The Complete Works of William Shakespeare To hideous winter and confounds him there,

Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,

Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summer's distillation left
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
THE SONNETS Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
by William Shakespeare Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
1 But flowers distilled though they with winter meet,
From fairest creatures we desire increase, Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.
That thereby beauty's rose might never die, 6
But as the riper should by time decease, Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
His tender heir might bear his memory: In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed:
Making a famine where abundance lies, That use is not forbidden usury,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, That's for thy self to breed another thee,
And only herald to the gaudy spring, Or ten times happier be it ten for one,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content, Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:Pity the world, or else this glutton be, If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. Leaving thee living in posterity?
2 Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair,
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, 7
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, Lo in the orient when the gracious light
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held: Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; Serving with looks his sacred majesty,
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes, And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse' But when from highmost pitch with weary car,
Proving his beauty by succession thine. Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
This were to be new made when thou art old, The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. From his low tract and look another way:
3 So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon:
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.
Now is the time that face should form another, 8
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb, If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
Of his self-love to stop posterity? By unions married do offend thine ear,
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
Calls back the lovely April of her prime, In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear:
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, Mark how one string sweet husband to another,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
But if thou live remembered not to be, Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,
Die single and thine image dies with thee. Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
4 Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend, Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'.
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy? 9
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
And being frank she lends to those are free: That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The bounteous largess given thee to give? The world will wail thee like a makeless wife,
Profitless usurer why dost thou use The world will be thy widow and still weep,
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
For having traffic with thy self alone, When every private widow well may keep,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive, By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
What acceptable audit canst thou leave? Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
Which used lives th' executor to be. And kept unused the user so destroys it:
5 No love toward others in that bosom sits
Those hours that with gentle work did frame That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell 10
Will play the tyrants to the very same, For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any
And that unfair which fairly doth excel: Who for thy self art so unprovident.
For never-resting time leads summer on Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident: When I consider every thing that grows
For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate, Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire, That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.
Which to repair should be thy chief desire: When I perceive that men as plants increase,
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky:
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, And wear their brave state out of memory.
Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove, Then the conceit of this inconstant stay,
Make thee another self for love of me, Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee. Where wasteful time debateth with decay
11 To change your day of youth to sullied night,
As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st, And all in war with Time for love of you,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest, As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, 16
Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest, But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase, Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time?
Without this folly, age, and cold decay, And fortify your self in your decay
If all were minded so, the times should cease, With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
And threescore year would make the world away:Let those whom nature hath not made for Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
store, And many maiden gardens yet unset,With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more; So should the lines of life that life repair
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby, Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
12 To give away your self, keeps your self still,
When I do count the clock that tells the time, And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night, 17
When I behold the violet past prime, Who will believe my verse in time to come
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white: If it were filled with your most high deserts?
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard: And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
Then of thy beauty do I question make The age to come would say this poet lies,
That thou among the wastes of time must go, Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, So should my papers (yellowed with their age)
And die as fast as they see others grow, Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence And your true rights be termed a poet's rage,
Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence. And stretched metre of an antique song.
13 But were some child of yours alive that time,
O that you were your self, but love you are You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme.
No longer yours, than you your self here live, 18
Against this coming end you should prepare, Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
And your sweet semblance to some other give. Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
So should that beauty which you hold in lease Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
Find no determination, then you were And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Your self again after your self's decease, Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, And every fair from fair sometime declines,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
And barren rage of death's eternal cold? Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know, Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
You had a father, let your son say so. When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
14 So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
And yet methinks I have astronomy, 19
But not to tell of good, or evil luck, Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood,
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood,
Or say with princes if it shall go well Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
By oft predict that I in heaven find. And do whate'er thou wilt swift-footed Time
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, To the wide world and all her fading sweets:
And constant stars in them I read such art But I forbid thee one most heinous crime,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert: Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen,
Or else of thee this I prognosticate, Him in thy course untainted do allow,
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
15 Yet do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
20
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou the master mistress of my passion,
A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted
With shifting change as is false women's fashion,
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling:
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth,
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
21
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven it self for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems:
With April's first-born flowers and all things rare,
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me true in love but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair,
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well,
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
22
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date,
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me,
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O therefore love be of thyself so wary,
As I not for my self, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain,
Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.
23
As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I for fear of trust, forget to say,
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might:
O let my looks be then the eloquence,
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ,
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
24
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled,
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart,
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes:
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
25
Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars
Unlooked for joy in that I honour most;
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
26
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;To thee I send this written embassage
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tattered loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect,
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee,
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tired,
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night)
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for my self, no quiet find.
28
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed.
And each (though enemies to either's reign)
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger
29
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon my self and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
30
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow)
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee (dear friend)
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.31
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear,
But things removed that hidden in thee lie.
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give,
That due of many, now is thine alone.
Their images I loved, I view in thee,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.
32
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover:
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be outstripped by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought,
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.
33
Full many a glorious morning have I seen,
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green;
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy:
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride,
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow,
But out alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth,
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.
34
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief,
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss,
Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.
35
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done,
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud,
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
My self corrupting salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are:
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,
Thy adverse party is thy advocate,
And 'gainst my self a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be,To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
36
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
37
As a decrepit father takes delight,
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
And by a part of all thy glory live:
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee,
This wish I have, then ten times happy me.
38
How can my muse want subject to invent
While thou dost breathe that pour'st into my verse,
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent,
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O give thy self the thanks if aught in me,
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight,
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy self dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate,
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
39
O how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring:
And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this, let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one, From limits far remote, where thou dost stay,
That by this separation I may give: No matter then although my foot did stand
That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone: Upon the farthest earth removed from thee,
O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove, For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, As soon as think the place where he would be.
To entertain the time with thoughts of love, But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive. To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain, But that so much of earth and water wrought,
By praising him here who doth hence remain. I must attend, time's leisure with my moan.
40 Receiving nought by elements so slow,
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all, But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? 45
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, The other two, slight air, and purging fire,
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more: Are both with thee, wherever I abide,
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, The first my thought, the other my desire,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest, These present-absent with swift motion slide.
But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest For when these quicker elements are gone
By wilful taste of what thy self refusest. In tender embassy of love to thee,
I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief My life being made of four, with two alone,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty: Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy.
And yet love knows it is a greater griefTo bear greater wrong, than hate's known injury. Until life's composition be recured,By those swift messengers returned from thee,
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Who even but now come back again assured,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.
41 This told, I joy, but then no longer glad,
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, I send them back again and straight grow sad.
When I am sometime absent from thy heart, 46
Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
For still temptation follows where thou art. How to divide the conquest of thy sight,
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Mine eye, my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed. My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right,
And when a woman woos, what woman's son, My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed? (A closet never pierced with crystal eyes)
Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And chide thy beauty, and thy straying youth, And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
Who lead thee in their riot even there To side this title is impanelled
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth: A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee, And by their verdict is determined
Thine by thy beauty being false to me. The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part.
42 As thus, mine eye's due is thy outward part,
That thou hast her it is not all my grief, And my heart's right, thy inward love of heart.
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly, 47
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly. And each doth good turns now unto the other,
Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye, When that mine eye is famished for a look,
Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. And to the painted banquet bids my heart:
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.
Both find each other, and I lose both twain, So either by thy picture or my love,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross, Thy self away, art present still with me,
But here's the joy, my friend and I are one, For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone. And I am still with them, and they with thee.
43 Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
When most I wink then do mine eyes best see, Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight.
For all the day they view things unrespected, 48
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, How careful was I when I took my way,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright That to my use it might unused stay
How would thy shadow's form, form happy show, From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
To the clear day with thy much clearer light, But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made, Thou best of dearest, and mine only care,
By looking on thee in the living day, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade, Thee have I not locked up in any chest,
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
All days are nights to see till I see thee, Within the gentle closure of my breast,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part,
44 And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear,
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
Injurious distance should not stop my way, 49
For then despite of space I would be brought, Against that time (if ever that time come)
When I shall see thee frown on my defects, 54
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
Called to that audit by advised respects, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, For that sweet odour, which doth in it live:
When love converted from the thing it was The canker blooms have full as deep a dye,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity; As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Against that time do I ensconce me here Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
Within the knowledge of mine own desert, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
And this my hand, against my self uprear, But for their virtue only is their show,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part, They live unwooed, and unrespected fade,
To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws, Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so,
Since why to love, I can allege no cause. Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made:
50 And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
How heavy do I journey on the way, When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.
When what I seek (my weary travel's end) 55
Doth teach that case and that repose to say Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.' Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
As if by some instinct the wretch did knowHis rider loved not speed being made from thee: When wasteful war shall statues overturn,And broils root out the work of masonry,
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn:
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, The living record of your memory.
Which heavily he answers with a groan, 'Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity
More sharp to me than spurring to his side, Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room,
For that same groan doth put this in my mind, Even in the eyes of all posterity
My grief lies onward and my joy behind. That wear this world out to the ending doom.
51 So till the judgment that your self arise,
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed, 56
From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? Sweet love renew thy force, be it not said
Till I return of posting is no need. Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
O what excuse will my poor beast then find, Which but to-day by feeding is allayed,
When swift extremity can seem but slow? To-morrow sharpened in his former might.
Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, So love be thou, although to-day thou fill
In winged speed no motion shall I know, Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace, To-morrow see again, and do not kill
Therefore desire (of perfect'st love being made) The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness:
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race, Let this sad interim like the ocean be
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade, Which parts the shore, where two contracted new,
Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, Come daily to the banks, that when they see:
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. Return of love, more blest may be the view.
52 Or call it winter, which being full of care,
So am I as the rich whose blessed key, Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 57
The which he will not every hour survey, Being your slave what should I do but tend,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, I have no precious time at all to spend;
Since seldom coming in that long year set, Nor services to do till you require.
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you,
So is the time that keeps you as my chest Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, When you have bid your servant once adieu.
To make some special instant special-blest, Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,
By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, But like a sad slave stay and think of nought
Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope. Save where you are, how happy you make those.
53 So true a fool is love, that in your will,
What is your substance, whereof are you made, (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill.
That millions of strange shadows on you tend? 58
Since every one, hath every one, one shade, That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
And you but one, can every shadow lend: I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Describe Adonis and the counterfeit, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
Is poorly imitated after you, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, O let me suffer (being at your beck)
And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Th' imprisoned absence of your liberty,
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, And patience tame to sufferance bide each check,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show, Without accusing you of injury.
The other as your bounty doth appear, Be where you list, your charter is so strong,
And you in every blessed shape we know. That you your self may privilage your time
In all external grace you have some part, To what you will, to you it doth belong,
But you like none, none you for constant heart. Your self to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, That he shall never cut from memory
Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life.
59 His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
If there be nothing new, but that which is, And they shall live, and he in them still green.
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, 64
Which labouring for invention bear amis When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The second burthen of a former child! The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age,
O that record could with a backward look, When sometime lofty towers I see down-rased,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage.
Show me your image in some antique book, When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Since mind at first in character was done. Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
That I might see what the old world could say, And the firm soil win of the watery main,
To this composed wonder of your frame, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store.
Whether we are mended, or whether better they, When I have seen such interchange of State,
Or whether revolution be the same. Or state it self confounded, to decay,
O sure I am the wits of former days, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. That Time will come and take my love away.
60 This thought is as a death which cannot choose
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, But weep to have, that which it fears to lose.
So do our minutes hasten to their end, 65
Each changing place with that which goes before,In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
Nativity once in the main of light, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, O how shall summer's honey breath hold out,
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. Against the wrackful siege of batt'ring days,
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays?
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, O fearful meditation, where alack,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
61 O none, unless this miracle have might,
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
My heavy eyelids to the weary night? 66
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, Tired with all these for restful death I cry,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? As to behold desert a beggar born,
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
So far from home into my deeds to pry, And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
To find out shames and idle hours in me, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
O no, thy love though much, is not so great, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, And strength by limping sway disabled
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, And art made tongue-tied by authority,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake. And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
From me far off, with others all too near. And captive good attending captain ill.
62 Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, Save that to die, I leave my love alone.
And all my soul, and all my every part; 67
And for this sin there is no remedy, Ah wherefore with infection should he live,
It is so grounded inward in my heart. And with his presence grace impiety,
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, That sin by him advantage should achieve,
No shape so true, no truth of such account, And lace it self with his society?
And for my self mine own worth do define, Why should false painting imitate his cheek,
As I all other in all worths surmount. And steal dead seeming of his living hue?
But when my glass shows me my self indeed Why should poor beauty indirectly seek,
beated and chopt with tanned antiquity, Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read: Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is,
Self, so self-loving were iniquity. Beggared of blood to blush through lively veins,
'Tis thee (my self) that for my self I praise, For she hath no exchequer now but his,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days. And proud of many, lives upon his gains?
63 O him she stores, to show what wealth she had,
Against my love shall be as I am now In days long since, before these last so bad.
With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn, 68
When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Hath travelled on to age's steepy night, Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king Or durst inhabit on a living brow:
Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, Before the golden tresses of the dead,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring: The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
For such a time do I now fortify To live a second life on second head,
Against confounding age's cruel knife, Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen, Which by and by black night doth take away,
Without all ornament, it self and true, Death's second self that seals up all in rest.
Making no summer of another's green, In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
And him as for a map doth Nature store, As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore. Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
69 This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well, which thou
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, must leave ere long.
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend: 74
All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, But be contented when that fell arrest,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Without all bail shall carry me away,
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned, My life hath in this line some interest,
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
In other accents do this praise confound When thou reviewest this, thou dost review,
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. The very part was consecrate to thee,
They look into the beauty of thy mind, The earth can have but earth, which is his due,
And that in guess they measure by thy deeds, My spirit is thine the better part of me,
Then churls their thoughts (although their eyes were kind) To thy fair flower add the So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
rank smell of weeds: The prey of worms, my body being dead,
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.70 Too base of thee to be remembered,
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, The worth of that, is that which it contains,And that is this, and this with thee remains.
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair, 75
The ornament of beauty is suspect, So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;
So thou be good, slander doth but approve, And for the peace of you I hold such strife
Thy worth the greater being wooed of time, As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days, Now counting best to be with you alone,
Either not assailed, or victor being charged, Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure,
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged, And by and by clean starved for a look,
If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, Possessing or pursuing no delight
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. Save what is had, or must from you be took.
71 Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
No longer mourn for me when I am dead, Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 76
Give warning to the world that I am fled Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: So far from variation or quick change?
Nay if you read this line, remember not, Why with the time do I not glance aside
The hand that writ it, for I love you so, To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, Why write I still all one, ever the same,
If thinking on me then should make you woe. And keep invention in a noted weed,
O if (I say) you look upon this verse, That every word doth almost tell my name,
When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; O know sweet love I always write of you,
But let your love even with my life decay. And you and love are still my argument:
Lest the wise world should look into your moan, So all my best is dressing old words new,
And mock you with me after I am gone. Spending again what is already spent:
72 For as the sun is daily new and old,
O lest the world should task you to recite, So is my love still telling what is told.
What merit lived in me that you should love 77
After my death (dear love) forget me quite, Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove. Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste,
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
To do more for me than mine own desert, And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste.
And hang more praise upon deceased I, The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show,
Than niggard truth would willingly impart: Of mouthed graves will give thee memory,
O lest your true love may seem false in this, Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know,
That you for love speak well of me untrue, Time's thievish progress to eternity.
My name be buried where my body is, Look what thy memory cannot contain,
And live no more to shame nor me, nor you. Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth. To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
73 These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
That time of year thou mayst in me behold, Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang 78
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, So oft have I invoked thee for my muse,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. And found such fair assistance in my verse,
In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As every alien pen hath got my use,
As after sunset fadeth in the west, And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, I found (or thought I found) you did exceed,
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, That barren tender of a poet's debt:
Have added feathers to the learned's wing, And therefore have I slept in your report,
And given grace a double majesty. That you your self being extant well might show,
Yet be most proud of that which I compile, How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee, Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
In others' works thou dost but mend the style, This silence for my sin you did impute,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be. Which shall be most my glory being dumb,
But thou art all my art, and dost advance For I impair not beauty being mute,
As high as learning, my rude ignorance. When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
79 There lives more life in one of your fair eyes,
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, Than both your poets can in praise devise.
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, 84
But now my gracious numbers are decayed, Who is it that says most, which can say more,
And my sick muse doth give an other place. Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you?
I grant (sweet love) thy lovely argument In whose confine immured is the store,
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, Which should example where your equal grew.
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, Lean penury within that pen doth dwell,
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again, That to his subject lends not some small glory,
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word, But he that writes of you, if he can tell,
From thy behaviour, beauty doth he give That you are you, so dignifies his story.
And found it in thy cheek: he can affordNo praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. Let him but copy what in you is writ,Not making worse what nature made so clear,
Then thank him not for that which he doth say, And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Since what he owes thee, thou thy self dost pay. Making his style admired every where.
80 You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
O how I faint when I of you do write, Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, 85
And in the praise thereof spends all his might, My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still,
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame. While comments of your praise richly compiled,
But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) Reserve their character with golden quill,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
My saucy bark (inferior far to his) I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear. And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen,
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, To every hymn that able spirit affords,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride, In polished form of well refined pen.
Or (being wrecked) I am a worthless boat, Hearing you praised, I say 'tis so, 'tis true,
He of tall building, and of goodly pride. And to the most of praise add something more,
Then if he thrive and I be cast away, But that is in my thought, whose love to you
The worst was this, my love was my decay. (Though words come hindmost) holds his rank before,
81 Then others, for the breath of words respect,
Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten, 86
From hence your memory death cannot take, Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Although in me each part will be forgotten. Bound for the prize of (all too precious) you,
Your name from hence immortal life shall have, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Though I (once gone) to all the world must die, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
The earth can yield me but a common grave, Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie, Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
Your monument shall be my gentle verse, No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, He nor that affable familiar ghost
When all the breathers of this world are dead, Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) As victors of my silence cannot boast,
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. I was not sick of any fear from thence.
82 But when your countenance filled up his line,
I grant thou wert not married to my muse, Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine.
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook 87
The dedicated words which writers use Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
Of their fair subject, blessing every book. And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing:
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, My bonds in thee are all determinate.
And therefore art enforced to seek anew, For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. And for that riches where is my deserving?
And do so love, yet when they have devised, The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
What strained touches rhetoric can lend, And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathized, Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend. Or me to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking,
And their gross painting might be better used, So thy great gift upon misprision growing,
Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abused. Comes home again, on better judgement making.
83 Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,
I never saw that you did painting need, In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
And therefore to your fair no painting set, 88
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
And place my merit in the eye of scorn, 93
Upon thy side, against my self I'll fight, So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn: Like a deceived husband, so love's face,
With mine own weakness being best acquainted, May still seem love to me, though altered new:
Upon thy part I can set down a story Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place.
Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted: For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
That thou in losing me, shalt win much glory: Therefore in that I cannot know thy change,
And I by this will be a gainer too, In many's looks, the false heart's history
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange.
The injuries that to my self I do, But heaven in thy creation did decree,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell,
Such is my love, to thee I so belong, Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be,
That for thy right, my self will bear all wrong. Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell.
89 How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.
And I will comment upon that offence, 94
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt: They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
Against thy reasons making no defence. That do not do the thing, they most do show,
Thou canst not (love) disgrace me half so ill, Who moving others, are themselves as stone,
To set a form upon desired change, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow:
As I'll my self disgrace, knowing thy will,I will acquaintance strangle and look strange: They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,And husband nature's riches from expense,
Be absent from thy walks and in my tongue, Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces,
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, Others, but stewards of their excellence:
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wronk: The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell. Though to it self, it only live and die,
For thee, against my self I'll vow debate, But if that flower with base infection meet,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
90 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds,
Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now, Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 95
join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame,
And do not drop in for an after-loss: Which like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Ah do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe, O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
To linger out a purposed overthrow. (Making lascivious comments on thy sport)
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise,
When other petty griefs have done their spite, Naming thy name, blesses an ill report.
But in the onset come, so shall I taste O what a mansion have those vices got,
At first the very worst of fortune's might. Which for their habitation chose out thee,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so. And all things turns to fair, that eyes can see!
91 Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege,
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, 96
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill: Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse. Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport,
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, Both grace and faults are loved of more and less:
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest, Thou mak'st faults graces, that to thee resort:
But these particulars are not my measure, As on the finger of a throned queen,
All these I better in one general best. The basest jewel will be well esteemed:
Thy love is better than high birth to me, So are those errors that in thee are seen,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' costs, To truths translated, and for true things deemed.
Of more delight than hawks and horses be: How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take, How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
All this away, and me most wretchcd make. if thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
92 But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
But do thy worst to steal thy self away, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
For term of life thou art assured mine, 97
And life no longer than thy love will stay, How like a winter hath my absence been
For it depends upon that love of thine. From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
When in the least of them my life hath end, What old December's bareness everywhere!
I see, a better state to me belongs And yet this time removed was summer's time,
Than that, which on thy humour doth depend. The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie, Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease:
O what a happy title do I find, Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
Happy to have thy love, happy to die! But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit,
But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute. Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. But that wild music burthens every bough,
98 And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
From you have I been absent in the spring, Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue:
When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim) Because I would not dull you with my song.
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing: 103
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Alack what poverty my muse brings forth,
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell That having such a scope to show her pride,
Of different flowers in odour and in hue, The argument all bare is of more worth
Could make me any summer's story tell: Than when it hath my added praise beside.
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: O blame me not if I no more can write!
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Look in your glass and there appears a face,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
They were but sweet, but figures of delight: Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Were it not sinful then striving to mend,
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, To mar the subject that before was well?
As with your shadow I with these did play. For to no other pass my verses tend,
99 Than of your graces and your gifts to tell.
The forward violet thus did I chide, And more, much more than in my verse can sit,
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? Your own glass shows you, when you look in it.104
The purple prideWhich on thy soft check for complexion dwells, To me fair friend you never can be old,
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
The lily I condemned for thy hand, Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair, Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned,
One blushing shame, another white despair: In process of the seasons have I seen,
A third nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
And to his robbery had annexed thy breath, Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.
But for his theft in pride of all his growth Ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand,
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived,
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand
But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee. Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived.
100 For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred,
Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long, Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? 105
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Let not my love be called idolatry,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem, Since all alike my songs and praises be
In gentle numbers time so idly spent, To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
And gives thy pen both skill and argument. Still constant in a wondrous excellence,
Rise resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
If time have any wrinkle graven there, One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
If any, be a satire to decay, Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
And make time's spoils despised everywhere. Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words,
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life, And in this change is my invention spent,
So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
101 Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone.
O truant Muse what shall be thy amends, Which three till now, never kept seat in one.
