And bring our emperor gently in thy hand,
    Lucius our emperor; for well I know
    The common voice do cry it shall be so.

All    Lucius, all hail, Rome's royal emperor!

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house,

    [To Attendants]

    And hither hale that misbelieving Moor,
    To be adjudged some direful slaughtering death,
    As punishment for his most wicked life.

    [Exeunt Attendants]

    [LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend]

All    Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor!

LUCIUS    Thanks, gentle Romans: may I govern so,
    To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe!
    But, gentle people, give me aim awhile,
    For nature puts me to a heavy task:
    Stand all aloof: but, uncle, draw you near,
    To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk.
    O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips,

    [Kissing TITUS]

    These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face,
    The last true duties of thy noble son!

MARCUS ANDRONICUS    Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss,
    Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips:
    O were the sum of these that I should pay
    Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them!

LUCIUS    Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of us
    To melt in showers: thy grandsire loved thee well:
    Many a time he danced thee on his knee,
    Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow:
    Many a matter hath he told to thee,
    Meet and agreeing with thine infancy;
    In that respect, then, like a loving child,
    Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring,
    Because kind nature doth require it so:
    Friends should associate friends in grief and woe:
    Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave;
    Do him that kindness, and take leave of him.

Young LUCIUS    O grandsire, grandsire! even with all my heart
    Would I were dead, so you did live again!
    O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;
    My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth.

    [Re-enter Attendants with AARON]

AEMILIUS    You sad Andronici, have done with woes:
    Give sentence on this execrable wretch,
    That hath been breeder of these dire events.

LUCIUS    Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;
    There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food;
    If any one relieves or pities him,
    For the offence he dies. This is our doom:
    Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth.

AARON    O, why should wrath be mute, and fury dumb?
    I am no baby, I, that with base prayers
    I should repent the evils I have done:
    Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did
    Would I perform, if I might have my will;
    If one good deed in all my life I did,
    I do repent it from my very soul.

LUCIUS    Some loving friends convey the emperor hence,
    And give him burial in his father's grave:
    My father and Lavinia shall forthwith
    Be closed in our household's monument.
    As for that heinous tiger, Tamora,
    No funeral rite, nor man m mourning weeds,
    No mournful bell shall ring her burial;
    But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey:
    Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity;
    And, being so, shall have like want of pity.
    See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor,
    By whom our heavy haps had their beginning:
    Then, afterwards, to order well the state,
    That like events may ne'er it ruinate.

    [Exeunt]