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? 106
Both truth and beauty on my love depends: When in the chronicle of wasted time,
So dost thou too, and therein dignified: I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
'Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay: Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
But best is best, if never intermixed'? Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? I see their antique pen would have expressed,
Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee, Even such a beauty as you master now.
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb: So all their praises are but prophecies
And to be praised of ages yet to be. Of this our time, all you prefiguring,
Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how, And for they looked but with divining eyes,
To make him seem long hence, as he shows now. They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
102 For we which now behold these present days,
My love is strengthened though more weak in seeming, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
I love not less, though less the show appear, 107
That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming, Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul,
The owner's tongue doth publish every where. Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,
Our love was new, and then but in the spring, Can yet the lease of my true love control,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: And the sad augurs mock their own presage,
Incertainties now crown themselves assured, You are my all the world, and I must strive,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. To know my shames and praises from your tongue,
Now with the drops of this most balmy time, None else to me, nor I to none alive,
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong.
Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme, In so profound abysm I throw all care
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. Of others' voices, that my adder's sense,
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, To critic and to flatterer stopped are:
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. Mark how with my neglect I do dispense.
108 You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
What's in the brain that ink may character, That all the world besides methinks are dead.
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit, 113
What's new to speak, what now to register, Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit? And that which governs me to go about,
Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine, Doth part his function, and is partly blind,
I must each day say o'er the very same, Seems seeing, but effectually is out:
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, For it no form delivers to the heart
Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch,
So that eternal love in love's fresh case, Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,
But makes antiquity for aye his page, The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,Where time and outward form would show it dead. The mountain, or the sea, the day, or night:The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature.
109 Incapable of more, replete with you,
O never say that I was false of heart, My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify, 114
As easy might I from my self depart, Or whether doth my mind being crowned with you
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: Drink up the monarch's plague this flattery?
That is my home of love, if I have ranged, Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true,
Like him that travels I return again, And that your love taught it this alchemy?
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, To make of monsters, and things indigest,
So that my self bring water for my stain, Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
Never believe though in my nature reigned, Creating every bad a perfect best
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, As fast as objects to his beams assemble:
That it could so preposterously be stained, O 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: And my great mind most kingly drinks it up,
For nothing this wide universe I call, Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing,
Save thou my rose, in it thou art my all. And to his palate doth prepare the cup.
110 If it be poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin,
Alas 'tis true, I have gone here and there, That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
And made my self a motley to the view, 115
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Made old offences of affections new. Even those that said I could not love you dearer,
Most true it is, that I have looked on truth Yet then my judgment knew no reason why,
Askance and strangely: but by all above, My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer,
These blenches gave my heart another youth, But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents
And worse essays proved thee my best of love. Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Now all is done, have what shall have no end, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Mine appetite I never more will grind Divert strong minds to the course of alt'ring things:
On newer proof, to try an older friend, Alas why fearing of time's tyranny,
A god in love, to whom I am confined. Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
111 Love is a babe, then might I not say so
O for my sake do you with Fortune chide, To give full growth to that which still doth grow.
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 116
That did not better for my life provide, Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Than public means which public manners breeds. Admit impediments, love is not love
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, Which alters when it alteration finds,
And almost thence my nature is subdued Or bends with the remover to remove.
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
Pity me then, and wish I were renewed, That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
Whilst like a willing patient I will drink, It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
No bitterness that I will bitter think, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Nor double penance to correct correction. Within his bending sickle's compass come,
Pity me then dear friend, and I assure ye, Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
Even that your pity is enough to cure me. But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
112 If this be error and upon me proved,
Your love and pity doth th' impression fill, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow, 117
For what care I who calls me well or ill, Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day,
That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
And given to time your own dear-purchased right,
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
And on just proof surmise, accumulate,
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your wakened hate:
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.
118
Like as to make our appetite more keen
With eager compounds we our palate urge,
As to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge.
Even so being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding;
And sick of welfare found a kind of meetness,
To be diseased ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love t' anticipateThe ills that were not, grew to faults assured,
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which rank of goodness would by ill be cured.
But thence I learn and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so feil sick of you.
119
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears
Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw my self to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought it self so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better.
And ruined love when it is built anew
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuked to my content,
And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.
120
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time,
And I a tyrant have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me then tendered
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee,
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
121
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
When not to be, receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed,
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses, reckon up their own,
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad and in their badness reign.
122
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full charactered with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date even to eternity.
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist,
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be missed:
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score,
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more:
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
123
No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change,
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange,
They are but dressings Of a former sight:
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire,
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire,Than think that we before have heard them told:
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wond'ring at the present, nor the past,
For thy records, and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste:
This I do vow and this shall ever be,
I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.
124
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered,
As subject to time's love or to time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
No it was builded far from accident,
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-numbered hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
125
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more by paying too much rent
For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul
When most impeached, stands least in thy control.
126
O thou my lovely boy who in thy power,
Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour:
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st,
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack)
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure,
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure!
Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
127
In the old age black was not counted fair, In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
Or if it were it bore not beauty's name: And thence this slander as I think proceeds.
But now is black beauty's successive heir, 132
And beauty slandered with a bastard shame, Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me,
For since each hand hath put on nature's power, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrowed face, Have put on black, and loving mourners be,
Sweet beauty hath no name no holy bower, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem, Nor that full star that ushers in the even
At such who not born fair no beauty lack, Doth half that glory to the sober west
Slandering creation with a false esteem, As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, O let it then as well beseem thy heart
That every tongue says beauty should look so. To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace,
128 And suit thy pity like in every part.
How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st 133
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, For that deep wound it gives my friend and me;
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Is't not enough to torture me alone,
Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,At the wood's boldness by thee blushing But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
stand. Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken,And my next self thou harder hast engrossed,
To be so tickled they would change their state Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken,
And situation with those dancing chips, A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed:
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail,
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol.
129 And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame Perforce am thine and all that is in me.
Is lust in action, and till action, lust 134
Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody full of blame, So now I have confessed that he is thine,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will,
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still:
Past reason hated as a swallowed bait, But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad. For thou art covetous, and he is kind,
Mad in pursuit and in possession so, He learned but surety-like to write for me,
Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme, Under that bond that him as fist doth bind.
A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe, The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Before a joy proposed behind a dream. Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use,
All this the world well knows yet none knows well, And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake,
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
130 Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me,
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
Coral is far more red, than her lips red, 135
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun: Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head: And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus,
I have seen roses damasked, red and white, More than enough am I that vex thee still,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks, To thy sweet will making addition thus.
And in some perfumes is there more delight, Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious,
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, Shall will in others seem right gracious,
That music hath a far more pleasing sound: And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
I grant I never saw a goddess go, The sea all water, yet receives rain still,
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And in abundance addeth to his store,
And yet by heaven I think my love as rare, So thou being rich in will add to thy will
As any she belied with false compare. One will of mine to make thy large will more.
131 Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill,
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; 136
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will',
Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, And will thy soul knows is admitted there,
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil.
To say they err, I dare not be so bold, 'Will', will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Although I swear it to my self alone. Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one,
And to be sure that is not false I swear, In things of great receipt with case we prove,
A thousand groans but thinking on thy face, Among a number one is reckoned none.
One on another's neck do witness bear Then in the number let me pass untold,
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. Though in thy store's account I one must be,
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold, But my five wits, nor my five senses can
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee. Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Make but my name thy love, and love that still, Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,
And then thou lov'st me for my name is Will. Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
137 Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.
That they behold and see not what they see? 142
They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,
If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks, O but with mine, compare thou thine own state,
Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? That have profaned their scarlet ornaments,
Why should my heart think that a several plot, And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face? Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee,
In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, Root pity in thy heart that when it grows,
And to this false plague are they now transferred. Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
138 If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
When my love swears that she is made of truth, By self-example mayst thou be denied.
I do believe her though I know she lies, 143
That she might think me some untutored youth,Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch,One of her feathered creatures broke away,
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
Although she knows my days are past the best, In pursuit of the thing she would have stay:
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent,
But wherefore says she not she is unjust? To follow that which flies before her face:
And wherefore say not I that I am old? Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
O love's best habit is in seeming trust, So run'st thou after that which flies from thee,
And age in love, loves not to have years told. Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind,
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me:
And in our faults by lies we flattered be. And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind.
139 So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
O call not me to justify the wrong, If thou turn back and my loud crying still.
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, 144
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Use power with power, and slay me not by art, Which like two spirits do suggest me still,
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, The better angel is a man right fair:
Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might To win me soon to hell my female evil,
Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide? Tempteth my better angel from my side,
Let me excuse thee, ah my love well knows, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil:
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And therefore from my face she turns my foes, And whether that my angel be turned fiend,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Suspect I may, yet not directly tell,
Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, But being both from me both to each friend,
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. I guess one angel in another's hell.
140 Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt,
Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: 145
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
The manner of my pity-wanting pain. Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',
If I might teach thee wit better it were, To me that languished for her sake:
Though not to love, yet love to tell me so, But when she saw my woeful state,
As testy sick men when their deaths be near, Straight in her heart did mercy come,
No news but health from their physicians know. Chiding that tongue that ever sweet,
For if I should despair I should grow mad, Was used in giving gentle doom:
And in my madness might speak ill of thee, And taught it thus anew to greet:
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, 'I hate' she altered with an end,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. That followed it as gentle day,
That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Doth follow night who like a fiend
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. From heaven to hell is flown away.
141 'I hate', from hate away she threw,
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, And saved my life saying 'not you'.
For they in thee a thousand errors note, 146
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote. My sinful earth these rebel powers array,
Nor are mine cars with thy tongue's tune delighted, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited Why so large cost having so short a lease,
To any sensual feast with thee alone: Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms inheritors of this excess
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then soul live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more,
So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And death once dead, there's no more dying then.
147
My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please:
My reason the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest,
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.148
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight,
Or if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote,
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,
How can it? O how can love's eye be true,
That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I mistake my view,
The sun it self sees not, till heaven clears.
O cunning love, with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
149
Canst thou O cruel, say I love thee not,
When I against my self with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee when I forgot
Am of my self, all-tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon,
Nay if thou lour'st on me do I not spend
Revenge upon my self with present moan?
What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But love hate on for now I know thy mind,
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
150
O from what power hast thou this powerful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway,
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds,
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.
151
Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason,
My soul doth tell my body that he may,
Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason,
But rising at thy name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant prize, proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call,
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
152
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing,
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing:
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most,
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee:
And all my honest faith in thee is lost.
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness:
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see.
For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I,To swear against the truth so foul a be.
153
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep,
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground:
Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love,
A dateless lively heat still to endure,
And grew a seeting bath which yet men prove,
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure:
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast,
I sick withal the help of bath desired,
And thither hied a sad distempered guest.
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies,
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
154
The little Love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep,
Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand,
The fairest votary took up that fire,
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed,
And so the general of hot desire,
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
For men discased, but I my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
THE END
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1603
ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL
by William Shakespeare
Dramatis Personae
KING OF FRANCE
THE DUKE OF FLORENCE
BERTRAM, Count of Rousillon COUNTESS. Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father
LAFEU, an old lord In manners, as in shape! Thy blood and virtue
PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness
TWO FRENCH LORDS, serving with Bertram Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few,
STEWARD, Servant to the Countess of Rousillon Do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy
LAVACHE, a clown and Servant to the Countess of Rousillon A PAGE, Servant to the Rather in power than use, and keep thy friend
Countess Under thy own life's key; be check'd for silence,
of Rousillon But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, mother to Bertram That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
HELENA, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord,
A WIDOW OF FLORENCE. 'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
DIANA, daughter to the Widow Advise him.
VIOLENTA, neighbour and friend to the Widow LAFEU. He cannot want the best
MARIANA, neighbour and friend to the Widow That shall attend his love.
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, etc., French and Florentine COUNTESS. Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. Exit BERTRAM. The best wishes that can
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM be
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED forg'd in your thoughts be servants to you! [To HELENA] Be comfortable to my mother, your
BY PROJECT mistress, and make much of her.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. LAFEU. Farewell, pretty lady; you must hold the credit of your father. Exeunt BERTRAM and
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE LAFEU HELENA. O, were that all! I think not on my father;
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR And these great tears grace his remembrance more
YOUR OR OTHERS Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY. I have forgot him; my imagination
PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY SERVICE THAT Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
CHARGES FOR I am undone; there is no living, none,
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one
SCENE: That I should love a bright particular star
Rousillon; Paris; Florence; Marseilles And think to wed it, he is so above me.In his bright radiance and collateral light
ACT I. SCENE 1. Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black The hind that would be mated by the lion
COUNTESS. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. BERTRAM. And I in Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
going, To see him every hour; to sit and draw
madam, weep o'er my father's death anew; but I must attend his Majesty's command, to whom His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. In our heart's table-heart too capable
LAFEU. You shall find of the King a husband, madam; you, sir, a father. He that so Of every line and trick of his sweet favour.
generally is at all times good must of necessity hold his virtue to you, whose worthiness But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here?
COUNTESS. What hope is there of his Majesty's amendment? Enter PAROLLES
LAFEU. He hath abandon'd his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted [Aside] One that goes with him. I love him for his sake; And yet I know him a notorious
time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope liar,
by time. COUNTESS. This young gentlewoman had a father- O, that 'had,' how sad a passage Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
'tis!-whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch'd so far, would have Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him
made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the King's That they take place when virtue's steely bones
sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the King's disease. Looks bleak i' th' cold wind; withal, full oft we see
LAFEU. How call'd you the man you speak of, madam? Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
COUNTESS. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so- PAROLLES. Save you, fair queen!
Gerard de Narbon. HELENA. And you, monarch!
LAFEU. He was excellent indeed, madam; the King very lately spoke of him admiringly and PAROLLES. No.
mourningly; he was skilful enough to have liv'd still, if knowledge could be set up HELENA. And no.
against mortality. BERTRAM. What is it, my good lord, the King languishes of? LAFEU. A PAROLLES. Are you meditating on virginity?
fistula, my lord. HELENA. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question. Man is
BERTRAM. I heard not of it before. enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him?
LAFEU. I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de PAROLLES. Keep him out.
Narbon? HELENA. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak.
COUNTESS. His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my Unfold to us some warlike resistance. PAROLLES. There is none. Man, setting down before
overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises; her dispositions you, will undermine you and blow you up.
she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous HELENA. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! Is there no military
qualities, there commendations go with pity-they are virtues and traitors too. In her policy how virgins might blow up men? PAROLLES. Virginity being blown down, man will
they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her quicklier be blown up; marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made,
goodness. you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve
LAFEU. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got till
COUNTESS. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity by
father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood being once lost may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost. 'Tis too
from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no more, lest it be rather thought you cold a companion; away with't.
affect a sorrow than to haveHELENA. HELENA. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin.
I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. PAROLLES. There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on
LAFEU. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead: excessive grief the enemy to the the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience.
living. He that hangs himself is a virgin; virginity murders itself, and should be buried in
COUNTESS. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature.
BERTRAM. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so
LAFEU. How understand we that? 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 KING. The Florentines and Senoys are by th' ears;
but lose by't. Out with't. Within ten year it will make itself ten, which is a goodly Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
increase; and the principal itself not much the worse. Away with't. A braving war.
HELENA. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? PAROLLES. Let me see. Marry, FIRST LORD. So 'tis reported, sir.
ill to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the KING. Nay, 'tis most credible. We here receive it,
longer kept, the less worth. Off with't while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion, richly suited but With caution, that the Florentine will move us
unsuitable; just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now. Your date is For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend
better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek. And your virginity, your old Prejudicates the business, and would seem
virginity, is like one of our French wither'd pears: it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, To have us make denial.
'tis a wither'd pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a wither'd pear. Will you FIRST LORD. His love and wisdom,
anything with it? Approv'd so to your Majesty, may plead
HELENA. Not my virginity yet. For amplest credence.
There shall your master have a thousand loves, KING. He hath arm'd our answer,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, And Florence is denied before he comes;
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; To stand on either part.
His humble ambition, proud humility, SECOND LORD. It well may serve
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world For breathing and exploit.
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms KING. What's he comes here?
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall heI Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES
know not what he shall. God send him well! FIRST LORD. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord,
The court's a learning-place, and he is onePAROLLES. Young Bertram.
What one, i' faith? KING. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face;
HELENA. That I wish well. 'Tis pityPAROLLES. Frank nature, rather curious than in haste,
What's pity? Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
HELENA. That wishing well had not a body in't Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris.BERTRAM. My thanks and duty are your Majesty's.
Which might be felt; that we, the poorer born, KING. I would I had that corporal soundness now,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes,Might with effects of them follow our friends As when thy father and myself in friendship
And show what we alone must think, which never First tried our soldiership. He did look far
Returns us thanks. Into the service of the time, and was
Enter PAGE Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long;
PAGE. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. Exit PAGE PAROLLES. Little Helen, But on us both did haggish age steal on,
farewell; if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
HELENA. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. PAROLLES. Under Mars, To talk of your good father. In his youth
I. He had the wit which I can well observe
HELENA. I especially think, under Mars. To-day in our young lords; but they may jest
PAROLLES. Why under Man? Till their own scorn return to them unnoted
HELENA. The wars hath so kept you under that you must needs be born under Mars. Ere they can hide their levity in honour.
PAROLLES. When he was predominant. So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
HELENA. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were,
PAROLLES. Why think you so? His equal had awak'd them; and his honour,
HELENA. You go so much backward when you fight. Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
PAROLLES. That's for advantage. Exception bid him speak, and at this time
HELENA. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the composition that your His tongue obey'd his hand. Who were below him
valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. He us'd as creatures of another place;
PAROLLES. I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, so thou wilt be Making them proud of his humility
capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man
thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When Might be a copy to these younger times;
thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends. Get thee a Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now
good husband and use him as he uses thee. So, farewell. But goers backward.
Exit BERTRAM. His good remembrance, sir,
HELENA. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb;
Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated sky So in approof lives not his epitaph
Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull As in your royal speech.
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. KING. Would I were with him! He would always sayMethinks
What power is it which mounts my love so high, I hear him now; his plausive words
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To grow there, and to bear- 'Let me not live'-
To join like likes, and kiss like native things. This his good melancholy oft began,
Impossible be strange attempts to those On the catastrophe and heel of pastime,
That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose When it was out-'Let me not live' quoth he
What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
To show her merit that did miss her love? Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
The King's disease-my project may deceive me, All but new things disdain; whose judgments are
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. Exit Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies
ACT I. SCENE 2. Expire before their fashions.' This he wish'd.
Paris. The KING'S palace I, after him, do after him wish too,
Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters, and divers ATTENDANTS Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home,
I quickly were dissolved from my hive, There's yet one good in ten.'
To give some labourers room. COUNTESS. What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah. CLOWN. One good woman
SECOND LORD. You're loved, sir; in
They that least lend it you shall lack you first. ten, madam, which is a purifying o' th' song. Would God would serve the world so all the
KING. I fill a place, I know't. How long is't, Count, year! We'd find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth
Since the physician at your father's died? 'a! An we might have a good woman born before every blazing star, or at an earthquake,
He was much fam'd. 'twould mend the lottery well: a man may draw his heart out ere 'a pluck one.
BERTRAM. Some six months since, my lord. COUNTESS. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you. CLOWN. That man should
KING. If he were living, I would try him yetLend be
me an arm-the rest have worn me out at woman's command, and yet no hurt done! Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no
With several applications. Nature and sickness hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count; going, forsooth. The business is for Helen to come hither. Exit
My son's no dearer. COUNTESS. Well, now.
BERTRAM. Thank your Majesty. Exeunt [Flourish] STEWARD. I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. COUNTESS. Faith I do. Her
ACT I. SCENE 3. father bequeath'd her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make
Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace title to as much love as she finds. There is more owing her than is paid; and more shall
Enter COUNTESS, STEWARD, and CLOWN be paid her than she'll demand.
COUNTESS. I will now hear; what say you of this gentlewoman? STEWARD. Madam, the care STEWARD. Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wish'd me. Alone she was,
I and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; she thought, I dare vow for
have had to even your content I wish might be found in the calendar of my past her, they touch'd not any stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune,
endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, she said, was no goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no
when of ourselves we publish them. god, that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana no queen of
COUNTESS. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah. The complaints I have heard virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris'd without rescue in the first assault,
of or ransom afterward. This she deliver'd in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I
you I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness that I do not, for I know you lack not folly heard virgin exclaim in; which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; sithence,
to commit them and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. CLOWN. 'Tis not in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to know it.
unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. COUNTESS. Well, sir. COUNTESS. YOU have discharg'd this honestly; keep it to yourself. Many likelihoods
CLOWN. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are damn'd; inform'd me of this before, which hung so tott'ring in the balance that I could neither
but if I may have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I believe nor misdoubt. Pray you leave me. Stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for
will do as we may. COUNTESS. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? your honest care. I will speak with you further anon. Exit STEWARD
CLOWN. I do beg your good will in this case. Enter HELENA
COUNTESS. In what case? Even so it was with me when I was young.
CLOWN. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage; and I think I shall neverhave the If ever we are nature's, these are ours; this thorn
blessing of God till I have issue o' my body; for they say bames are blessings. Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong;
COUNTESS. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Our blood to us, this to our blood is born.
CLOWN. My poor body, madam, requires it. I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
go that the devil drives. Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth.By our remembrances of days foregone,
COUNTESS. Is this all your worship's reason? Such were our faults, or then we thought them none.
CLOWN. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. COUNTESS. May the Her eye is sick on't; I observe her now.
world HELENA. What is your pleasure, madam?
know them? COUNTESS. You know, Helen,
CLOWN. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, I am a mother to you.
indeed, I do marry that I may repent. COUNTESS. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. HELENA. Mine honourable mistress.
CLOWN. I am out o' friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. COUNTESS. Nay, a mother.
COUNTESS. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Why not a mother? When I said 'a mother,'
CLOWN. Y'are shallow, madam-in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which Methought you saw a serpent. What's in 'mother'
I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop. That you start at it? I say I am your mother,
If I be his cuckold, he's my drudge. He that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my And put you in the catalogue of those
flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that That were enwombed mine. 'Tis often seen
loves my flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds
could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon A native slip to us from foreign seeds.
the puritan and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts are sever'd in religion, You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan,
their heads are both one; they may jowl horns together like any deer i' th' herd. Yet I express to you a mother's care.
COUNTESS. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth'd and calumnious knave? CLOWN. A prophet I, God's mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood
madam; and I speak the truth the next way: To say I am thy mother? What's the matter,
For I the ballad will repeat, That this distempered messenger of wet,
Which men full true shall find: The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye?
Your marriage comes by destiny, Why, that you are my daughter?
Your cuckoo sings by kind. HELENA. That I am not.
COUNTESS. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more anon. STEWARD. May it please you, COUNTESS. I say I am your mother.
madam, that he bid Helen come to you. Of her I am to speak. HELENA. Pardon, madam.
COUNTESS. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean. The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother:
CLOWN. [Sings] I am from humble, he from honoured name;
'Was this fair face the cause' quoth she No note upon my parents, his all noble.
'Why the Grecians sacked Troy? My master, my dear lord he is; and I
Fond done, done fond, His servant live, and will his vassal die.
Was this King Priam's joy?' He must not be my brother.
With that she sighed as she stood, COUNTESS. Nor I your mother?
With that she sighed as she stood, HELENA. You are my mother, madam; would you wereSo
And gave this sentence then: that my lord your son were not my brotherIndeed
'Among nine bad if one be good, my mother! Or were you both our mothers,
Among nine bad if one be good, I care no more for than I do for heaven,
So I were not his sister. Can't no other,
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother?
COUNTESS. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law.
God shield you mean it not! 'daughter' and 'mother'
So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness. Now I see
The myst'ry of your loneliness, and find
Your salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'tis gross
You love my son; invention is asham'd,
Against the proclamation of thy passion,
To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true;
But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours
That in their kind they speak it; only sin
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue,
That truth should be suspected. Speak, is't so?
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew;
If it be not, forswear't; howe'er, I charge thee,
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
HELENA. Good madam, pardon me.
COUNTESS. Do you love my son?
HELENA. Your pardon, noble mistress.
COUNTESS. Love you my son?
HELENA. Do not you love him, madam?
COUNTESS. Go not about; my love hath in't a bond
Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose
The state of your affection; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.
HELENA. Then I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son.
My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love.
Be not offended, for it hurts not him
That he is lov'd of me; I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit,
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet in this captious and intenible sieveI 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 trulyTo
go to Paris?
HELENA. Madam, I had.
COUNTESS. Wherefore? Tell true.
HELENA. I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear.
You know my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading
And manifest experience had collected
For general sovereignty; and that he will'd me
In heedfull'st reservation to bestow them,
As notes whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note. Amongst the rest
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down,
To cure the desperate languishings whereof
The King is render'd lost.
COUNTESS. This was your motive
For Paris, was it? Speak.
HELENA. My lord your son made me to think of this,
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the King,
Had from the conversation of my thoughts
Haply been absent then.
COUNTESS. But think you, Helen,
If you should tender your supposed aid,
He would receive it? He and his physicians
Are of a mind: he, that they cannot help him;
They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowell'd of their doctrine, have let off
The danger to itself?
HELENA. There's something in't
More than my father's skill, which was the great'st
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall for my legacy be sanctified
By th' luckiest stars in heaven; and, would your honour But give me leave to try success,
I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his Grace's cure.
By such a day and hour.
COUNTESS. Dost thou believe't?
HELENA. Ay, madam, knowingly.
COUNTESS. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love,
Means and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court. I'll stay at home,
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt.
Be gone to-morrow; and be sure of this,
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. Exeunt
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ACT II. SCENE 1.
Paris. The KING'S palace
Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING with divers young LORDS taking leave for the
Florentine war; BERTRAM and PAROLLES; ATTENDANTS
KING. Farewell, young lords; these war-like principles
Do not throw from you. And you, my lords, farewell;
Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all,The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.
FIRST LORD. 'Tis our hope, sir,
After well-ent'red soldiers, to return
And find your Grace in health.
KING. No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart
Will not confess he owes the malady
That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen; let higher ItalyThose
bated that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy-see that you come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it; when
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you aloud. I say farewell.
SECOND LORD. Health, at your bidding, serve your Majesty! KING. Those girls of Italy,
take heed of them;
They say our French lack language to deny,
If they demand; beware of being captives
Before you serve.
BOTH. Our hearts receive your warnings.
KING. Farewell. [To ATTENDANTS] Come hither to me.
The KING retires attended FIRST LORD. O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us!
PAROLLES. 'Tis not his fault, the spark.
SECOND LORD. O, 'tis brave wars!
PAROLLES. Most admirable! I have seen those wars.
BERTRAM. I am commanded here and kept a coil with His Majesty seldom fears. I am Cressid's uncle,
'Too young' and next year' and "Tis too early.' That dare leave two together. Fare you well. Exit KING. Now, fair one, does your business
PAROLLES. An thy mind stand to 't, boy, steal away bravely. BERTRAM. I shall stay here follow us?
the forehorse to a smock, HELENA. Ay, my good lord.
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, Gerard de Narbon was my father,
Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn In what he did profess, well found.
But one to dance with. By heaven, I'll steal away. KING. I knew him.
FIRST LORD. There's honour in the theft. HELENA. The rather will I spare my praises towards him;
PAROLLES. Commit it, Count. Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death
SECOND LORD. I am your accessary; and so farewell. Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one,
BERTRAM. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur'd body. FIRST LORD. Farewell, Which, as the dearest issue of his practice,
Captain. And of his old experience th' only darling,
SECOND LORD. Sweet Monsieur Parolles! He bade me store up as a triple eye,
PAROLLES. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, Safer than mine own two, more dear. I have so:
good metals: you shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one Captain Spurio, with his And, hearing your high Majesty is touch'd
cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek; it was this very sword With that malignant cause wherein the honour
entrench'd it. Say to him I live; and observe his reports for me. FIRST LORD. We shall, Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power,
noble Captain. I come to tender it, and my appliance,
PAROLLES. Mars dote on you for his novices! Exeunt LORDS What will ye do? With all bound humbleness.
Re-enter the KING KING. We thank you, maiden;
BERTRAM. Stay; the King! But may not be so credulous of cure,
PAROLLES. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrain'd yourself When our most learned doctors leave us, and
within the list of too cold an adieu. Be more expressive to them; for they wear The congregated college have concluded
themselves in the cap of the time; there do muster true gait; eat, speak, and move, under That labouring art can never ransom nature
the influence of the most receiv'd star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are From her inaidable estate-I say we must not
to be followed. After them, and take a more dilated farewell. So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
BERTRAM. And I will do so. To prostitute our past-cure malady
PAROLLES. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. To empirics; or to dissever so
Exeunt BERTRAM and PAROLLES Our great self and our credit to esteem
Enter LAFEU A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
LAFEU. [Kneeling] Pardon, my lord, for me and for my tidings. KING. I'll fee thee to HELENA. My duty then shall pay me for my pains.
stand up. I will no more enforce mine office on you;
LAFEU. Then here's a man stands that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel'd, my Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
lord, to ask me mercy; A modest one to bear me back again.
And that at my bidding you could so stand up. KING. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful.
KING. I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I give
And ask'd thee mercy for't. As one near death to those that wish him live.
LAFEU. Good faith, across! But what at full I know, thou know'st no part;
But, my good lord, 'tis thus: will you be cur'd I knowing all my peril, thou no art.
Of your infirmity? HELENA. What I can do can do no hurt to try,
KING. No. Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy.
LAFEU. O, will you eat He that of greatest works is finisher
No grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will Oft does them by the weakest minister.
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown,
Could reach them: I have seen a medicine When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown
That's able to breathe life into a stone,Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary From simple sources, and great seas have dried
With spritely fire and motion; whose simple touch When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay, Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
To give great Charlemain a pen in's hand Where most it promises; and oft it hitsWhere hope is coldest, and despair most fits.
And write to her a love-line. KING. I must not hear thee. Fare thee well, kind maid;
KING. What her is this? Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid;
LAFEU. Why, Doctor She! My lord, there's one arriv'd, Proffers not took reap thanks for their reward.
If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour, HELENA. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd.
If seriously I may convey my thoughts It is not so with Him that all things knows,
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows;
With one that in her sex, her years, profession, But most it is presumption in us when
Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more The help of heaven we count the act of men.
Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent;
For that is her demand, and know her business? Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
That done, laugh well at me. I am not an impostor, that proclaim
KING. Now, good Lafeu, Myself against the level of mine aim;
Bring in the admiration, that we with the But know I think, and think I know most sure,
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine My art is not past power nor you past cure.
By wond'ring how thou took'st it. KING. Art thou so confident? Within what space
LAFEU. Nay, I'll fit you, Hop'st thou my cure?
And not be all day neither. Exit LAFEU KING. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. HELENA. The greatest Grace lending grace.
Re-enter LAFEU with HELENA Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
LAFEU. Nay, come your ways. Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring,
KING. This haste hath wings indeed. Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
LAFEU. Nay, come your ways; Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp,
This is his Majesty; say your mind to him. Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
A traitor you do look like; but such traitors Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass,
What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, learn.
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. COUNTESS. To be young again, if we could, I will be a fool in question, hoping to be the
KING. Upon thy certainty and confidence wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier?
What dar'st thou venture? CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-There's a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them.
HELENA. Tax of impudence, COUNTESS. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Thick,
A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, thick; spare not me.
Traduc'd by odious ballads; my maiden's name COUNTESS. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Nay,
Sear'd otherwise; ne worse of worst-extended put me to't, I warrant you.
With vilest torture let my life be ended. COUNTESS. You were lately whipp'd, sir, as I think.
KING. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Spare not me.
His powerful sound within an organ weak; COUNTESS. Do you cry 'O Lord, sir!' at your whipping, and 'spare not me'? Indeed your 'O
And what impossibility would slay Lord, sir!' is very sequent to your whipping. You would answer very well to a whipping,
In common sense, sense saves another way. if you were but bound to't.
Thy life is dear; for all that life can rate CLOWN. I ne'er had worse luck in my life in my 'O Lord, sir!' I see thing's may serve
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate: long, but not serve ever.
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all COUNTESS. I play the noble housewife with the time,
That happiness and prime can happy call. To entertain it so merrily with a fool.
Thou this to hazard needs must intimate CLOWN. O Lord, sir!-Why, there't serves well again.
Skill infinite or monstrous desperate. COUNTESS. An end, sir! To your business: give Helen this, And urge her to a present
Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, answer back;
That ministers thine own death if I die. Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. This is not much.
HELENA. If I break time, or flinch in property CLOWN. Not much commendation to them?
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die; COUNTESS. Not much employment for you. You understand me? CLOWN. Most fruitfully; I
And well deserv'd. Not helping, death's my fee; am
But, if I help, what do you promise me? there before my legs.
KING. Make thy demand. COUNTESS. Haste you again. Exeunt
HELENA. But will you make it even? ACT II. SCENE 3.
KING. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. Paris. The KING'S palace
HELENA. Then shalt thou give me with thy kingly hand Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES
What husband in thy power I will command. LAFEU. They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons to make modern
Exempted be from me the arrogance and familiar things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of
To choose from forth the royal blood of France, terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowledge when we should submit ourselves to
My low and humble name to propagate an unknown fear.
With any branch or image of thy state; PAROLLES. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our latter times.
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know BERTRAM. And so 'tis.
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. LAFEU. To be relinquish'd of the artistsPAROLLES.
KING. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd, So I say-both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd. LAFEU. Of all the learned and authentic fellowsPAROLLES.
So make the choice of thy own time, for I, Right; so I say.
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. LAFEU. That gave him out incurablePAROLLES.
More should I question thee, and more I must, Why, there 'tis; so say I too.
Though more to know could not be more to trust, LAFEU. Not to be help'dPAROLLES.
From whence thou cam'st, how tended on. But rest Right; as 'twere a man assur'd of aLAFEU.
Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. Uncertain life and sure death.
Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed PAROLLES. Just; you say well; so would I have said.
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. LAFEU. I may truly say it is a novelty to the world.
[Flourish. Exeunt] PAROLLES. It is indeed. If you will have it in showing, you shall read it in
ACT II. SCENE 2. what-do-ye-call't here.
Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace LAFEU. [Reading the ballad title] 'A Showing of a Heavenly Effect in an Earthly Actor.'
Enter COUNTESS and CLOWNCOUNTESS. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of PAROLLES. That's it; I would have said the very same.
your breeding. LAFEU. Why, your dolphin is not lustier. 'Fore me, I speak in respectPAROLLES.
CLOWN. I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. I know my business is but to the Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange; that is the brief
court. and the tedious of it; and he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge it
COUNTESS. To the court! Why, what place make you special, when you put off that with such to be theLAFEU.Very hand of heaven.
contempt? But to the court! PAROLLES. Ay; so I say.
CLOWN. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it off at LAFEU. In a most weakPAROLLES.
court. He that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss his hand, and say nothing, has And debile minister, great power, great transcendence;
neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such a fellow, to say precisely, were not which should, indeed, give us a further use to be made than alone the recov'ry of the
for the court; but for me, I have an answer will serve all men. COUNTESS. Marry, that's a King, as to beLAFEU.
bountiful answer that fits all questions. CLOWN. It is like a barber's chair, that fits Generally thankful.
all buttocks-the pin buttock, the quatch buttock, the brawn buttock, or any buttock. Enter KING, HELENA, and ATTENDANTS
COUNTESS. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? PAROLLES. I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the King. LAFEU. Lustig, as the
CLOWN. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French crown for your Dutchman says. I'll like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head. Why, he's
taffety punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a able to lead her a coranto.
morris for Mayday, as the nail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean PAROLLES. Mort du vinaigre! Is not this Helen?
to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's mouth; nay, as the pudding to his LAFEU. 'Fore God, I think so.
skin. KING. Go, call before me all the lords in court.
COUNTESS. Have you, I, say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? Exit an ATTENDANT Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side;
CLOWN. From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any question. And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
COUNTESS. It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. Thou has repeal'd, a second time receive
CLOWN. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it. Here The confirmation of my promis'd gift,
it is, and all that belongs to't. Ask me if I am a courtier: it shall do you no harm to Which but attends thy naming.
Enter three or four LORDS A poor physician's daughter-thou dislik'st
Fair maid, send forth thine eye. This youthful parcel Of virtue for the name; but do not so.
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, From lowest place when virtuous things proceed,
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice The place is dignified by the doer's deed;
I have to use. Thy frank election make; Where great additions swell's, and virtue none,
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. It is a dropsied honour. Good alone
HELENA. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress Is good without a name. Vileness is so:
Fall, when love please. Marry, to each but one! The property by what it is should go,
LAFEU. I'd give bay Curtal and his furniture Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair;
My mouth no more were broken than these boys', In these to nature she's immediate heir;
And writ as little beard. And these breed honour. That is honour's scorn
KING. Peruse them well. Which challenges itself as honour's born
Not one of those but had a noble father. And is not like the sire. Honours thrive
HELENA. Gentlemen, When rather from our acts we them derive
Heaven hath through me restor'd the King to health. Than our fore-goers. The mere word's a slave,
ALL. We understand it, and thank heaven for you. Debauch'd on every tomb, on every grave
HELENA. I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest A lying trophy; and as oft is dumb
That I protest I simply am a maid. Where dust and damn'd oblivion is the tomb
Please it your Majesty, I have done already. Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said?
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me: If thou canst like this creature as a maid,
'We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, I can create the rest. Virtue and she
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever, Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me.
We'll ne'er come there again.' BERTRAM. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do 't.
KING. Make choice and see: KING. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. HELENA. That you are well
Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. restor'd, my lord, I'm glad.
HELENA. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, Let the rest go.
And to imperial Love, that god most high, KING. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
Do my sighs stream. Sir, will you hear my suit? I must produce my power. Here, take her hand,
FIRST LORD. And grant it. Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift,
HELENA. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. That dost in vile misprision shackle up
LAFEU. I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. My love and her desert; that canst not dream
HELENA. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, We, poising us in her defective scale,
Before I speak, too threat'ningly replies. Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know
Love make your fortunes twenty times above It is in us to plant thine honour where
Her that so wishes, and her humble love! We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt;
SECOND LORD. No better, if you please. Obey our will, which travails in thy good;
HELENA. My wish receive, Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave. Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
LAFEU. Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I'd have them whipt; or I would Which both thy duty owes and our power claims;
send them to th' Turk to make eunuchs of. HELENA. Be not afraid that I your hand should Or I will throw thee from my care for ever
take; Into the staggers and the careless lapse
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake. Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate
Blessing upon your vows; and in your bed Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! Without all terms of pity. Speak; thine answer.
LAFEU. These boys are boys of ice; they'll none have her. Sure, they are bastards to the BERTRAM. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit
English; the French ne'er got 'em. HELENA. You are too young, too happy, and too good, My fancy to your eyes. When I consider
To make yourself a son out of my blood. What great creation and what dole of honour
FOURTH LORD. Fair one, I think not so. Flies where you bid it, I find that she which late
LAFEU. There's one grape yet; I am sure thy father drunk wine-but if thou be'st not an Was in my nobler thoughts most base is now
ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. The praised of the King; who, so ennobled,
HELENA. [To BERTRAM] I dare not say I take you; but I give Me and my service, ever whilst Is as 'twere born so.
I live, KING. Take her by the hand,
Into your guiding power. This is the man. And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise
KING. Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she's thy wife. BERTRAM. My wife, my liege! Ishall A counterpoise, if not to thy estate
beseech your Highness, In such a business give me leave to use A balance more replete.
The help of mine own eyes. BERTRAM. I take her hand.
KING. Know'st thou not, Bertram, KING. Good fortune and the favour of the King
What she has done for me? Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony
BERTRAM. Yes, my good lord; Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
But never hope to know why I should marry her. And be perform'd to-night. The solemn feastShall more attend upon the coming space,
KING. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my sickly bed. Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,
BERTRAM. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down Thy love's to me religious; else, does err.
Must answer for your raising? I know her well: Exeunt all but LAFEU and PAROLLES who stay behind,
She had her breeding at my father's charge. commenting of this wedding
A poor physician's daughter my wife! Disdain LAFEU. Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you.
Rather corrupt me ever! PAROLLES. Your pleasure, sir?
KING. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her, the which LAFEU. Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. PAROLLES. Recantation! My
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, Lord! my master!
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, LAFEU. Ay; is it not a language I speak?
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off PAROLLES. A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. My
In differences so mighty. If she be master!
All that is virtuous-save what thou dislik'st, LAFEU. Are you companion to the Count Rousillon?
PAROLLES. To any count; to all counts; to what is man. Shall furnish me to those Italian fields
LAFEU. To what is count's man: count's master is of another style. PAROLLES. You are too Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife
old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. To the dark house and the detested wife.
LAFEU. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring thee. PAROLLES. Will this capriccio hold in thee, art sure?
PAROLLES. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. BERTRAM. Go with me to my chamber and advise me.
LAFEU. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou didst make I'll send her straight away. To-morrow
tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass. Yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.
did manifoldly dissuade me from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now PAROLLES. Why, these balls bound; there's noise in it. 'Tis hard: A young man married is
found thee; when I lose thee again I care not; yet art thou good for nothing but taking a man that's marr'd.
up; and that thou'rt scarce worth. Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go.
PAROLLES. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon theeLAFEU. Do not plunge thyself The King has done you wrong; but, hush, 'tis so. Exeunt
too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; which if-Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! ACT II. SCENE 4.
So, my good window of lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look Paris. The KING'S palace
through thee. Give me thy hand. Enter HELENA and CLOWN
PAROLLES. My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. HELENA. My mother greets me kindly; is she well?
LAFEU. Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. CLOWN. She is not well, but yet she has her health; she's very merry, but yet she is not
PAROLLES. I have not, my lord, deserv'd it. well. But thanks be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i' th' world; but yet she
LAFEU. Yes, good faith, ev'ry dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. is not well. HELENA. If she be very well, what does she ail that she's not very well?
PAROLLES. Well, I shall be wiser. CLOWN. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for two things. HELENA. What two things?
LAFEU. Ev'n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o' th' contrary. If CLOWN. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! The other, that she's
ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of in earth, from whence God send her quickly!
thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, Enter PAROLLES
that I may say in the default 'He is a man I know.' PAROLLES. My lord, you do me most PAROLLES. Bless you, my fortunate lady!
insupportable vexation. LAFEU. I would it were hell pains for thy sake, and my poor doing HELENA. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortunes.
eternal; for doing I am past, as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. PAROLLES. You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them still. O, my
Exit PAROLLES. Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me: scurvy, old, knave, how does my old lady?
filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of authority. I'll CLOWN. So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you say.
beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any convenience, an he were double and PAROLLES. Why, I say nothing.
double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age than I would have ofI' ll beat him, and CLOWN. Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man's tongue shakes out his master's
if I could but meet him again. undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a
Re-enter LAFEU great part of your title, which is within a very little of nothing.
LAFEU. Sirrah, your lord and master's married; there's news for you; you have a new PAROLLES. Away! th'art a knave.
mistress. CLOWN. You should have said, sir, 'Before a knave th'art a knave'; that's 'Before me
PAROLLES. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of your th'art a knave.' This had been truth, sir. PAROLLES. Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have
wrongs. He is my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. found thee. CLOWN. Did you find me in yourself, sir, or were you taught to find me? The
LAFEU. Who? God? search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to the world's
PAROLLES. Ay, sir. pleasure and the increase of laughter.
LAFEU. The devil it is that's thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o' this PAROLLES. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed.
fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other servants so? Thou wert best set thy Madam, my lord will go away to-night:
lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd A very serious business calls on him.
beat thee. Methink'st thou art a general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think The great prerogative and rite of love,
thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge;
PAROLLES. This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. But puts it off to a compell'd restraint;
LAFEU. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate; Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets,
you are a vagabond, and no true traveller; you are more saucy with lords and honourable Which they distil now in the curbed time,
personages than the commission of your birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy
worth another word, else I'd call you knave. I leave you. Exit And pleasure drown the brim.
Enter BERTRAM HELENA. What's his else?
PAROLLES. Good, very, good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it be conceal'd awhile. PAROLLES. That you will take your instant leave o' th' King, And make this haste as your
BERTRAM. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! own good proceeding,
PAROLLES. What's the matter, sweetheart? Strength'ned with what apology you think
BERTRAM. Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, May make it probable need.
I will not bed her. HELENA. What more commands he?
PAROLLES. What, what, sweetheart? PAROLLES. That, having this obtain'd, you presently
BERTRAM. O my Parolles, they have married me! Attend his further pleasure.
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. HELENA. In everything I wait upon his will.
PAROLLES. France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits PAROLLES. I shall report it so.
The tread of a man's foot. To th' wars! HELENA. I pray you. Exit PAROLLES Come, sirrah.
BERTRAM. There's letters from my mother; what th' import is I know not yet.PAROLLES. Ay, Exeunt
that would be known. To th' wars, my boy, to th' ACT II. SCENE 5.
wars! Paris. The KING'S palace
He wears his honour in a box unseen Enter LAFEU and BERTRAM
That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, LAFEU. But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. BERTRAM. Yes, my lord, and of
Spending his manly marrow in her arms, very valiant approof.
Which should sustain the bound and high curvet LAFEU. You have it from his own deliverance.
Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions! BERTRAM. And by other warranted testimony.
France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; LAFEU. Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting. BERTRAM. I do assure
Therefore, to th' war! you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and accordingly valiant.
BERTRAM. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house, LAFEU. I have then sinn'd against his experience and transgress'd against his valour; and
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here he
And wherefore I am fled; write to the King comes; I pray you make us friends; I will pursue the amity
That which I durst not speak. His present gift Enter PAROLLES
PAROLLES. [To BERTRAM] These things shall be done, sir. LAFEU. Pray you, sir, who's his HELENA. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
tailor? BERTRAM. Where are my other men, monsieur?
PAROLLES. Sir! Farewell! Exit HELENA Go thou toward home, where I will never come
LAFEU. O, I know him well. Ay, sir; he, sir, 's a good workman, a very good tailor. Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.
BERTRAM. [Aside to PAROLLES] Is she gone to the King? Away, and for our flight.
PAROLLES. She is. PAROLLES. Bravely, coragio! Exeunt
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how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure. ACT III. SCENE 1.
LAFEU. You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt Florence. The DUKE's palace
into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, attended; two
residence. FRENCH LORDS, with a TROOP OF SOLDIERS
BERTRAM. It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. DUKE. So that, from point to point, now have you hear
LAFEU. And shall do so ever, though I took him at's prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and The fundamental reasons of this war;
believe this of me: there can be no kernal in this light nut; the soul of this man is his Whose great decision hath much blood let forth
clothes; trust him not in matter of heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know And more thirsts after.
their natures. Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken better of you than you have or will to FIRST LORD. Holy seems the quarrel
deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. Exit PAROLLES. An idle lord, I Upon your Grace's part; black and fearful
swear. On the opposer.
BERTRAM. I think so. DUKE. Therefore we marvel much our cousin France
PAROLLES. Why, do you not know him? Would in so just a business shut his bosom
BERTRAM. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech Against our borrowing prayers.
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. SECOND LORD. Good my lord,
Enter HELENA The reasons of our state I cannot yield,
HELENA. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, But like a common and an outward man
Spoke with the King, and have procur'd his leave That the great figure of a council frames
For present parting; only he desires By self-unable motion; therefore dare not
Some private speech with you. Say what I think of it, since I have found
BERTRAM. I shall obey his will. Myself in my incertain grounds to fail
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, As often as I guess'd.
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does DUKE. Be it his pleasure.
The ministration and required office FIRST LORD. But I am sure the younger of our nature,
On my particular. Prepar'd I was not That surfeit on their ease, will day by day
For such a business; therefore am I found Come here for physic.
So much unsettled. This drives me to entreat you DUKE. Welcome shall they be
That presently you take your way for home, And all the honours that can fly from us
And rather muse than ask why I entreat you; Shall on them settle. You know your places well;
For my respects are better than they seem, When better fall, for your avails they fell.
And my appointments have in them a need To-morrow to th' field. Flourish. Exeunt
Greater than shows itself at the first view ACT III. SCENE 2.
To you that know them not. This to my mother. Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
[Giving a letter] 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so Enter COUNTESS and CLOWN
I leave you to your wisdom. COUNTESS. It hath happen'd all as I would have had it, save that he comes not along with
HELENA. Sir, I can nothing say her.
But that I am your most obedient servant. CLOWN. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man.
BERTRAM. Come, come, no more of that. COUNTESS. By what observance, I pray you?
HELENA. And ever shallWith true observance seek to eke out that CLOWN. Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask questions
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this trick of melancholy sold agoodly
To equal my great fortune. manor for a song.
BERTRAM. Let that go. COUNTESS. Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come.
My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home. [Opening a letter] CLOWN. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old ling and
HELENA. Pray, sir, your pardon. our Isbels o' th' country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o' th' court.
BERTRAM. Well, what would you say? The brains of my Cupid's knock'd out; and I begin to love, as an old man loves money,
HELENA. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe, with no stomach. COUNTESS. What have we here?
Nor dare I say 'tis mine, and yet it is; CLOWN. E'en that you have there. Exit COUNTESS. [Reads] 'I have sent you a
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal daughter-in-law; she hath recovered the King and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded
What law does vouch mine own. her; and sworn to make the "not" eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it before
BERTRAM. What would you have? the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a long distance. My
HELENA. Something; and scarce so much; nothing, indeed. duty to you.
I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Your unfortunate son,
Faith, yes: BERTRAM.'
Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss. This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
BERTRAM. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. To fly the favours of so good a king,
To pluck his indignation on thy head Will you draw near? Exeunt COUNTESS and GENTLEMEN HELENA. 'Till I have no wife, I
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous have
For the contempt of empire. nothing in France.'
Re-enter CLOWN Nothing in France until he has no wife!
CLOWN. O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young lady. Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France
COUNTESS. What is the -matter? Then hast thou all again. Poor lord! is't
CLOWN. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not be kill'd That chase thee from thy country, and expose
so soon as I thought he would. Those tender limbs of thine to the event
COUNTESS. Why should he be kill'd? Of the non-sparing war? And is it I
CLOWN. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does the danger is in standing to That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
't; that's the loss of men, though it be the getting of children. Here they come will Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
tell you more. For my part, I only hear your son was run away. Exit Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers,
Enter HELENA and the two FRENCH GENTLEMEN That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Save you, good madam. Fly with false aim; move the still-piecing air,
HELENA. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Do not say so. Whoever shoots at him, I set him there;
COUNTESS. Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemenI Whoever charges on his forward breast,
have felt so many quirks of joy and grief I am the caitiff that do hold him to't;
That the first face of neither, on the start, And though I kill him not, I am the cause
Can woman me unto 't. Where is my son, I pray you? His death was so effected. Better 'twere
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Madam, he's gone to serve the Duke of Florence. We met him I met the ravin lion when he roar'd
thitherward; With sharp constraint of hunger; better 'twere
for thence we came, That all the miseries which nature owes
And, after some dispatch in hand at court, Were mine at once. No; come thou home, Rousillon,
Thither we bend again. Whence honour but of danger wins a scar,
HELENA. Look on this letter, madam; here's my passport. As oft it loses all. I will be gone.
[Reads] 'When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and My being here it is that holds thee hence.
show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband; but in Shall I stay here to do 't? No, no, although
such a "then" I write a "never." The air of paradise did fan the house,
This is a dreadful sentence. And angels offic'd all. I will be gone,
COUNTESS. Brought you this letter, gentlemen? That pitiful rumour may report my flight
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam; To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day.
And for the contents' sake are sorry for our pains. For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. Exit
COUNTESS. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer; ACT III. SCENE 3.
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, Florence. Before the DUKE's palace
Thou robb'st me of a moiety. He was my son; Flourish. Enter the DUKE OF FLORENCE, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, SOLDIERS, drum and
But I do wash his name out of my blood, trumpets
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? DUKE. The General of our Horse thou art; and we,
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam. Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
COUNTESS. And to be a soldier? Upon thy promising fortune.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Such is his noble purpose; and, believe 't, The Duke will lay upon him BERTRAM. Sir, it is
all the honour A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet
That good convenience claims. We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
COUNTESS. Return you thither? To th' extreme edge of hazard.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. HELENA. [Reads] 'Till I DUKE. Then go thou forth;
have no wife, I have nothing in France.' 'Tis bitter. And Fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
COUNTESS. Find you that there? As thy auspicious mistress!
HELENA. Ay, madam. BERTRAM. This very day,
SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which his heart was not Great Mars, I put myself into thy file;
consenting to. Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
COUNTESS. Nothing in France until he have no wife! A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Exeunt
There's nothing here that is too good for him ACT III. SCENE 4.
But only she; and she deserves a lord Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, Enter COUNTESS and STEWARD
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? COUNTESS. Alas! and would you take the letter of her?
SECOND GENTLEMAN. A servant only, and a gentleman Might you not know she would do as she has done
Which I have sometime known.COUNTESS. Parolles, was it not? By sending me a letter? Read it again.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Ay, my good lady, he. STEWARD. [Reads] 'I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone. Ambitious love hath so in
COUNTESS. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. meoffended
My son corrupts a well-derived nature That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon,
With his inducement. With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Indeed, good lady, Write, write, that from the bloody course of war
The fellow has a deal of that too much My dearest master, your dear son, may hie.
Which holds him much to have. Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far
COUNTESS. Y'are welcome, gentlemen. His name with zealous fervour sanctify.
I will entreat you, when you see my son, His taken labours bid him me forgive;
To tell him that his sword can never win I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth
The honour that he loses. More I'll entreat you From courtly friends, with camping foes to live,
Written to bear along. Where death and danger dogs the heels of worth.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. We serve you, madam, He is too good and fair for death and me;
In that and all your worthiest affairs. Whom I myself embrace to set him free.'
COUNTESS. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. COUNTESS. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! Rinaldo, you did never lack
advice so much He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her, As 'tis reported, for the King had married him
I could have well diverted her intents, Against his liking. Think you it is so?
Which thus she hath prevented. HELENA. Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady.
STEWARD. Pardon me, madam; DIANA. There is a gentleman that serves the Count
If I had given you this at over-night, Reports but coarsely of her.
She might have been o'er ta'en; and yet she writes HELENA. What's his name?
Pursuit would be but vain. DIANA. Monsieur Parolles.
COUNTESS. What angel shall HELENA. O, I believe with him,
Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive, In argument of praise, or to the worth
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear Of the great Count himself, she is too mean
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath To have her name repeated; all her deserving
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, Is a reserved honesty, and that
To this unworthy husband of his wife; I have not heard examin'd.
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth DIANA. Alas, poor lady!
That he does weigh too light. My greatest grief, 'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. Of a detesting lord.
Dispatch the most convenient messenger. WIDOW. I sweet, good creature, wheresoe'er she is
When haply he shall hear that she is gone Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her
He will return; and hope I may that she, A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, HELENA. How do you mean?
Led hither by pure love. Which of them both May be the amorous Count solicits her
Is dearest to me I have no skill in sense In the unlawful purpose.
To make distinction. Provide this messenger. WIDOW. He does, indeed;
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak; And brokes with all that can in such a suit
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. Exeunt Corrupt the tender honour of a maid;
ACT III. SCENE 5. But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
Without the walls of Florence In honestest defence.
A tucket afar off. Enter an old WIDOW OF FLORENCE, her daughter DIANA, VIOLENTA, and Enter, with drum and colours, BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and the
MARIANA, with other CITIZENS whole ARMY
WIDOW. Nay, come; for if they do approach the city we shall lose all the sight. MARIANA. The gods forbid else!
DIANA. They say the French count has done most honourable service. WIDOW. It is reported WIDOW. So, now they come.
that he has taken their great'st commander; and that with his own hand he slew the Duke's That is Antonio, the Duke's eldest son;
brother. [Tucket] We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way. Hark! you may That, Escalus.
know by their trumpets. HELENA. Which is the Frenchman?
MARIANA. Come, let's return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. Well, DIANA. HeThat
Diana, take heed of this French earl; the honour of a maid is her name, and no legacy is with the plume; 'tis a most gallant fellow.
so rich as honesty. I would he lov'd his wife; if he were honester
WIDOW. I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his He were much goodlier. Is't not a handsome gentleman?
companion. HELENA. I like him well.
MARIANA. I know that knave, hang him! one Parolles; a filthy officer he is in those DIANA. 'Tis pity he is not honest. Yond's that same knave That leads him to these places;
suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana: their promises, enticements, were I his lady
oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not the things they go under; many a I would poison that vile rascal.
maid hath been seduced by them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the HELENA. Which is he?
wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they are limed DIANA. That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy? HELENA. Perchance he's hurt
with the twigs that threatens them. I hope I need not to advise you further; but I hope i' th' battle.
your own grace will keep you where you are, though there were no further danger known but PAROLLES. Lose our drum! well.
the modesty which is so lost. DIANA. You shall not need to fear me. MARIANA. He's shrewdly vex'd at something.
Enter HELENA in the dress of a pilgrim Look, he has spied us.
WIDOW. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house: thither WIDOW. Marry, hang you!
they send one another. I'll question her. God save you, pilgrim! Whither are bound? MARIANA. And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier!
HELENA. To Saint Jaques le Grand. Exeunt BERTRAM, PAROLLES, and ARMY WIDOW. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? bring
WIDOW. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. you Where you shall host. Of enjoin'd penitents
HELENA. Is this the way? There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
[A march afar] WIDOW. Ay, marry, is't. Hark you! They come this way. Already at my house.
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, HELENA. I humbly thank you.
But till the troops come by, Please it this matron and this gentle maid
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd;The rather for I think I know your hostess To eat with us to-night; the charge and thanking
As ample as myself. Shall be for me, and, to requite you further,
HELENA. Is it yourself? I will bestow some precepts of this virgin,Worthy the note.
WIDOW. If you shall please so, pilgrim. BOTH. We'll take your offer kindly. Exeunt
HELENA. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. ACT III. SCENE 6.
WIDOW. You came, I think, from France? Camp before Florence
HELENA. I did so. Enter BERTRAM, and the two FRENCH LORDS
WIDOW. Here you shall see a countryman of yours SECOND LORD. Nay, good my lord, put him to't; let him have his way. FIRST LORD. If your
That has done worthy service. lordship find him not a hiding, hold me no more in your respect.
HELENA. His name, I pray you. SECOND LORD. On my life, my lord, a bubble.
DIANA. The Count Rousillon. Know you such a one? BERTRAM. Do you think I am so far deceived in him?
HELENA. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; SECOND LORD. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, but
His face I know not. to speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar,
DIANA. What some'er he is, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality worthy your lordship's
entertainment. FIRST LORD. With all my heart, my lord. Exeunt
FIRST LORD. It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which he hath ACT III. SCENE 7.
not, he might at some great and trusty business in a main danger fail you. Florence. The WIDOW'S house
BERTRAM. I would I knew in what particular action to try him. FIRST LORD. None better Enter HELENA and WIDOW
than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake to do. HELENA. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
SECOND LORD. I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise him; such I will have I know not how I shall assure you further
whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy. We will bind and hoodwink him so that he But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
shall suppose no other but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversaries when we WIDOW. Though my estate be fall'n, I was well born,
bring him to our own tents. Be but your lordship present at his examination; if he do Nothing acquainted with these businesses;
not, for the promise of his life and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to And would not put my reputation now
betray you and deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, and that with the In any staining act.
divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust my judgment in anything. HELENA. Nor would I wish you.
FIRST LORD. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a FIRST give me trust the Count he is my husband,
stratagem for't. When your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, and to what And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken
metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you give him not John Drum's Is so from word to word; and then you cannot,
entertainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. By the good aid that I of you shall borrow,
Enter PAROLLES Err in bestowing it.
SECOND LORD. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design; let him WIDOW. I should believe you;
fetch off his drum in any hand. For you have show'd me that which well approves
BERTRAM. How now, monsieur! This drum sticks sorely in your disposition. Y'are great in fortune.
FIRST LORD. A pox on 't; let it go; 'tis but a drum. HELENA. Take this purse of gold,
PAROLLES. But a drum! Is't but a drum? A drum so lost! There was excellent command: to And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend our own soldiers! Which I will over-pay and pay again
FIRST LORD. That was not to be blam'd in the command of the service; it was a disaster of When I have found it. The Count he woos your daughter
war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had been there to command. Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
BERTRAM. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success. Resolv'd to carry her. Let her in fine consent,
Some dishonour we had in the loss of that drum; but it is not to be recovered. As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
PAROLLES. It might have been recovered. Now his important blood will nought deny
BERTRAM. It might, but it is not now. That she'll demand. A ring the County wears
PAROLLES. It is to be recovered. But that the merit of service is seldom attributed to That downward hath succeeded in his house
the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or another, or 'hic jacet.' From son to son some four or five descents
BERTRAM. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, monsieur. If you think your mystery in Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds
stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire,
magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit. To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
If you speed well in it, the Duke shall both speak of it and extend to you what further Howe'er repented after.
becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of our worthiness. WIDOW. Now I see
PAROLLES. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. The bottom of your purpose.
BERTRAM. But you must not now slumber in it. HELENA. You see it lawful then. It is no more
PAROLLES. I'll about it this evening; and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal preparation; and by midnight Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter;
look to hear further from me. In fine, delivers me to fill the time,
BERTRAM. May I be bold to acquaint his Grace you are gone about it? PAROLLES. I know not Herself most chastely absent. After this,
what the success will be, my lord, but the attempt I vow. To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
BERTRAM. I know th' art valiant; and, to the of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. To what is pass'd already.
Farewell. WIDOW. I have yielded.
PAROLLES. I love not many words. Exit SECOND LORD. No more than a fish loves water. Is Instruct my daughter how she shall persever,
not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so confidently seems to undertake this business, That time and place with this deceit so lawful
which he knows is not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damn'd than to May prove coherent. Every night he comes
do 't. With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd
FIRST LORD. You do not know him, my lord, as we do. Certain it is that he will steal To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us
himself into a man's favour, and for a week escape a great deal of discoveries; but when To chide him from our eaves, for he persists
you find him out, you have him ever after. As if his life lay on 't.
BERTRAM. Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does HELENA. Why then to-night
address himself unto? Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed,
SECOND LORD. None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two or Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed,
three probable lies. But we have almost emboss'd him. You shall see his fall to-night; And lawful meaning in a lawful act;
for indeed he is not for your lordship's respect. Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact.
FIRST LORD. We'll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first smok'd But let's about it. Exeunt
by the old Lord Lafeu. When his disguise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat you shall <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
find him; which you shall see this very night. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
SECOND LORD. I must go look my twigs; he shall be caught. BERTRAM. Your brother, he BY PROJECT
shallgo along with me. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
SECOND LORD. As't please your lordship. I'll leave you. Exit BERTRAM. Now will I lead you ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
to the house, and show you READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
The lass I spoke of. YOUR OR OTHERS
FIRST LORD. But you say she's honest. PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USEDCOMMERCIALLY.
BERTRAM. That's all the fault. I spoke with her but once, And found her wondrous cold; PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY SERVICE THAT
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Tokens and letters which she did re-send; ACT IV. SCENE 1.
And this is all I have done. She's a fair creature; Without the Florentine camp
Will you go see her? 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 Exit, PAROLLES guarded. A short alarum within SECOND LORD. Go, tell the Count Rousillon
him, and my brother
speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it not yourselves, no We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled
matter; for we must not seem to understand him, unless some one among us, whom we must Till we do hear from them.
produce for an interpreter. SECOND SOLDIER. Captain, I will.
FIRST SOLDIER. Good captain, let me be th' interpreter. SECOND LORD. 'A will betray us all unto ourselvesInform
SECOND LORD. Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice? FIRST SOLDIER. No, on that.
sir, SECOND SOLDIER. So I will, sir.
I warrant you. SECOND LORD. Till then I'll keep him dark and safely lock'd.
SECOND LORD. But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again? FIRST SOLDIER. Exeunt
E'en ACT IV. SCENE 2.
such as you speak to me. Florence. The WIDOW'S house
SECOND LORD. He must think us some band of strangers i' th' adversary's entertainment. Enter BERTRAM and DIANA
Now he hath a smack of all BERTRAM. They told me that your name was Fontibell.
neighbouring languages, therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to DIANA. No, my good lord, Diana.
know what we speak one to another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our purpose: BERTRAM. Titled goddess;
choughs' language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, interpreter, you must seem And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,
very politic. But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to In your fine frame hath love no quality?
return and swear the lies he forges. If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,
Enter PAROLLES You are no maiden, but a monument;
PAROLLES. Ten o'clock. Within these three hours 'twill be time enough to go home. What When you are dead, you should be such a one
shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that carries it. They begin As you are now, for you are cold and stern;
to smoke me; and disgraces have of late knock'd to often at my door. I find my tongue is And now you should be as your mother was
too foolhardy; but my heart hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not When your sweet self was got.
daring the reports of my tongue. DIANA. She then was honest.
SECOND LORD. This is the first truth that e'er thine own tongue was guilty of. BERTRAM. So should you be.
PAROLLES. What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, being not DIANA. No.
ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such purpose? I must give myself some My mother did but duty; such, my lord,
hurts, and say I got them in exploit. Yet slight ones will not carry it. They will say As you owe to your wife.
'Came you off with so little?' And great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the BERTRAM. No more o'that!
instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butterwoman's mouth, and buy myself another of I prithee do not strive against my vows.
Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. I was compell'd to her; but I love the
SECOND LORD. Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
PAROLLES. I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the breaking of my Do thee all rights of service.
Spanish sword. DIANA. Ay, so you serve us
SECOND LORD. We cannot afford you so. Till we serve you; but when you have our roses
PAROLLES. Or the baring of my beard; and to say it was in stratagem. You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,
SECOND LORD. 'Twould not do. And mock us with our bareness.
PAROLLES. Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripp'd. SECOND LORD. Hardly serve. BERTRAM. How have I sworn!
PAROLLES. Though I swore I leap'd from the window of the citadelSECOND LORD. How DIANA. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,
deep? But the plain single vow that is vow'd true.
PAROLLES. Thirty fathom. What is not holy, that we swear not by,
SECOND LORD. Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. PAROLLES. I would I But take the High'st to witness. Then, pray you, tell me: If I should swear by Jove's
had any drum of the enemy's; I would swear I recover'd it. great attributes
SECOND LORD. You shall hear one anon. [Alarum within] PAROLLES. A drum now of the I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths
enemy's! When I did love you ill? This has no holding,
SECOND LORD. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. To swear by him whom I protest to love
ALL. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo. That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths
PAROLLES. O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes. Are words and poor conditions, but unseal'dAt
[They blindfold him] FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos thromuldo boskos. least in my opinion.
PAROLLES. I know you are the Muskos' regiment, BERTRAM. Change it, change it;
And I shall lose my life for want of language. Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy;
If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch, And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts
Italian, or French, let him speak to me; That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,
I'll discover that which shall undo the Florentine. But give thyself unto my sick desires,
FIRST SOLDIER. Boskos vauvado. I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerely- Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever
bonto, My love as it begins shall so persever.
sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards are at thy bosom. DIANA. I see that men make ropes in such a scarre
PAROLLES. O! That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
FIRST SOLDIER. O, pray, pray, pray! Manka revania dulche. SECOND LORD. Oscorbidulchos BERTRAM. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power
volivorco. To give it from me.
FIRST SOLDIER. The General is content to spare thee yet; DIANA. Will you not, my lord?
And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee on BERTRAM. It is an honour 'longing to our house,
To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
Something to save thy life. Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world
PAROLLES. O, let me live, In me to lose.
And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, DIANA. Mine honour's such a ring:
Their force, their purposes. Nay, I'll speak that My chastity's the jewel of our house,
Which you will wonder at. Bequeathed down from many ancestors;
FIRST SOLDIER. But wilt thou faithfully? Which were the greatest obloquy i' th' world
PAROLLES. If I do not, damn me. In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom
FIRST SOLDIER. Acordo linta.Come on; thou art granted space. Brings in the champion Honour on my partAgainst your vain assault.
BERTRAM. Here, take my ring;
My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,
And I'll be bid by thee.
DIANA. When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window;
I'll order take my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth,
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed,
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me:
My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd.
And on your finger in the night I'll put
Another ring, that what in time proceeds
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
BERTRAM. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
Exit
DIANA. For which live long to thank both heaven and me!
You may so in the end.
My mother told me just how he would woo,
As if she sat in's heart; she says all men
Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me
When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,
Marry that will, I live and die a maid.
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him that would unjustly win. Exit
ACT IV. SCENE 3.
The Florentine camp
Enter the two FRENCH LORDS, and two or three SOLDIERS
SECOND LORD. You have not given him his mother's letter?
FIRST LORD. I have deliv'red it an hour since. There is something in't that stings his
nature; for on the reading it he chang'd almost into another man.
SECOND LORD. He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife and
so
sweet a lady.
FIRST LORD. Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the King, who had
even tun'd his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall
let it dwell darkly with you.
SECOND LORD. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and I am the grave of it.
FIRST LORD. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste
renown; and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour. He hath given her
his monumental ring, and thinks himself made in the unchaste composition.
SECOND LORD. Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves, what things are we!
FIRST LORD. Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons we still
see them reveal themselves till they attain to their abhorr'd ends; so he that in this
action contrives against his own nobility, in his proper stream, o'erflows himself.
SECOND LORD. Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We
shall not then have his company to-night? FIRST LORD. Not till after midnight; for he is
dieted to his hour. SECOND LORD. That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his
company anatomiz'd, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so
curiously he had set this counterfeit. FIRST LORD. We will not meddle with him till he
come; for his presence must be the whip of the other.
SECOND LORD. In the meantime, what hear you of these wars? FIRST LORD. I hear there is
an
overture of peace.
SECOND LORD. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
FIRST LORD. What will Count Rousillon do then? Will he travel higher, or return again
into France?
SECOND LORD. I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether of his counsel.
FIRST LORD. Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal of his act.
SECOND LORD. Sir, his wife, some two months since, fled from his house. Her pretence is a
pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere sanctimony
she accomplish'd; and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature became as a prey to
her grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven.
FIRST LORD. How is this justified?
SECOND LORD. The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true even
to the point of her death. Her death itself, which could not be her office to say is
come, was faithfully confirm'd by the rector of the place.
FIRST LORD. Hath the Count all this intelligence?
SECOND LORD. Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full arming
of the verity.
FIRST LORD. I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this. SECOND LORD. How mightily
sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!
FIRST LORD. And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great
dignity that his valour hath here acquir'd for him shall at home be encount'red with ashame as
ample. SECOND LORD. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill
together. Our virtues would be proud if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would
despair if they were not cherish'd by our virtues.
Enter a MESSENGER
How now? Where's your master?
SERVANT. He met the Duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken a solemn leave. His
lordship will next morning for France. The Duke hath offered him letters of commendations
to the King. SECOND LORD. They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more
than they can commend.
FIRST LORD. They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness. Here's his lordship now.
Enter BERTRAM
How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?
BERTRAM. I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's length apiece; by an
abstract of success: I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried
a wife, mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother I am returning; entertain'd my convoy;
and between these main parcels of dispatch effected many nicer needs. The last was the
greatest, but that I have not ended yet.
SECOND LORD. If the business be of any difficulty and this morning your departure hence,
it requires haste of your lordship. BERTRAM. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing
to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the Fool and the
Soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit module has deceiv'd me like a double-meaning
prophesier.
SECOND LORD. Bring him forth. [Exeunt SOLDIERS] Has sat i' th' stocks all night, poor
gallant knave.
BERTRAM. No matter; his heels have deserv'd it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does
he carry himself?
SECOND LORD. I have told your lordship already the stocks carry him. But to answer you as
you would be understood: he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk; he hath confess'd
himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to
this very instant disaster of his setting i' th' stocks. And what think you he hath
confess'd?
BERTRAM. Nothing of me, has 'a?
SECOND LORD. His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your lordship
be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it.
Enter PAROLLES guarded, and
FIRST SOLDIER as interpreter
BERTRAM. A plague upon him! muffled! He can say nothing of me. SECOND LORD. Hush,
hush!
Hoodman comes. Portotartarossa.
FIRST SOLDIER. He calls for the tortures. What will you say without 'em?
PAROLLES. I will confess what I know without constraint; if ye pinch me like a pasty, I
can say no more.
FIRST SOLDIER. Bosko chimurcho.
SECOND LORD. Boblibindo chicurmurco.
FIRST SOLDIER. YOU are a merciful general. Our General bids you answer to what I shall
ask you out of a note.
PAROLLES. And truly, as I hope to live.
FIRST SOLDIER. 'First demand of him how many horse the Duke is strong.' What say you to
that?
PAROLLES. Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable. The troops are all
scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation and credit, and as I
hope to live. FIRST SOLDIER. Shall I set down your answer so?
PAROLLES. Do; I'll take the sacrament on 't, how and which way you will.
BERTRAM. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! SECOND LORD. Y'are deceiv'd,
my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant militarist-that was his own phrase-that
had the whole theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of
his dagger.
FIRST LORD. I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean; nor believe he
can have everything in him by wearing his apparel neatly.
FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down.
PAROLLES. 'Five or six thousand horse' I said-I will say true- 'or thereabouts' set down,
for I'll speak truth.
SECOND LORD. He's very near the truth in this.
BERTRAM. But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it. PAROLLES. 'Poor
rogues' I pray you say.
FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down.
PAROLLES. I humbly thank you, sir. A truth's a truth-the rogues are marvellous poor.
FIRST SOLDIER. 'Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.' What say you to that?
PAROLLES. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell true. Let me
see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty; Sebastian, so many; Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many;
Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own company,
Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred fifty each; so that the muster-file, rotten andsound,
upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the which dare not
shake the snow from off their cassocks lest they shake themselves to pieces.
BERTRAM. What shall be done to him?
SECOND LORD. Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what
credit I have with the Duke.
FIRST SOLDIER. Well, that's set down. 'You shall demand of him whether one Captain
Dumain
be i' th' camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the Duke, what his valour,
honesty, expertness in wars; or whether he thinks it were not possible, with
well-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt.' What say you to this? What do
you know of it?
PAROLLES. I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter'gatories. Demand
them singly.
FIRST SOLDIER. Do you know this Captain Dumain?
PAROLLES. I know him: 'a was a botcher's prentice in Paris, from whence he was whipt for
getting the shrieve's fool with child-a dumb innocent that could not say him nay.
BERTRAM. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are forfeit to the
next tile that falls.
FIRST SOLDIER. Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence's camp?
PAROLLES. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.
SECOND LORD. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon.
FIRST SOLDIER. What is his reputation with the Duke?
PAROLLES. The Duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine; and writ to me this
other day to turn him out o' th' band. I think I have his letter in my pocket.
FIRST SOLDIER. Marry, we'll search.
PAROLLES. In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it is upon a file with
the Duke's other letters in my tent. FIRST SOLDIER. Here 'tis; here's a paper. Shall I
read it to you? PAROLLES. I do not know if it be it or no.
BERTRAM. Our interpreter does it well.
SECOND LORD. Excellently.
FIRST SOLDIER. [Reads] 'Dian, the Count's a fool, and full of gold.'
PAROLLES. That is not the Duke's letter, sir; that is an
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of
one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish. I pray you, sir,
put it up again.
FIRST SOLDIER. Nay, I'll read it first by your favour.
PAROLLES. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; for I
knew the young Count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is a whale to virginity,
and devours up all the fry it finds.
BERTRAM. Damnable both-sides rogue!
FIRST SOLDIER. [Reads] 'When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it;
After he scores, he never pays the score.
Half won is match well made; match, and well make it;
He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before.
And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this:
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss;
For count of this, the Count's a fool, I know it,
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,
PAROLLES.' BERTRAM. He shall be whipt through the army with this rhyme in's forehead.
FIRST LORD. This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist, and the amnipotent
soldier.
BERTRAM. I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me.
FIRST SOLDIER. I perceive, sir, by our General's looks we shall be fain to hang you.
PAROLLES. My life, sir, in any case! Not that I am afraid to die, but that, my offences
being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature. Let me live, sir, in a dungeon,
i' th' stocks, or anywhere, so I may live.
FIRST SOLDIER. We'll see what may be done, so you confess freely; therefore, once more to
this Captain Dumain: you have answer'd to his reputation with the Duke, and to his
valour; what is his honesty?
PAROLLES. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister; for rapes and ravishments he
parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 'em he is stronger than
Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such volubility that you would think truth were a fool.
Drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk; and in his sleep he does
little harm, save to his bedclothes about him; but they know his conditions and lay him
in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of his honesty. He has everything that an
honest man should not have; what an honest man should have he has nothing.
SECOND LORD. I begin to love him for this.
BERTRAM. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him! For me, he's more and
more a cat.
FIRST SOLDIER. What say you to his expertness in war?
PAROLLES. Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English tragedians-to belie him I will
not-and more of his soldier-ship I know not, except in that country he had the honour to
be the officer at a place there called Mile-end to instruct for the doubling of files-I
would do the man what honour I can-but of this I am not certain.
SECOND LORD. He hath out-villain'd villainy so far that the rarity redeems him.
BERTRAM. A pox on him! he's a cat still.
FIRST SOLDIER. His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold willcorrupt
him to revolt.
PAROLLES. Sir, for a cardecue he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the
inheritance of it; and cut th' entail from all remainders and a perpetual succession for
it perpetually. FIRST SOLDIER. What's his brother, the other Captain Dumain? FIRST LORD.
Why does he ask him of me?
FIRST SOLDIER. What's he?
PAROLLES. E'en a crow o' th' same nest; not altogether so great as the first in goodness,
but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward; yet his brother is
reputed one of the best that is. In a retreat he outruns any lackey: marry, in coming on
he has the cramp.
FIRST SOLDIER. If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine?
PAROLLES. Ay, and the Captain of his Horse, Count Rousillon. FIRST SOLDIER. I'll whisper
with the General, and know his pleasure.
PAROLLES. [Aside] I'll no more drumming. A plague of all drums! Only to seem to deserve
well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious young boy the Count, have I run
into this danger. Yet who would have suspected an ambush where I was taken? FIRST
SOLDIER. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. The General says you that have so
traitorously discover'd the secrets of your army, and made such pestiferous reports of
men very nobly held, can serve the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. Come,
headsman, of with his head.
PAROLLES. O Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see my death! FIRST SOLDIER. That shall
you, and take your leave of all your friends. [Unmuffling him] So look about you; know
you any here? BERTRAM. Good morrow, noble Captain.
FIRST LORD. God bless you, Captain Parolles.
SECOND LORD. God save you, noble Captain.
FIRST LORD. Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafeu? I am for France.
SECOND LORD. Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in
behalf of the Count Rousillon? An I were not a very coward I'd compel it of you; but fare
you well.
Exeunt BERTRAM and LORDS FIRST SOLDIER. You are undone, Captain, all but your scarf;
that
has a knot on 't yet.
PAROLLES. Who cannot be crush'd with a plot?
FIRST SOLDIER. If you could find out a country where but women were that had received so
much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir; I am for France too;
we shall speak of you there. Exit with SOLDIERS PAROLLES. Yet am I thankful. If my heart
were great,
'Twould burst at this. Captain I'll be no more;
But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft
As captain shall. Simply the thing I am
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this; for it will come to pass
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Rust, sword; cool, blushes; and, Parolles, live
Safest in shame. Being fool'd, by fool'ry thrive.
There's place and means for every man alive.
I'll after them. Exit
ACT IV SCENE 4.
The WIDOW'S house
Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA
HELENA. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you! One of the greatest in the
Christian world
Shall be my surety; fore whose throne 'tis needful,
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel.
Time was I did him a desired office,
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth,
And answer 'Thanks.' I duly am inform'd
His Grace is at Marseilles, to which place
We have convenient convoy. You must know
I am supposed dead. The army breaking,
My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding,
And by the leave of my good lord the King, LAFEU. I like him well; 'tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I heard of the
We'll be before our welcome. good lady's death, and that my lord your son was upon his return home, I moved the King
WIDOW. Gentle madam, my master to speak in the behalf of my daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his
You never had a servant to whose trust Majesty out of a self-gracious remembrance did first propose. His Highness hath promis'd
Your business was more welcome. me to do it; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against your son, there is
HELENA. Nor you, mistress, no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it?
Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour COUNTESS. With very much content, my lord; and I wish it happily effected.
To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven LAFEU. His Highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he number'd
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, thirty; 'a will be here to-morrow, or I am deceiv'd by him that in such intelligence hath
As it hath fated her to be my motive seldom fail'd. COUNTESS. It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have
And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! letters that my son will be here to-night. I shall beseech your lordship to remain with
That can such sweet use make of what they hate, me tal they meet together. LAFEU. Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughtsDefiles the pitchy night. So lust doth play be admitted.
With what it loathes, for that which is away. COUNTESS. You need but plead your honourable privilege.
But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, LAFEU. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds yet.Re-enter
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer CLOWN
Something in my behalf. CLOWN. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a patch of velvet on's face; whether there
DIANA. Let death and honesty be a scar under 't or no, the velvet knows; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet. His left
Go with your impositions, I am yours cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. LAFEU. A scar
Upon your will to suffer. nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good liv'ry of honour; so belike is that.
HELENA. Yet, I pray you: CLOWN. But it is your carbonado'd face.
But with the word the time will bring on summer, LAFEU. Let us go see your son, I pray you;
When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns I long to talk with the young noble soldier.
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; CLOWN. Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine hats, and most courteous
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us. feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man.
All's Well that Ends Well. Still the fine's the crown. Exeunt
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. Exeunt <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
ACT IV SCENE 5. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace BY PROJECT
Enter COUNTESS, LAFEU, and CLOWN GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
LAFEU. No, no, no, son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villainous ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
saffron would have made all the unbak'd and doughy youth of a nation in his colour. Your READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, and your son here at home, more advanc'd by YOUR OR OTHERS
the King than by that red-tail'd humble-bee I speak of. PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COUNTESS. I would I had not known him. It was the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, and cost me SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
the dearest groans of a mother. I could not have owed her a more rooted love. DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
LAFEU. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand sallets ere we light ACT V. SCENE 1.
on such another herb. Marseilles. A street
CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of the sallet, or, rather, the herb of Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA, with two ATTENDANTS
grace. HELENA. But this exceeding posting day and night
LAFEU. They are not sallet-herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. CLOWN. I am no great Must wear your spirits low; we cannot help it.
Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. But since you have made the days and nights as one,
LAFEU. Whether dost thou profess thyself-a knave or a fool? CLOWN. A fool, sir, at a To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
woman's service, and a knave at a man's. LAFEU. Your distinction? Be bold you do so grow in my requital
CLOWN. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. LAFEU. So you were a knave As nothing can unroot you.
at his service, indeed. Enter a GENTLEMAN
CLOWN. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. LAFEU. I will In happy time!
subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool. CLOWN. At your service. This man may help me to his Majesty's ear,
LAFEU. No, no, no. If he would spend his power. God save you, sir.
CLOWN. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you are. GENTLEMAN. And you.
LAFEU. Who's that? A Frenchman? HELENA. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
CLOWN. Faith, sir, 'a has an English name; but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than GENTLEMAN. I have been sometimes there.
there. HELENA. I do presume, sir, that you are not fall'n
LAFEU. What prince is that? From the report that goes upon your goodness;
CLOWN. The Black Prince, sir; alias, the Prince of Darkness; alias, the devil. And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
LAFEU. Hold thee, there's my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from thy master Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
thou talk'st of; serve him still. The use of your own virtues, for the which
CLOWN. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire; and the master I I shall continue thankful.
speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world; let his GENTLEMAN. What's your will?
nobility remain in's court. I am for the house with the narrow gate, which I take to be HELENA. That it will please you
too little for pomp to enter. Some that humble themselves may; but the many will be too To give this poor petition to the King;
chill and tender: and they'll be for the flow'ry way that leads to the broad gate and the And aid me with that store of power you have
great fire. LAFEU. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of thee; and I tell thee so before, To come into his presence.
because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be well look'd to, GENTLEMAN. The King's not here.
without any tricks. HELENA. Not here, sir?
CLOWN. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall be jades' tricks, which are their GENTLEMAN. Not indeed.
own right by the law of nature. Exit He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste
LAFEU. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. Than is his use.
COUNTESS. So 'a is. My lord that's gone made himself much sport out of him. By his WIDOW. Lord, how we lose our pains!
authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his sauciness; and indeed he HELENA. All's Well That Ends Well yet,
has no pace, but runs where he will. Though time seem so adverse and means unfit.
I do beseech you, whither is he gone? Did to his Majesty, his mother, and his lady,
GENTLEMAN. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon; Offence of mighty note; but to himself
Whither I am going. The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife
HELENA. I do beseech you, sir, Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Since you are like to see the King before me, Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive;
Commend the paper to his gracious hand; Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to serve
Which I presume shall render you no blame, Humbly call'd mistress.
But rather make you thank your pains for it. KING. Praising what is lost
I will come after you with what good speed Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither;
Our means will make us means. We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
GENTLEMAN. This I'll do for you. All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon;
HELENA. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, The nature of his great offence is dead,
Whate'er falls more. We must to horse again; And deeper than oblivion do we bury
Go, go, provide. Exeunt Th' incensing relics of it; let him approach,
ACT V SCENE 2. A stranger, no offender; and inform him
Rousillon. The inner court of the COUNT'S palaceEnter CLOWN and PAROLLES So 'tis our will he should.
PAROLLES. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafeu this letter. I have ere now, sir, GENTLEMAN. I shall, my liege. Exit GENTLEMAN KING. What says he to your daughter?
been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher clothes; but I am Haveyou spoke?
now, sir, muddied in Fortune's mood, and smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. LAFEU. All that he is hath reference to your Highness.
CLOWN. Truly, Fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou KING. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me
speak'st of. I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune's butt'ring. Prithee, allow the That sets him high in fame.
wind. Enter BERTRAM
PAROLLES. Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir; I spake but by a metaphor. LAFEU. He looks well on 't.
CLOWN. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's KING. I am not a day of season,
metaphor. Prithee, get thee further. For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
PAROLLES. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. In me at once. But to the brightest beams
CLOWN. Foh! prithee stand away. A paper from Fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth;
Look here he comes himself. The time is fair again.
Enter LAFEU BERTRAM. My high-repented blames,
Here is a pur of Fortune's, sir, or of Fortune's cat, but not a musk-cat, that has fall'n Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal. Pray KING. All is whole;
you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, Not one word more of the consumed time.
rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort, and leave him to your Let's take the instant by the forward top;
lordship. Exit For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
PAROLLES. My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratch'd. LAFEU. And what Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of Time
would Steals ere we can effect them. You remember
you have me to do? 'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave The daughter of this lord?
with Fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady and would not BERTRAM. Admiringly, my liege. At first
have knaves thrive long under her? There's a cardecue for you. Let the justices make you I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
and Fortune friends; I am for other business. Durst make too bold herald of my tongue;
PAROLLES. I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. LAFEU. You beg a single Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
penny Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
more; come, you shall ha't; save your word. Which warp'd the line of every other favour,
PAROLLES. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Scorn'd a fair colour or express'd it stol'n,
LAFEU. You beg more than word then. Cox my passion! give me your hand. How does your Extended or contracted all proportions
drum? To a most hideous object. Thence it came
PAROLLES. O my good lord, you were the first that found me. LAFEU. Was I, in sooth? And I That she whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
was the first that lost thee. PAROLLES. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
grace, for you did bring me out. The dust that did offend it.
LAFEU. Out upon thee, knave! Dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the KING. Well excus'd.
devil? One brings the in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound] The That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
King's coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of From the great compt; but love that comes too late,
you last night. Though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat. Go to; follow. Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
PAROLLES. I praise God for you. Exeunt To the great sender turns a sour offence,
ACT V SCENE 3. Crying 'That's good that's gone.' Our rash faults
Rousillon. The COUNT'S palace Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Flourish. Enter KING, COUNTESS, LAFEU, the two FRENCH LORDS, with ATTENDANTS Not knowing them until we know their grave.
KING. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Was made much poorer by it; but your son, Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust;
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
Her estimation home. While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
COUNTESS. 'Tis past, my liege; Be this sweet Helen's knell. And now forget her.
And I beseech your Majesty to make it Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin.
Natural rebellion, done i' th' blaze of youth, The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, To see our widower's second marriage-day.
O'erbears it and burns on. COUNTESS. Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! Or, ere they meet, in me, O
KING. My honour'd lady, nature, cesse!
I have forgiven and forgotten all; LAFEU. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
Though my revenges were high bent upon him Must be digested; give a favour from you,
And watch'd the time to shoot. To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
LAFEU. This I must sayBut That she may quickly come.
first, I beg my pardon: the young lord [BERTRAM gives a ring] By my old beard,
And ev'ry hair that's on 't, Helen, that's dead, forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave,
Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this, and I follow him to his country for justice. Grant it me, O King! in you it best lies;
The last that e'er I took her leave at court, otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.
I saw upon her finger. DIANA CAPILET.' LAFEU. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this. I'll none
BERTRAM. Hers it was not. of him.
KING. Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, KING. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu,
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. To bring forth this discov'ry. Seek these suitors.
This ring was mine; and when I gave it Helen Go speedily, and bring again the Count.
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood Exeunt ATTENDANTS I am afeard the life of Helen, lady,
Necessitied to help, that by this token Was foully snatch'd.
I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her COUNTESS. Now, justice on the doers!
Of what should stead her most? Enter BERTRAM, guarded
BERTRAM. My gracious sovereign, KING. I wonder, sir, sith wives are monsters to you.
Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
The ring was never hers. Yet you desire to marry.
COUNTESS. Son, on my life, Enter WIDOW and DIANA What woman's that?
I have seen her wear it; and she reckon'd it DIANA. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
At her life's rate. Derived from the ancient Capilet.My suit, as I do understand, you know,
LAFEU. I am sure I saw her wear it. And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
BERTRAM. You are deceiv'd, my lord; she never saw it.In Florence was it from a casement WIDOW. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
thrown me, Both suffer under this complaint we bring,
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name And both shall cease, without your remedy.
Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought KING. Come hither, Count; do you know these women?
I stood engag'd; but when I had subscrib'd BERTRAM. My lord, I neither can nor will deny
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully But that I know them. Do they charge me further?
I could not answer in that course of honour DIANA. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, BERTRAM. She's none of mine, my lord.
In heavy satisfaction, and would never DIANA. If you shall marry,
Receive the ring again. You give away this hand, and that is mine;
KING. Plutus himself, You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
That knows the tinct and multiplying med'cine, You give away myself, which is known mine;
Hath not in nature's mystery more science For I by vow am so embodied yours
Than I have in this ring. 'Twas mine, 'twas Helen's, That she which marries you must marry me,
Whoever gave it you. Then, if you know Either both or none.
That you are well acquainted with yourself, LAFEU. [To BERTRAM] Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are no husband
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement for her.
You got it from her. She call'd the saints to surety BERTRAM. My lord, this is a fond and desp'rate creature
That she would never put it from her finger Whom sometime I have laugh'd with. Let your Highness
Unless she gave it to yourself in bedWhere Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour
you have never come- or sent it us Than for to think that I would sink it here.
Upon her great disaster. KING. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend
BERTRAM. She never saw it. Till your deeds gain them. Fairer prove your honour
KING. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine honour; Than in my thought it lies!
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me DIANA. Good my lord,
Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove Ask him upon his oath if he does think
That thou art so inhuman- 'twill not prove so. He had not my virginity.
And yet I know not- thou didst hate her deadly, KING. What say'st thou to her?
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close BERTRAM. She's impudent, my lord,
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe And was a common gamester to the camp.
More than to see this ring. Take him away. DIANA. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so
[GUARDS seize BERTRAM] My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, He might have bought me at a common price.
Shall tax my fears of little vanity, Do not believe him. o, behold this ring,
Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him. Whose high respect and rich validity
We'll sift this matter further. Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,
BERTRAM. If you shall prove He gave it to a commoner o' th' camp,
This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy If I be one.
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, COUNTESS. He blushes, and 'tis it.
Where she yet never was. Exit, guarded KING. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Enter a GENTLEMAN Conferr'd by testament to th' sequent issue,
GENTLEMAN. Gracious sovereign, Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife:
Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: That ring's a thousand proofs.
Here's a petition from a Florentine, KING. Methought you said
Who hath, for four or five removes, come short You saw one here in court could witness it.
To tender it herself. I undertook it, DIANA. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles.
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, LAFEU. I saw the man to-day, if man he be.
Is here attending; her business looks in her KING. Find him, and bring him hither. Exit an ATTENDANT BERTRAM. What of him?
With an importing visage; and she told me He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
In a sweet verbal brief it did concern With all the spots o' th' world tax'd and debauch'd,
Your Highness with herself. Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth.
KING. [Reads the letter] 'Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was dead, Am I or that or this for what he'll utter
I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rousillon a widower; his vows are That will speak anything?
KING. She hath that ring of yours. Thou diest within this hour.
BERTRAM. I think she has. Certain it is I lik'd her, DIANA. I'll never tell you.
And boarded her i' th' wanton way of youth. KING. Take her away.
She knew her distance, and did angle for me, DIANA. I'll put in bail, my liege.
Madding my eagerness with her restraint, KING. I think thee now some common customer.
As all impediments in fancy's course DIANA. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you.
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine, KING. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this while?
Her infinite cunning with her modern grace DIANA. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty.
Subdu'd me to her rate. She got the ring; He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't:
And I had that which any inferior might I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
At market-price have bought. Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life;
DIANA. I must be patient. I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.
You that have turn'd off a first so noble wife [Pointing to LAFEU] KING. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her.
May justly diet me. I pray you yetSince DIANA. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir;
you lack virtue, I will lose a husbandSend Exit WIDOW The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for,
for your ring, I will return it home, And he shall surety me. But for this lord
And give me mine again. Who hath abus'd me as he knows himself,
BERTRAM. I have it not. Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him.
KING. What ring was yours, I pray you? He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd;
DIANA. Sir, much like And at that time he got his wife with child.
The same upon your finger. Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
KING. Know you this ring? This ring was his of late. So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quickAnd
DIANA. And this was it I gave him, being abed.KING. The story, then, goes false you threw it now behold the meaning.
him Re-enter WIDOW with HELENAKING. Is there no exorcist
Out of a casement. Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
DIANA. I have spoke the truth. Is't real that I see?
Enter PAROLLES HELENA. No, my good lord;
BERTRAM. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
KING. You boggle shrewdly; every feather starts you. The name and not the thing.
Is this the man you speak of? BERTRAM. Both, both; o, pardon!
DIANA. Ay, my lord. HELENA. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid,
KING. Tell me, sirrah-but tell me true I charge you, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master, And, look you, here's your letter. This it says:
Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep offBy 'When from my finger you can get this ring,
him and by this woman here what know you? And are by me with child,' etc. This is done.
PAROLLES. So please your Majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman; tricks he Will you be mine now you are doubly won?
hath had in him, which gentlemen have. KING. Come, come, to th' purpose. Did he love this BERTRAM. If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever,
woman? PAROLLES. Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? ever dearly.
KING. How, I pray you? HELENA. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
PAROLLES. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. KING. How is that? Deadly divorce step between me and you!
PAROLLES. He lov'd her, sir, and lov'd her not. O my dear mother, do I see you living?
KING. As thou art a knave and no knave. LAFEU. Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon. [To PAROLLES] Good Tom Drum, lend
What an equivocal companion is this! me a
PAROLLES. I am a poor man, and at your Majesty's command. LAFEU. He's a good drum, my handkercher. So, I
lord, but a naughty orator. thank thee. Wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee; let thy curtsies alone, they are
DIANA. Do you know he promis'd me marriage? scurvy ones.
PAROLLES. Faith, I know more than I'll speak. KING. Let us from point to point this story know,
KING. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? To make the even truth in pleasure flow.
PAROLLES. Yes, so please your Majesty. I did go between them, as I said; but more than [To DIANA] If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and I'll
that, he loved her-for indeed he was mad for her, and talk'd of Satan, and of Limbo, and pay thy dower;
of Furies, and I know not what. Yet I was in that credit with them at that time that I For I can guess that by thy honest aid
knew of their going to bed; and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.-
which would derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. Of that and all the progress, more and less,
KING. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married; but thou art Resolvedly more leisure shall express.
too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
This ring, you say, was yours? The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [Flourish]
DIANA. Ay, my good lord. EPILOGUE
KING. Where did you buy it? Or who gave it you? EPILOGUE.
DIANA. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. KING. The King's a beggar, now the play is done.
KING. Who lent it you? All is well ended if this suit be won,
DIANA. It was not lent me neither. That you express content; which we will pay
KING. Where did you find it then? With strife to please you, day exceeding day.
DIANA. I found it not. Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
KING. If it were yours by none of all these ways, Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.
How could you give it him? Exeunt omnes
DIANA. I never gave it him. THE END
LAFEU. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes of and on at pleasure. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
KING. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
DIANA. It might be yours or hers, for aught I know. BY PROJECT
KING. Take her away, I do not like her now; GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
To prison with her. And away with him. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR Look where they come!
YOUR OR OTHERS Take but good note, and you shall see in him
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED The triple pillar of the world transform'd
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Into a strumpet's fool. Behold and see.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR CLEOPATRA. If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> ANTONY. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. CLEOPATRA. I'll set a bourn how
1607 far to be belov'd.
THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA ANTONY. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.
by William Shakespeare Enter a MESSENGER
DRAMATIS PERSONAE MESSENGER. News, my good lord, from Rome.
MARK ANTONY, Triumvirs ANTONY. Grates me the sum.
OCTAVIUS CAESAR, " CLEOPATRA. Nay, hear them, Antony.
M. AEMILIUS LEPIDUS, " Fulvia perchance is angry; or who knows
SEXTUS POMPEIUS, " If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent
DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, friend to Antony His pow'rful mandate to you: 'Do this or this;
VENTIDIUS, " " " Take in that kingdom and enfranchise that;
EROS, " " " Perform't, or else we damn thee.'
SCARUS, " " " ANTONY. How, my love?CLEOPATRA. Perchance? Nay, and most like,
DERCETAS, " " " You must not stay here longer; your dismission
DEMETRIUS, " " " Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.
PHILO, " " "MAECENAS, friend to Caesar Where's Fulvia's process? Caesar's I would say? Both?
AGRIPPA, " " " Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt's Queen,
DOLABELLA, " " " Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine
PROCULEIUS, " " " Is Caesar's homager. Else so thy cheek pays shame
THYREUS, " " " When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds. The messengers!
GALLUS, " " " ANTONY. Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
MENAS, friend to Pompey Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space.
MENECRATES, " " " Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike
VARRIUS, " " " Feeds beast as man. The nobleness of life
TAURUS, Lieutenant-General to Caesar Is to do thus [emhracing], when such a mutual pair
CANIDIUS, Lieutenant-General to Antony And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
SILIUS, an Officer in Ventidius's army On pain of punishment, the world to weet
EUPHRONIUS, an Ambassador from Antony to Caesar We stand up peerless.
ALEXAS, attendant on Cleopatra CLEOPATRA. Excellent falsehood!
MARDIAN, " " " Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?
SELEUCUS, " " " I'll seem the fool I am not. Antony
DIOMEDES, " " " Will be himself.
A SOOTHSAYER ANTONY. But stirr'd by Cleopatra.
A CLOWN Now for the love of Love and her soft hours,
CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt Let's not confound the time with conference harsh;
OCTAVIA, sister to Caesar and wife to Antony There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
CHARMIAN, lady attending on Cleopatra Without some pleasure now. What sport to-night?
IRAS, " " " " CLEOPATRA. Hear the ambassadors.
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants ANTONY. Fie, wrangling queen!
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Whom everything becomes- to chide, to laugh,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED To weep; whose every passion fully strives
BY PROJECT To make itself in thee fair and admir'd.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. No messenger but thine, and all alone
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE To-night we'll wander through the streets and note
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
YOUR OR OTHERS Last night you did desire it. Speak not to us.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Exeunt ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with the train DEMETRIUS. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY so
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR slight?
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> PHILO. Sir, sometimes when he is not Antony,
SCENE: He comes too short of that great property
The Roman Empire Which still should go with Antony.
ACT I. SCENE I. DEMETRIUS. I am full sorry
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace That he approves the common liar, who
Enter DEMETRIUS and PHILO Thus speaks of him at Rome; but I will hope
PHILO. Nay, but this dotage of our general's Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy! Exeunt
O'erflows the measure. Those his goodly eyes, SCENE II.
That o'er the files and musters of the war Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, Enter CHARMIAN, IRAS, ALEXAS, and a SOOTHSAYER
The office and devotion of their view CHARMIAN. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas,
Upon a tawny front. His captain's heart, where's the soothsayer that you prais'd so to th' Queen? O that I knew this husband,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst which you say must charge his horns with garlands!
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper, ALEXAS. Soothsayer!
And is become the bellows and the fan SOOTHSAYER. Your will?
To cool a gipsy's lust. CHARMIAN. Is this the man? Is't you, sir, that know things? SOOTHSAYER. In nature's
Flourish. Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, her LADIES, the train, infinite book of secrecy
with eunuchs fanning her A little I can read.
ALEXAS. Show him your hand. MESSENGER. Ay.
Enter ENOBARBUS But soon that war had end, and the time's state
ENOBARBUS. Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst Caesar, Whose better issue in the war
Cleopatra's health to drink. from Italy
CHARMIAN. Good, sir, give me good fortune. Upon the first encounter drave them.
SOOTHSAYER. I make not, but foresee. ANTONY. Well, what worst?
CHARMIAN. Pray, then, foresee me one. MESSENGER. The nature of bad news infects the teller.
SOOTHSAYER. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. ANTONY. When it concerns the fool or coward. On!
CHARMIAN. He means in flesh. Things that are past are done with me. 'Tis thus:
IRAS. No, you shall paint when you are old. Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
CHARMIAN. Wrinkles forbid! I hear him as he flatter'd.
ALEXAS. Vex not his prescience; be attentive. MESSENGER. LabienusThis
CHARMIAN. Hush! is stiff news- hath with his Parthian force
SOOTHSAYER. You shall be more beloving than beloved. Extended Asia from Euphrates,
CHARMIAN. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. His conquering banner shook from Syria
ALEXAS. Nay, hear him. To Lydia and to Ionia,
CHARMIAN. Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to three kings in a WhilstANTONY.
forenoon, and widow them all. Let me have a child at fifty, to whom Herod of Jewry may Antony, thou wouldst say.
dohomage. Find me to marry me with Octavius Caesar, and companion me with my mistress. MESSENGER. O, my lord!
SOOTHSAYER. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. ANTONY. Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue;
CHARMIAN. O, excellent! I love long life better than figs. SOOTHSAYER. You have seen and Name Cleopatra as she is call'd in Rome.Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase, and taunt my faults
prov'd a fairer former fortune Than that which is to approach. With such full licence as both truth and malice
CHARMIAN. Then belike my children shall have no names. Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds
Prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have? When our quick minds lie still, and our ills told us
SOOTHSAYER. If every of your wishes had a womb, Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile.
And fertile every wish, a million. MESSENGER. At your noble pleasure. Exit ANTONY. From Sicyon, ho, the news! Speak
CHARMIAN. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. there!
ALEXAS. You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes. CHARMIAN. Nay, come, FIRST ATTENDANT. The man from Sicyon- is there such an one? SECOND ATTENDANT. He
tell Iras hers. stays
ALEXAS. We'll know all our fortunes. upon your will.
ENOBARBUS. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, shall bedrunk to bed. ANTONY. Let him appear.
IRAS. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing else. These strong Egyptian fetters I must break,
CHARMIAN. E'en as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth famine. IRAS. Go, you wild bedfellow, Or lose myself in dotage.
you cannot soothsay. Enter another MESSENGER with a letter
CHARMIAN. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine What are you?
ear. Prithee, tell her but worky-day fortune. SOOTHSAYER. Your fortunes are alike. SECOND MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife is dead.
IRAS. But how, but how? Give me particulars. ANTONY. Where died she?
SOOTHSAYER. I have said. SECOND MESSENGER. In Sicyon.
IRAS. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
CHARMIAN. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives the letter] ANTONY. Forbear me. Exit MESSENGER
it? There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it.
IRAS. Not in my husband's nose. What our contempts doth often hurl from us
CHARMIAN. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas- come, his fortune, his fortune! O, We wish it ours again; the present pleasure,
let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech thee! And let her die too, By revolution low'ring, does become
and give him a worse! And let worse follow worse, till the worst of all follow him The opposite of itself. She's good, being gone;
laughing to his grave, fiftyfold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou The hand could pluck her back that shov'd her on.
deny me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee! I must from this enchanting queen break off.
IRAS. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as it is a heartbreaking Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know,
to see a handsome man loose-wiv'd, so it is a deadly sorrow to behold a foul knave My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus!
uncuckolded. Therefore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly! Re-enter ENOBARBUS
CHARMIAN. Amen. ENOBARBUS. What's your pleasure, sir?
ALEXAS. Lo now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make themselves ANTONY. I must with haste from hence.
whores but they'ld do't! ENOBARBUS. Why, then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an unkindness is to them;
Enter CLEOPATRA if they suffer our departure, death's the word.
ENOBARBUS. Hush! Here comes Antony. ANTONY. I must be gone.
CHARMIAN. Not he; the Queen. ENOBARBUS. Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity to cast them away for
CLEOPATRA. Saw you my lord? nothing, though between them and a great cause they should be esteemed nothing.
ENOBARBUS. No, lady. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies instantly; I have seen her die
CLEOPATRA. Was he not here? twenty times upon far poorer moment. I do think there is mettle in death, which commits
CHARMIAN. No, madam. some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity in dying.
CLEOPATRA. He was dispos'd to mirth; but on the sudden ANTONY. She is cunning past man's thought.
A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus! ENOBARBUS. Alack, sir, no! Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure
ENOBARBUS. Madam? love. We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they are greater storms and
CLEOPATRA. Seek him, and bring him hither. Where's Alexas? ALEXAS. Here, at your tempests than almanacs can report. This cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a
service. show'r of rain as well as Jove.
My lord approaches. ANTONY. Would I had never seen her!
Enter ANTONY, with a MESSENGER and attendants ENOBARBUS. O Sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which not to have
CLEOPATRA. We will not look upon him. Go with us. been blest withal would have discredited your travel.
Exeunt CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, and the rest MESSENGER. Fulvia thy wife first came ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.
into the ENOBARBUS. Sir?
field. ANTONY. Fulvia is dead.
ANTONY. Against my brother Lucius? ENOBARBUS. Fulvia?
ANTONY. Dead. Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
ENOBARBUS. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their deities To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the earth; comforting Which break themselves in swearing!
therein that when old robes are worn out there are members to make new. If there were no ANTONY. Most sweet queenCLEOPATRA.
more women but Fulvia, then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented. This grief Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going,
is crown'd with consolation: your old smock brings forth a new petticoat; and indeed the But bid farewell, and go. When you sued staying,
tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow. ANTONY. The business she hath Then was the time for words. No going then!
broached in the state Eternity was in our lips and eyes,
Cannot endure my absence. Bliss in our brows' bent, none our parts so poor
ENOBARBUS. And the business you have broach'd here cannot be without you; especially that But was a race of heaven. They are so still,
of Cleopatra's, which wholly depends on your abode. Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
ANTONY. No more light answers. Let our officers Art turn'd the greatest liar.
Have notice what we purpose. I shall break ANTONY. How now, lady!
The cause of our expedience to the Queen, CLEOPATRA. I would I had thy inches. Thou shouldst know
And get her leave to part. For not alone There were a heart in Egypt.
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, ANTONY. Hear me, queen:
Do strongly speak to us; but the letters to The strong necessity of time commands
Of many our contriving friends in Rome Our services awhile; but my full heart
Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
The empire of the sea; our slippery people, Makes his approaches to the port of Rome;
Whose love is never link'd to the deserver Equality of two domestic powers
Till his deserts are past, begin to throw Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength, Are newly grown to love. The
Pompey the Great and all his dignitiesUpon his son; who, high in name and power, condemn'd Pompey,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, Into the hearts of such as have not thrivedUpon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
The sides o' th' world may danger. Much is breeding And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life By any desperate change. My more particular,
And not a serpent's poison. Say our pleasure, And that which most with you should safe my going,
To such whose place is under us, requires Is Fulvia's death.
Our quick remove from hence. CLEOPATRA. Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
ENOBARBUS. I shall do't. Exeunt It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die?
SCENE III. ANTONY. She's dead, my Queen.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS The garboils she awak'd. At the last, best.
CLEOPATRA. Where is he? See when and where she died.
CHARMIAN. I did not see him since. CLEOPATRA. O most false love!
CLEOPATRA. See where he is, who's with him, what he does. I did not send you. If you find Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill
him sad, With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see,
Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report In Fulvia's death how mine receiv'd shall be.
That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. Exit ALEXAS CHARMIAN. Madam, methinks, if you ANTONY. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
did love him dearly, The purposes I bear; which are, or cease,
You do not hold the method to enforce As you shall give th' advice. By the fire
The like from him. That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence
CLEOPATRA. What should I do I do not? Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war
CHARMIAN. In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing. CLEOPATRA. Thou teachest As thou affects.
like CLEOPATRA. Cut my lace, Charmian, come!
a fool- the way to lose him. CHARMIAN. Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear; But let it be; I am quickly ill and wellSo
In time we hate that which we often fear. Antony loves.
Enter ANTONY ANTONY. My precious queen, forbear,
But here comes Antony. And give true evidence to his love, which stands
CLEOPATRA. I am sick and sullen. An honourable trial.
ANTONY. I am sorry to give breathing to my purposeCLEOPATRA. CLEOPATRA. So Fulvia told me.
Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall. I prithee turn aside and weep for her;
It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears
Will not sustain it. Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene
ANTONY. Now, my dearest queenCLEOPATRA. Of excellent dissembling, and let it look
Pray you, stand farther from me. Like perfect honour.
ANTONY. What's the matter? ANTONY. You'll heat my blood; no more.
CLEOPATRA. I know by that same eye there's some good news. What says the married CLEOPATRA. You can do better yet; but this is meetly.
woman? ANTONY. Now, by my swordCLEOPATRA.
You may go. And target. Still he mends;
Would she had never given you leave to come! But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian,
Let her not say 'tis I that keep you hereI How this Herculean Roman does become
have no power upon you; hers you are. The carriage of his chafe.
ANTONY. The gods best knowCLEOPATRA. ANTONY. I'll leave you, lady.
O, never was there queen CLEOPATRA. Courteous lord, one word.
So mightily betray'd! Yet at the first Sir, you and I must part- but that's not it.
I saw the treasons planted. Sir, you and I have lov'd- but there's not it.
ANTONY. CleopatraCLEOPATRA. That you know well. Something it is I wouldO,
Why should I think you can be mine and true, my oblivion is a very Antony,
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, And I am all forgotten!
ANTONY. But that your royalty Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound
For idleness itself. With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads
CLEOPATRA. 'Tis sweating labour They make in Italy; the borders maritime
To bear such idleness so near the heart Lack blood to think on't, and flush youth revolt.
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me; No vessel can peep forth but 'tis as soon
Since my becomings kill me when they do not Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more
Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence; Than could his war resisted.
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, CAESAR. Antony,
And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once
Sit laurel victory, and smooth success Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Be strew'd before your feet! Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
ANTONY. Let us go. Come. Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against,
Our separation so abides and flies Though daintily brought up, with patience more
That thou, residing here, goes yet with me, Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. The stale of horses and the gilded puddle
Away! Exeunt Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign
SCENE IV. The roughest berry on the rudest hedge;
Rome. CAESAR'S house Yea, like the stag when snow the pasture sheets,
Enter OCTAVIUS CAESAR, reading a letter; LEPIDUS, and their train The barks of trees thou brows'd. On the Alps
CAESAR. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh,
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate Which some did die to look on. And all thisIt
Our great competitor. From Alexandria wounds thine honour that I speak it nowWas
This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes borne so like a soldier that thy cheek
The lamps of night in revel; is not more manlike So much as lank'd not.
Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy LEPIDUS. 'Tis pity of him.
More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, orVouchsaf'd to think he had partners. You shall CAESAR. Let his shames quickly
find there A man who is the abstract of Drive him to Rome. 'Tis time we twain
all faults Did show ourselves i' th' field; and to that end
That all men follow. Assemble we immediate council. Pompey
LEPIDUS. I must not think there are Thrives in our idleness.LEPIDUS. To-morrow, Caesar,
Evils enow to darken all his goodness. I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, Both what by sea and land I can be able
More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary To front this present time.
Rather than purchas'd; what he cannot change CAESAR. Till which encounter
Than what he chooses. It is my business too. Farewell.
CAESAR. You are too indulgent. Let's grant it is not LEPIDUS. Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy, Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit To let me be partaker.
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave, CAESAR. Doubt not, sir;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet I knew it for my bond. Exeunt
With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes himAs SCENE V.
his composure must be rare indeed Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace
Whom these things cannot blemish- yet must Antony Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
No way excuse his foils when we do bear CLEOPATRA. Charmian!
So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd CHARMIAN. Madam?
His vacancy with his voluptuousness, CLEOPATRA. Ha, ha!
Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones Give me to drink mandragora.
Call on him for't! But to confound such time CHARMIAN. Why, madam?
That drums him from his sport and speaks as loud CLEOPATRA. That I might sleep out this great gap of time
As his own state and ours- 'tis to be chid My Antony is away.
As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge, CHARMIAN. You think of him too much.
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure, CLEOPATRA. O, 'tis treason!
And so rebel to judgment. CHARMIAN. Madam, I trust, not so.
Enter a MESSENGER CLEOPATRA. Thou, eunuch Mardian!
LEPIDUS. Here's more news. MARDIAN. What's your Highness' pleasure?
MESSENGER. Thy biddings have been done; and every hour, CLEOPATRA. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no pleasure
Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report In aught an eunuch has. 'Tis well for thee
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, That, being unseminar'd, thy freer thoughts
And it appears he is belov'd of those May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections?
That only have fear'd Caesar. To the ports MARDIAN. Yes, gracious madam.
The discontents repair, and men's reports CLEOPATRA. Indeed?
Give him much wrong'd. MARDIAN. Not in deed, madam; for I can do nothing
CAESAR. I should have known no less. But what indeed is honest to be done.
It hath been taught us from the primal state Yet have I fierce affections, and think
That he which is was wish'd until he were; What Venus did with Mars.
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd till ne'er worth love, CLEOPATRA. O Charmian,
Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body, Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he or sits he?
Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?
Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony!
To rot itself with motion. Do bravely, horse; for wot'st thou whom thou mov'st?
MESSENGER. Caesar, I bring thee word The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet of men. He's speaking now, COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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For so he calls me. Now I feed myself DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
With most delicious poison. Think on me, ACT II. SCENE I.
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, Messina. POMPEY'S house
And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, Enter POMPEY, MENECRATES, and MENAS, in warlike manner
When thou wast here above the ground, I was POMPEY. If the great gods be just, they shall assist
A morsel for a monarch; and great Pompey The deeds of justest men.
Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow; MENECRATES. Know, worthy Pompey,
There would he anchor his aspect and die That what they do delay they not deny.
With looking on his life. POMPEY. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays
Enter ALEXAS The thing we sue for.
ALEXAS. Sovereign of Egypt, hail! MENECRATES. We, ignorant of ourselves,
CLEOPATRA. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! Beg often our own harms, which the wise pow'rs
Yet, coming from him, that great med'cine hath Deny us for our good; so find we profit
With his tinct gilded thee. By losing of our prayers.
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? POMPEY. I shall do well.
ALEXAS. Last thing he did, dear Queen, The people love me, and the sea is mine;
He kiss'd- the last of many doubled kissesThis My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope
orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart. Says it will come to th' full. Mark Antony
CLEOPATRA. Mine ear must pluck it thence. In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make
ALEXAS. 'Good friend,' quoth he No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where
'Say the firm Roman to great Egypt sends He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both,
This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot, Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves,
To mend the petty present, I will piece Nor either cares for him.
Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the East, MENAS. Caesar and Lepidus
Say thou, shall call her mistress.' So he nodded, Are in the field. A mighty strength they carry.
And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, POMPEY. Where have you this? 'Tis false.
Who neigh'd so high that what I would have spoke MENAS. From Silvius, sir.
Was beastly dumb'd by him. POMPEY. He dreams. I know they are in Rome together,
CLEOPATRA. What, was he sad or merry?ALEXAS. Like to the time o' th' year between the Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love,
extremes Of hot and cold; he was nor sad Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd lip!
nor merry. Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both;
CLEOPATRA. O well-divided disposition! Note him, Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts,
Note him, good Charmian; 'tis the man; but note him! Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks
He was not sad, for he would shine on those Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite,
That make their looks by his; he was not merry, That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honourEven till a Lethe'd dullness-
Which seem'd to tell them his remembrance lay Enter VARRIUS
In Egypt with his joy; but between both. How now, Varrius!
O heavenly mingle! Be'st thou sad or merry, VARRIUS. This is most certain that I shall deliver:
The violence of either thee becomes, Mark Antony is every hour in Rome
So does it no man else. Met'st thou my posts? Expected. Since he went from Egypt 'tis
ALEXAS. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers. A space for farther travel.
Why do you send so thick? POMPEY. I could have given less matter
CLEOPATRA. Who's born that day A better ear. Menas, I did not think
When I forget to send to Antony This amorous surfeiter would have donn'd his helm
Shall die a beggar. Ink and paper, Charmian. For such a petty war; his soldiership
Welcome, my good Alexas. Did I, Charmian, Is twice the other twain. But let us rear
Ever love Caesar so? The higher our opinion, that our stirring
CHARMIAN. O that brave Caesar! Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck
CLEOPATRA. Be chok'd with such another emphasis! The ne'er-lust-wearied Antony.
Say 'the brave Antony.' MENAS. I cannot hope
CHARMIAN. The valiant Caesar! Caesar and Antony shall well greet together.
CLEOPATRA. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth His wife that's dead did trespasses to Caesar;
If thou with Caesar paragon again His brother warr'd upon him; although, I think,
My man of men. Not mov'd by Antony.
CHARMIAN. By your most gracious pardon, POMPEY. I know not, Menas,
I sing but after you. How lesser enmities may give way to greater.
CLEOPATRA. My salad days, Were't not that we stand up against them all,
When I was green in judgment, cold in blood, 'Twere pregnant they should square between themselves;
To say as I said then. But come, away! For they have entertained cause enough
Get me ink and paper. To draw their swords. But how the fear of us
He shall have every day a several greeting, May cement their divisions, and bind up
Or I'll unpeople Egypt. Exeunt The petty difference we yet not know.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Be't as our gods will have't! It only stands
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Our lives upon to use our strongest hands.
BY PROJECT Come, Menas. Exeunt
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. SCENE II.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Rome. The house of LEPIDUS
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR Enter ENOBARBUS and LEPIDUS
YOUR OR OTHERS LEPIDUS. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
To soft and gentle speech. Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought,
ENOBARBUS. I shall entreat him Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars
To answer like himself. If Caesar move him, Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,
Let Antony look over Caesar's head I would you had her spirit in such another!
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, The third o' th' world is yours, which with a snaffle
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
I would not shave't to-day. ENOBARBUS. Would we had all such wives, that the men might go to wars with the women!
LEPIDUS. 'Tis not a time ANTONY. So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar,
For private stomaching. Made out of her impatience- which not wanted
ENOBARBUS. Every time Shrewdness of policy too- I grieving grant
Serves for the matter that is then born in't. Did you too much disquiet. For that you must
LEPIDUS. But small to greater matters must give way. But say I could not help it.
ENOBARBUS. Not if the small come first. CAESAR. I wrote to you
LEPIDUS. Your speech is passion; When rioting in Alexandria; you
But pray you stir no embers up. Here comes Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts
The noble Antony. Did gibe my missive out of audience.
Enter ANTONY and VENTIDIUS ANTONY. Sir,
ENOBARBUS. And yonder, Caesar. He fell upon me ere admitted. Then
Enter CAESAR, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
ANTONY. If we compose well here, to Parthia. Of what I was i' th' morning; but next day
Hark, Ventidius. I told him of myself, which was as much
CAESAR. I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa. As to have ask'd him pardon. Let this fellow
LEPIDUS. Noble friends, Be nothing of our strife; if we contend,
That which combin'd us was most great, and let not Out of our question wipe him.
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss, CAESAR. You have broken
May it be gently heard. When we debate The article of your oath, which you shall never
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit Have tongue to charge me with.
Murder in healing wounds. Then, noble partners, LEPIDUS. Soft, Caesar!
The rather for I earnestly beseech, ANTONY. No;
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, Lepidus, let him speak.
Nor curstness grow to th' matter. The honour is sacred which he talks on now,
ANTONY. 'Tis spoken well. Supposing that I lack'd it. But on, Caesar:
Were we before our arinies, and to fight,I should do thus. [Flourish] CAESAR. Welcome to The article of my oathCAESAR.
Rome. To lend me arms and aid when I requir'd them,
ANTONY. Thank you. The which you both denied.
CAESAR. Sit. ANTONY. Neglected, rather;
ANTONY. Sit, sir. And then when poisoned hours had bound me up
CAESAR. Nay, then. [They sit] ANTONY. I learn you take things ill which are not so, From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
Or being, concern you not. I'll play the penitent to you; but mine honestyShall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
CAESAR. I must be laugh'd at Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia,
If, or for nothing or a little, To have me out of Egypt, made wars here;
Should say myself offended, and with you For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
Chiefly i' the world; more laugh'd at that I should So far ask pardon as befits mine honour
Once name you derogately when to sound your name To stoop in such a case.
It not concern'd me. LEPIDUS. 'Tis noble spoken.
ANTONY. My being in Egypt, Caesar, MAECENAS. If it might please you to enforce no further
What was't to you? The griefs between ye- to forget them quite
CAESAR. No more than my residing here at Rome Were to remember that the present need
Might be to you in Egypt. Yet, if you there Speaks to atone you.
Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt LEPIDUS. Worthily spoken, Maecenas.
Might be my question. ENOBARBUS. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the instant, you may, when you hear
ANTONY. How intend you- practis'd? no more words of Pompey, return it again. You shall have time to wrangle in when you have
CAESAR. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent nothing else to do.
By what did here befall me. Your wife and brother ANTONY. Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more.
Made wars upon me, and their contestation ENOBARBUS. That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. ANTONY. You wrong this
Was theme for you; you were the word of war. presence; therefore speak no more. ENOBARBUS. Go to, then- your considerate stone!
ANTONY. You do mistake your business; my brother never CAESAR. I do not much dislike the matter, but
Did urge me in his act. I did inquire it, The manner of his speech; for't cannot be
And have my learning from some true reports We shall remain in friendship, our conditions
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather So diff'ring in their acts. Yet if I knew
Discredit my authority with yours, What hoop should hold us stanch, from edge to edge
And make the wars alike against my stomach, O' th' world, I would pursue it.
Having alike your cause? Of this my letters AGRIPPA. Give me leave, Caesar.
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel, CAESAR. Speak, Agrippa.
As matter whole you have not to make it with, AGRIPPA. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side,
It must not be with this. Admir'd Octavia. Great Mark Antony
CAESAR. You praise yourself Is now a widower.
By laying defects of judgment to me; but CAESAR. Say not so, Agrippa.
You patch'd up your excuses. If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
ANTONY. Not so, not so; Were well deserv'd of rashness.
I know you could not lack, I am certain on't, ANTONY. I am not married, Caesar. Let me hear
Very necessity of this thought, that I, Agrippa further speak.
AGRIPPA. To hold you in perpetual amity, the river of Cydnus.
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts AGRIPPA. There she appear'd indeed! Or my reporter devis'd well for her.
With an unslipping knot, take Antony ENOBARBUS. I will tell you.
Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
No worse a husband than the best of men; Burn'd on the water. The poop was beaten gold;
Whose virtue and whose general graces speak Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
That which none else can utter. By this marriage The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes
All little jealousies, which now seem great, kept stroke, and made
And all great fears, which now import their dangers, The water which they beat to follow faster,
Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
Where now half tales be truths. Her love to both It beggar'd all description. She did lie
Would each to other, and all loves to both, In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold, of tissue,
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke; O'erpicturing that Venus where we see
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, The fancy out-work nature. On each side her
By duty ruminated. Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
ANTONY. Will Caesar speak? With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
CAESAR. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
With what is spoke already. And what they undid did.
ANTONY. What power is in Agrippa, AGRIPPA. O, rare for Antony!
If I would say 'Agrippa, be it so,' ENOBARBUS. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
To make this good? So many mermaids, tended her i' th' eyes,
CAESAR. The power of Caesar, and And made their bends adornings. At the helm
His power unto Octavia. A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle
ANTONY. May I never Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands
To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, That yarely frame the office. From the barge
Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand. A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Further this act of grace; and from this hour Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
The heart of brothers govern in our loves Her people out upon her; and Antony,
And sway our great designs! Enthron'd i' th' market-place, did sit alone,
CAESAR. There is my hand. Whistling to th' air; which, but for vacancy,
A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
Did ever love so dearly. Let her live And made a gap in nature.
To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never AGRIPPA. Rare Egyptian!
Fly off our loves again! ENOBARBUS. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
LEPIDUS. Happily, amen! Invited her to supper. She replied
ANTONY. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst Pompey; It should be better he became her guest;
For he hath laid strange courtesies and great Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony,
Of late upon me. I must thank him only, Whom ne'er the word of 'No' woman heard speak,
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast,
At heel of that, defy him. And for his ordinary pays his heart
LEPIDUS. Time calls upon's. For what his eyes eat only.
Of us must Pompey presently be sought, AGRIPPA. Royal wench!
Or else he seeks out us. She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed.
ANTONY. Where lies he?CAESAR. About the Mount Misenum. He ploughed her, and she cropp'd.
ANTONY. What is his strength by land? ENOBARBUS. I saw her once
CAESAR. Great and increasing; but by sea Hop forty paces through the public street;
He is an absolute master. And, having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,
ANTONY. So is the fame. That she did make defect perfection,And, breathless, pow'r breathe forth.
Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it. MAECENAS. Now Antony must leave her utterly.
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we ENOBARBUS. Never! He will not.
The business we have talk'd of. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
CAESAR. With most gladness; Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
And do invite you to my sister's view, The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Whither straight I'll lead you. Where most she satisfies; for vilest things
ANTONY. Let us, Lepidus, Become themselves in her, that the holy priests
Not lack your company. Bless her when she is riggish.
LEPIDUS. Noble Antony, MAECENAS. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle
Not sickness should detain me. [Flourish] The heart of Antony, Octavia is
Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS A blessed lottery to him.
MAECENAS. Welcome from Egypt, sir. AGRIPPA. Let us go.
ENOBARBUS. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maecenas! My honourable friend, Agrippa! Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest
AGRIPPA. Good Enobarbus! Whilst you abide here.
MAECENAS. We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stay'd well ENOBARBUS. Humbly, sir, I thank you. Exeunt
by't in Egypt. SCENE III.
ENOBARBUS. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of countenance and made the night light with Rome. CAESAR'S house
drinking. Enter ANTONY, CAESAR, OCTAVIA between them
MAECENAS. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons there. Is ANTONY. The world and my great office will sometimes
this true? Divide me from your bosom.
ENOBARBUS. This was but as a fly by an eagle. We had much more monstrous matter of OCTAVIA. All which time
feast, Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers
which worthily deserved noting. MAECENAS. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be To them for you.
square to her. ENOBARBUS. When she first met Mark Antony she purs'd up his heart, upon ANTONY. Good night, sir. My Octavia,
Read not my blemishes in the world's report. CLEOPATRA. And when good will is show'd, though't come too short, The actor may plead
I have not kept my square; but that to come pardon. I'll none now.
Shall all be done by th' rule. Good night, dear lady. Give me mine angle- we'll to th' river. There,
OCTAVIA. Good night, sir. My music playing far off, I will betray
CAESAR. Good night. Exeunt CAESAR and OCTAVIA Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Enter SOOTHSAYER Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up
ANTONY. Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in Egypt? I'll think them every one an Antony,
SOOTHSAYER. Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither! ANTONY. If you can- And say 'Ah ha! Y'are caught.'
your CHARMIAN. 'Twas merry when
reason. You wager'd on your angling; when your diver
SOOTHSAYER. I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue; but yet hie you to Egypt Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he
again. With fervency drew up.
ANTONY. Say to me, CLEOPATRA. That time? O times
Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine? I laughed him out of patience; and that night
SOOTHSAYER. Caesar's. I laugh'd him into patience; and next morn,
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side. Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed,
Thy daemon, that thy spirit which keeps thee, is Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, I wore his sword Philippan.
Where Caesar's is not; but near him thy angel Enter a MESSENGER
Becomes a fear, as being o'erpow'r'd. Therefore O! from Italy?
Make space enough between you. Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears,
ANTONY. Speak this no more. That long time have been barren.
SOOTHSAYER. To none but thee; no more but when to thee. MESSENGER. Madam, madamCLEOPATRA.
If thou dost play with him at any game, Antony's dead! If thou say so, villain,
Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck Thou kill'st thy mistress; but well and free,
He beats thee 'gainst the odds. Thy lustre thickens If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here
When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit My bluest veins to kiss- a hand that kings
Is all afraid to govern thee near him; Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing.
But, he away, 'tis noble. MESSENGER. First, madam, he is well.
ANTONY. Get thee gone. CLEOPATRA. Why, there's more gold.
Say to Ventidius I would speak with him. But, sirrah, mark, we use
Exit SOOTHSAYER He shall to Parthia.- Be it art or hap, To say the dead are well. Bring it to that,
He hath spoken true. The very dice obey him; The gold I give thee will I melt and pour
And in our sports my better cunning faints Down thy ill-uttering throat.
Under his chance. If we draw lots, he speeds; MESSENGER. Good madam, hear me.
His cocks do win the battle still of mine, CLEOPATRA. Well, go to, I will.
When it is all to nought, and his quails ever But there's no goodness in thy face. If Antony
Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt; Be free and healthful- why so tart a favour
And though I make this marriage for my peace, To trumpet such good tidings? If not well,
I' th' East my pleasure lies. Thou shouldst come like a Fury crown'd with snakes,Not like a formal man.
Enter VENTIDIUS MESSENGER. Will't please you hear me?
O, come, Ventidius, CLEOPATRA. I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak'st. Yet, if thou say Antony lives,
You must to Parthia. Your commission's ready; is well,
Follow me and receive't. ExeuntSCENE IV. Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
Rome. A street I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
Enter LEPIDUS, MAECENAS, and AGRIPPA Rich pearls upon thee.
LEPIDUS. Trouble yourselves no further. Pray you hasten MESSENGER. Madam, he's well.
Your generals after. CLEOPATRA. Well said.
AGRIPPA. Sir, Mark Antony MESSENGER. And friends with Caesar.
Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow. CLEOPATRA. Th'art an honest man.
LEPIDUS. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress, MESSENGER. Caesar and he are greater friends than ever.
Which will become you both, farewell. CLEOPATRA. Make thee a fortune from me.
MAECENAS. We shall, MESSENGER. But yet, madamCLEOPATRA.
As I conceive the journey, be at th' Mount I do not like 'but yet.' It does allay
Before you, Lepidus. The good precedence; fie upon 'but yet'!
LEPIDUS. Your way is shorter; 'But yet' is as a gaoler to bring forth
My purposes do draw me much about. Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend,
You'll win two days upon me. Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear,
BOTH. Sir, good success! The good and bad together. He's friends with Caesar;
LEPIDUS. Farewell. Exeunt In state of health, thou say'st; and, thou say'st, free. MESSENGER. Free, madam! No; I
SCENE V. made no such report.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace He's bound unto Octavia.
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS CLEOPATRA. For what good turn?
CLEOPATRA. Give me some music- music, moody food MESSENGER. For the best turn i' th' bed.
Of us that trade in love. CLEOPATRA. I am pale, Charmian.
ALL. The music, ho! MESSENGER. Madam, he's married to Octavia.
Enter MARDIAN the eunuch CLEOPATRA. The most infectious pestilence upon thee!
CLEOPATRA. Let it alone! Let's to billiards. Come, Charmian. CHARMIAN. My arm is sore; [Strikes him down] MESSENGER. Good madam, patience.
best play with Mardian. CLEOPATRA. What say you? Hence, [Strikes him] Horrible villain! or I'll spurn thine eyes
CLEOPATRA. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head;
As with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, sir? [She hales him up and down] Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire and stew'd in brine,
MARDIAN. As well as I can, madam. Smarting in ling'ring pickle.
MESSENGER. Gracious madam, Which if thou hast considered, let us know
I that do bring the news made not the match. If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword
CLEOPATRA. Say 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, And carry back to Sicily much tall youth
And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst That else must perish here.
Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage; POMPEY. To you all three,
And I will boot thee with what gift beside The senators alone of this great world,
Thy modesty can beg. Chief factors for the gods: I do not know
MESSENGER. He's married, madam. Wherefore my father should revengers want,
CLEOPATRA. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. [Draws a knife] MESSENGER. Nay, then I'll Having a son and friends, since Julius Caesar,
run. Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted,
What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. Exit CHARMIAN. Good madam, keep yourself There saw you labouring for him. What was't
within yourself: That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire? and what
The man is innocent. Made the all-honour'd honest Roman, Brutus,
CLEOPATRA. Some innocents scape not the thunderbolt. With the arm'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom,
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures To drench the Capitol, but that they would
Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again. Have one man but a man? And that is it
Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call! Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burden
CHARMIAN. He is afear'd to come. The anger'd ocean foams; with which I meant
CLEOPATRA. I will not hurt him. To scourge th' ingratitude that despiteful Rome
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike Cast on my noble father.
A meaner than myself; since I myself CAESAR. Take your time.
Have given myself the cause. ANTONY. Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails;
Enter the MESSENGER again We'll speak with thee at sea; at land thou know'st
Come hither, sir. How much we do o'er-count thee.
Though it be honest, it is never good POMPEY. At land, indeed,
To bring bad news. Give to a gracious message Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house.
An host of tongues; but let ill tidings tell But since the cuckoo builds not for himself,
Themselves when they be felt. Remain in't as thou mayst.
MESSENGER. I have done my duty. LEPIDUS. Be pleas'd to tell usFor
CLEOPATRA. Is he married? this is from the present- how you take
I cannot hate thee worser than I do The offers we have sent you.
If thou again say 'Yes.' CAESAR. There's the point.
MESSENGER. He's married, madam. ANTONY. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh
CLEOPATRA. The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still? MESSENGER. Should I lie, What it is worth embrac'd.
madam? CAESAR. And what may follow,
CLEOPATRA. O, I would thou didst, To try a larger fortune.
So half my Egypt were submerg'd and made POMPEY. You have made me offer
A cistern for scal'd snakes! Go, get thee hence. Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me Rid all the sea of pirates; then to send
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? Measures of wheat to Rome; this 'greed upon,
MESSENGER. I crave your Highness' pardon.CLEOPATRA. He is married? To part with unhack'd edges and bear back
MESSENGER. Take no offence that I would not offend you; Our targes undinted.
To punish me for what you make me do ALL. That's our offer.POMPEY. Know, then,
Seems much unequal. He's married to Octavia. I came before you here a man prepar'd
CLEOPATRA. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee To take this offer; but Mark Antony
That art not what th'art sure of! Get thee hence. Put me to some impatience. Though I lose
The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome The praise of it by telling, you must know,
Are all too dear for me. Lie they upon thy hand, When Caesar and your brother were at blows,
And be undone by 'em! Exit MESSENGER CHARMIAN. Good your Highness, patience. Your mother came to Sicily and did find
CLEOPATRA. In praising Antony I have disprais'd Caesar. Her welcome friendly.
CHARMIAN. Many times, madam. ANTONY. I have heard it, Pompey,
CLEOPATRA. I am paid for't now. Lead me from hence, And am well studied for a liberal thanks
I faint. O Iras, Charmian! 'Tis no matter. Which I do owe you.
Go to the fellow, good Alexas; bid him POMPEY. Let me have your hand.
Report the feature of Octavia, her years, I did not think, sir, to have met you here.
Her inclination; let him not leave out ANTONY. The beds i' th' East are soft; and thanks to you, That call'd me timelier than my
The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly. purpose hither;
Exit ALEXAS Let him for ever go- let him not, CharmianThough For I have gained by't.
he be painted one way like a Gorgon, CAESAR. Since I saw you last
The other way's a Mars. [To MARDIAN] Bid you Alexas There is a change upon you.
Bring me word how tall she is.- Pity me, Charmian, POMPEY. Well, I know not
But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. Exeunt What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face;
SCENE VI. But in my bosom shall she never come
Near Misenum To make my heart her vassal.
Flourish. Enter POMPEY and MENAS at one door, with drum and trumpet; at another, LEPIDUS. Well met here.
CAESAR, POMPEY. I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed.
ANTONY, LEPIDUS, ENOBARBUS, MAECENAS, AGRIPPA, with soldiers marching I crave our composition may be written,
POMPEY. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; And seal'd between us.
And we shall talk before we fight. CAESAR. That's the next to do.
CAESAR. Most meet POMPEY. We'll feast each other ere we part, and let's
That first we come to words; and therefore have we Draw lots who shall begin.
Our written purposes before us sent; ANTONY. That will I, Pompey.
POMPEY. No, Antony, take the lot; SCENE VII.
But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery On board POMPEY'S galley, off Misenum
Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar Music plays. Enter two or three SERVANTS with a banquet
Grew fat with feasting there. FIRST SERVANT. Here they'll be, man. Some o' their plants are ill-rooted already; the
ANTONY. You have heard much. least wind i' th' world will blow them down.
POMPEY. I have fair meanings, sir. SECOND SERVANT. Lepidus is high-colour'd.
ANTONY. And fair words to them. FIRST SERVANT. They have made him drink alms-drink.
POMPEY. Then so much have I heard; SECOND SERVANT. As they pinch one another by the disposition, he cries out 'No more!';
And I have heard Apollodorus carriedENOBARBUS. reconciles them to his entreaty and himself to th' drink.
No more of that! He did so. FIRST SERVANT. But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion.
POMPEY. What, I pray you? SECOND SERVANT. Why, this it is to have a name in great men's fellowship. I had as lief
ENOBARBUS. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. have a reed that will do me no service as a partizan I could not heave.
POMPEY. I know thee now. How far'st thou, soldier? FIRST SERVANT. To be call'd into a huge sphere, and not to be seen to move in't, are the
ENOBARBUS. Well; holes where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks.
And well am like to do, for I perceive A sennet sounded. Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS,
Four feasts are toward. POMPEY, AGRIPPA, MAECENAS, ENOBARBUS, MENAS,
POMPEY. Let me shake thy hand. with other CAPTAINS
I never hated thee; I have seen thee fight, ANTONY. [To CAESAR] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o' th'
When I have envied thy behaviour. Nile
ENOBARBUS. Sir, By certain scales i' th' pyramid; they know
I never lov'd you much; but I ha' prais'd ye By th' height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much Or foison follow. The higher Nilus swells
As I have said you did. The more it promises; as it ebbs, the seedsman
POMPEY. Enjoy thy plainness; Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain,
It nothing ill becomes thee. And shortly comes to harvest.
Aboard my galley I invite you all. LEPIDUS. Y'have strange serpents there.
Will you lead, lords? ANTONY. Ay, Lepidus.
ALL. Show's the way, sir. LEPIDUS. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your sun; so
POMPEY. Come. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS and MENAS MENAS. [Aside] Thy father, is your crocodile.
Pompey, would ANTONY. They are so.
ne'er have made this treaty.- You and I have known, sir. POMPEY. Sit- and some wine! A health to Lepidus!
ENOBARBUS. At sea, I think. LEPIDUS. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll ne'er out. ENOBARBUS. Not till you
MENAS. We have, sir. have slept. I fear me you'll be in till then.
ENOBARBUS. You have done well by water. LEPIDUS. Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies' pyramises are very goodly things.
MENAS. And you by land. Without contradiction I have heard that. MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Pompey, a word.
ENOBARBUS. I Will praise any man that will praise me; though it cannot be denied what I POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Say in mine ear; what is't?
have done by land. MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee,
MENAS. Nor what I have done by water. Captain,
ENOBARBUS. Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great thief And hear me speak a word.
by sea. POMPEY. [ Whispers in's ear ] Forbear me till anonThis
MENAS. And you by land. wine for Lepidus!
ENOBARBUS. There I deny my land service. But give me your hand, Menas; if our eyes had LEPIDUS. What manner o' thing is your crocodile?
authority, here they might take two thieves kissing. ANTONY. It is shap'd, sir, like itself, and it is as broad as it hath breadth; it is just
MENAS. All men's faces are true, whatsome'er their hands are. ENOBARBUS. But there is so high as it is, and moves with it own organs. It lives by that which nourisheth it, and
never a fair woman has a true face. MENAS. No slander: they steal hearts. the elements once out of it, it transmigrates.LEPIDUS. What colour is it of?
ENOBARBUS. We came hither to fight with you. ANTONY. Of it own colour too.
MENAS. For my part, I am sorry it is turn'd to a drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh LEPIDUS. 'Tis a strange serpent.
away his fortune. ANTONY. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.
ENOBARBUS. If he do, sure he cannot weep't back again.MENAS. Y'have said, sir. We look'd CAESAR. Will this description satisfy him?
not for Mark Antony here. Pray you, is he married to ANTONY. With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very epicure.
Cleopatra? POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that!
ENOBARBUS. Caesar' sister is call'd Octavia. Away!
MENAS. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Marcellus. Do as I bid you.- Where's this cup I call'd for?
ENOBARBUS. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. MENAS. [Aside to POMPEY] If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear
MENAS. Pray ye, sir? me,
ENOBARBUS. 'Tis true. Rise from thy stool.
MENAS. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. POMPEY. [Aside to MENAS] I think th'art mad. [Rises and walks aside] The matter?
ENOBARBUS. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not prophesy so. MENAS. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.
MENAS. I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage than the love of the POMPEY. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith. What's else to say?- Be jolly, lords.
parties. ANTONY. These quicksands, Lepidus,
ENOBARBUS. I think so too. But you shall find the band that seems to tie their friendship Keep off them, for you sink.
together will be the very strangler of their amity: Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still MENAS. Wilt thou be lord of all the world?
conversation. MENAS. Who would not have his wife so? POMPEY. What say'st thou?
ENOBARBUS. Not he that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian MENAS. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? That's twice. POMPEY. How should that be?
dish again; then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in Caesar, and, as I said MENAS. But entertain it,
before, that which is the strength of their amity shall prove the immediate author of And though you think me poor, I am the man
their variance. Antony will use his affection where it is; he married but his occasion Will give thee all the world.
here. POMPEY. Hast thou drunk well?
MENAS. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a health for you. MENAS. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.
ENOBARBUS. I shall take it, sir. We have us'd our throats in Egypt. MENAS. Come, let's Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove;
away. Exeunt Whate'er the ocean pales or sky inclips
ACT_2|SC_7 Is thine, if thou wilt ha't.
POMPEY. Show me which way. MENAS. No, to my cabin.
MENAS. These three world-sharers, these competitors, These drums! these trumpets, flutes! what!
Are in thy vessel. Let me cut the cable; Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell
And when we are put off, fall to their throats. To these great fellows. Sound and be hang'd, sound out!
All there is thine. [Sound a flourish, with drums] ENOBARBUS. Hoo! says 'a. There's my cap.
POMPEY. Ah, this thou shouldst have done, MENAS. Hoo! Noble Captain, come. Exeunt ACT_3|SC_1
And not have spoke on't. In me 'tis villainy: ACT III. SCENE I.
In thee't had been good service. Thou must know A plain in Syria
'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour: Enter VENTIDIUS, as it were in triumph, with SILIUS
Mine honour, it. Repent that e'er thy tongue and other Romans, OFFICERS and soldiers; the dead body
Hath so betray'd thine act. Being done unknown, of PACORUS borne before him
I should have found it afterwards well done, VENTIDIUS. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck, and now Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. Crassus' death
MENAS. [Aside] For this, Make me revenger. Bear the King's son's body
I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes,
Who seeks, and will not take when once 'tis offer'd, Pays this for Marcus Crassus.
Shall never find it more. SILIUS. Noble Ventidius,
POMPEY. This health to Lepidus! Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm
ANTONY. Bear him ashore. I'll pledge it for him, Pompey. The fugitive Parthians follow; spur through Media,
ENOBARBUS. Here's to thee, Menas! Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither
MENAS. Enobarbus, welcome! The routed fly. So thy grand captain, Antony,
POMPEY. Fill till the cup be hid. Shall set thee on triumphant chariots and
ENOBARBUS. There's a strong fellow, Menas. Put garlands on thy head.
[Pointing to the servant who carries off LEPIDUS] MENAS. Why? VENTIDIUS. O Silius, Silius,
ENOBARBUS. 'A bears the third part of the world, man; see'st not? MENAS. The third part, I have done enough. A lower place, note well,
then, is drunk. Would it were all, That it might go on wheels! May make too great an act; for learn this, Silius:
ENOBARBUS. Drink thou; increase the reels. Better to leave undone than by our deed
MENAS. Come. Acquire too high a fame when him we serve's away.
POMPEY. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. Caesar and Antony have ever won
ANTONY. It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho! More in their officer, than person. Sossius,
Here's to Caesar! One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
CAESAR. I could well forbear't. For quick accumulation of renown,
It's monstrous labour when I wash my brain Which he achiev'd by th' minute, lost his favour.
And it grows fouler. Who does i' th' wars more than his captain can
ANTONY. Be a child o' th' time. Becomes his captain's captain; and ambition,
CAESAR. Possess it, I'll make answer. The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss
But I had rather fast from all four days Than gain which darkens him.
Than drink so much in one. I could do more to do Antonius good,
ENOBARBUS. [To ANTONY] Ha, my brave emperor! But 'twould offend him; and in his offence
Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals Should my performance perish.
And celebrate our drink? SILIUS. Thou hast, Ventidius, that
POMPEY. Let's ha't, good soldier. Without the which a soldier and his sword
ANTONY. Come, let's all take hands, Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony?VENTIDIUS. I'll humbly signify what in his
Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense name,
In soft and delicate Lethe. That magical word of war, we have effected;
ENOBARBUS. All take hands. How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks,
Make battery to our ears with the loud music,The while I'll place you; then the boy shall sing; The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia
The holding every man shall bear as loud We have jaded out o' th' field.
As his strong sides can volley. SILIUS. Where is he now?
[Music plays. ENOBARBUS places them hand in hand] VENTIDIUS. He purposeth to Athens; whither, with what haste The weight we must convey
THE SONG with's will permit,
Come, thou monarch of the vine, We shall appear before him.- On, there; pass along.
Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! Exeunt
In thy fats our cares be drown'd, ACT_3|SC_2
With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd. SCENE II. Rome. CAESAR'S house
Cup us till the world go round, Enter AGRIPPA at one door, ENOBARBUS at another
Cup us till the world go round! AGRIPPA. What, are the brothers parted?
CAESAR. What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother, Let me request you off; ENOBARBUS. They have dispatch'd with Pompey; he is gone;
our graver business The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps
Frowns at this levity. Gentle lords, let's part; To part from Rome; Caesar is sad; and Lepidus,
You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarb Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled
Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue With the green sickness.
Splits what it speaks. The wild disguise hath almost AGRIPPA. 'Tis a noble Lepidus.
Antick'd us all. What needs more words? Good night. ENOBARBUS. A very fine one. O, how he loves Caesar!
Good Antony, your hand. AGRIPPA. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony!
POMPEY. I'll try you on the shore. ENOBARBUS. Caesar? Why he's the Jupiter of men.
ANTONY. And shall, sir. Give's your hand. AGRIPPA. What's Antony? The god of Jupiter.
POMPEY. O Antony, ENOBARBUS. Spake you of Caesar? How! the nonpareil!
You have my father's house- but what? We are friends. AGRIPPA. O, Antony! O thou Arabian bird!
Come, down into the boat. ENOBARBUS. Would you praise Caesar, say 'Caesar'- go no further. AGRIPPA. Indeed, he
ENOBARBUS. Take heed you fall not. plied them both with excellent praises. ENOBARBUS. But he loves Caesar best. Yet he loves
Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS and MENAS Menas, I'll not on shore. Antony. Hoo! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot Think, speak, cast,
write, sing, number- hoo!- Enter the MESSENGER as before
His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, Come hither, sir.
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. ALEXAS. Good Majesty,
AGRIPPA. Both he loves. Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you
ENOBARBUS. They are his shards, and he their beetle. [Trumpets But when you are well pleas'd.
within] SoThis CLEOPATRA. That Herod's head
is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. I'll have. But how, when Antony is gone,
AGRIPPA. Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell. Through whom I might command it? Come thou near.
Enter CAESAR, ANTONY, LEPIDUS, and OCTAVIA MESSENGER. Most gracious Majesty!
ANTONY. No further, sir. CLEOPATRA. Didst thou behold Octavia?
CAESAR. You take from me a great part of myself; MESSENGER. Ay, dread Queen.
Use me well in't. Sister, prove such a wife CLEOPATRA. Where?
As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest band MESSENGER. Madam, in Rome
Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony, I look'd her in the face, and saw her led
Let not the piece of virtue which is set Between her brother and Mark Antony.
Betwixt us as the cement of our love CLEOPATRA. Is she as tall as me?
To keep it builded be the ram to batter MESSENGER. She is not, madam.
The fortress of it; for better might we CLEOPATRA. Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongu'd or low? MESSENGER. Madam, I
Have lov'd without this mean, if on both parts heard
This be not cherish'd. her speak: she is low-voic'd.
ANTONY. Make me not offended CLEOPATRA. That's not so good. He cannot like her long.
In your distrust. CHARMIAN. Like her? O Isis! 'tis impossible.
CAESAR. I have said. CLEOPATRA. I think so, Charmian. Dull of tongue and dwarfish! What majesty is in her
ANTONY. You shall not find, gait? Remember,
Though you be therein curious, the least cause If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.
For what you seem to fear. So the gods keep you, MESSENGER. She creeps.
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends! Her motion and her station are as one;
We will here part. She shows a body rather than a life,
CAESAR. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well. A statue than a breather.
The elements be kind to thee and make CLEOPATRA. Is this certain?
Thy spirits all of comfort! Fare thee well. MESSENGER. Or I have no observance.
OCTAVIA. My noble brother! CHARMIAN. Three in Egypt
ANTONY. The April's in her eyes. It is love's spring, Cannot make better note.
And these the showers to bring it on. Be cheerful. CLEOPATRA. He's very knowing;
OCTAVIA. Sir, look well to my husband's house; andCAESAR. I do perceive't. There's nothing in her yet.
What, Octavia? The fellow has good judgment.
OCTAVIA. I'll tell you in your ear. CHARMIAN. Excellent.CLEOPATRA. Guess at her years, I prithee.
ANTONY. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can MESSENGER. Madam,
Her heart inform her tongue- the swan's down feather, She was a widow.
That stands upon the swell at the full of tide, CLEOPATRA. Widow? Charmian, hark!
And neither way inclines.ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] Will Caesar weep? MESSENGER. And I do think she's thirty.
AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] He has a cloud in's face. CLEOPATRA. Bear'st thou her face in mind? Is't long or round? MESSENGER. Round even to
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] He were the worse for that, were he a faultiness.
horse; CLEOPATRA. For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so. Her hair, what colour?
So is he, being a man. MESSENGER. Brown, madam; and her forehead
AGRIPPA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] Why, Enobarbus, As low as she would wish it.
When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, CLEOPATRA. There's gold for thee.
He cried almost to roaring; and he wept Thou must not take my former sharpness ill.
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. I will employ thee back again; I find thee
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to AGRIPPA] That year, indeed, he was troubled Most fit for business. Go make thee ready;
with a rheum; Our letters are prepar'd. Exeunt MESSENGER CHARMIAN. A proper man.
What willingly he did confound he wail'd, CLEOPATRA. Indeed, he is so. I repent me much
Believe't- till I weep too. That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him,
CAESAR. No, sweet Octavia, This creature's no such thing.
You shall hear from me still; the time shall not CHARMIAN. Nothing, madam.
Out-go my thinking on you. CLEOPATRA. The man hath seen some majesty, and should know. CHARMIAN. Hath he seen
ANTONY. Come, sir, come; majesty? Isis else defend,
I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love. And serving you so long!
Look, here I have you; thus I let you go, CLEOPATRA. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian. But 'tis no matter; thou
And give you to the gods. shalt bring him to me
CAESAR. Adieu; be happy! Where I will write. All may be well enough.
LEPIDUS. Let all the number of the stars give light CHARMIAN. I warrant you, madam. Exeunt
To thy fair way! ACT_3|SC_4
CAESAR. Farewell, farewell! [Kisses OCTAVIA] SCENE IV.
ANTONY. Farewell! Trumpets sound. Exeunt Athens. ANTONY'S house
ACT_3|SC_3 Enter ANTONY and OCTAVIA
SCENE III. ANTONY. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only thatThat
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace were excusable, that and thousands more
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and ALEXAS Of semblable import- but he hath wag'd
CLEOPATRA. Where is the fellow? New wars 'gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it
ALEXAS. Half afeard to come. To public ear;
CLEOPATRA. Go to, go to. Spoke scandy of me; when perforce he could not
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her
He vented them, most narrow measure lent me; Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia,
When the best hint was given him, he not took't, Absolute queen.
Or did it from his teeth. MAECENAS. This in the public eye?
OCTAVIA. O my good lord, CAESAR. I' th' common show-place, where they exercise.
Believe not all; or if you must believe, His sons he there proclaim'd the kings of kings:
Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia,
If this division chance, ne'er stood between, He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assign'd
Praying for both parts. Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia. She
The good gods will mock me presently In th' habiliments of the goddess Isis
When I shall pray 'O, bless my lord and husband!' That day appear'd; and oft before gave audience,
Undo that prayer by crying out as loud As 'tis reported, so.
'O, bless my brother!' Husband win, win brother, MAECENAS. Let Rome be thus
Prays, and destroys the prayer; no mid-way Inform'd.
'Twixt these extremes at all. AGRIPPA. Who, queasy with his insolence
ANTONY. Gentle Octavia, Already, will their good thoughts call from him.
Let your best love draw to that point which seeks CAESAR. The people knows it, and have now receiv'd
Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour, His accusations.
I lose myself; better I were not yours AGRIPPA. Who does he accuse?
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, CAESAR. Caesar; and that, having in Sicily
Yourself shall go between's. The meantime, lady, Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated him
I'll raise the preparation of a war His part o' th' isle. Then does he say he lent me
Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste; Some shipping, unrestor'd. Lastly, he frets
So your desires are yours. That Lepidus of the triumvirate
OCTAVIA. Thanks to my lord. Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain
The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak, All his revenue.
Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be AGRIPPA. Sir, this should be answer'd.
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men CAESAR. 'Tis done already, and messenger gone.
Should solder up the rift. I have told him Lepidus was grown too cruel,
ANTONY. When it appears to you where this begins, That he his high authority abus'd,
Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults And did deserve his change. For what I have conquer'd
Can never be so equal that your love I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia
Can equally move with them. Provide your going; And other of his conquer'd kingdoms,
Choose your own company, and command what cost Demand the like.
Your heart has mind to. Exeunt MAECENAS. He'll never yield to that.CAESAR. Nor must not then be yielded to in this.
ACT_3|SC_5 SCENE V. Enter OCTAVIA, with her train
Athens. ANTONY'S house OCTAVIA. Hail, Caesar, and my lord! hail, most dear Caesar! CAESAR. That ever I should
Enter ENOBARBUS and EROS, meeting call thee cast-away!
ENOBARBUS. How now, friend Eros! OCTAVIA. You have not call'd me so, nor have you cause.
EROS. There's strange news come, sir. CAESAR. Why have you stol'n upon us thus? You come not
ENOBARBUS. What, man? Like Caesar's sister. The wife of Antony
EROS. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. Should have an army for an usher, and
ENOBARBUS. This is old. What is the success? The neighs of horse to tell of her approach
EROS. Caesar, having made use of him in the wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him Long ere she did appear. The trees by th' way
rivality, would not let him partake in the glory of the action; and not resting here, Should have borne men, and expectation fainted,
accuses him of letters he had formerly wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him. Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust
So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his confine. ENOBARBUS. Then, world, thou Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
hast a pair of chaps- no more; And throw between them all the food thou hast, Rais'd by your populous troops. But you are come
They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony? A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented
EROS. He's walking in the garden- thus, and spurns The ostentation of our love, which left unshown
The rush that lies before him; cries 'Fool Lepidus!' Is often left unlov'd. We should have met you
And threats the throat of that his officer By sea and land, supplying every stage
That murd'red Pompey. With an augmented greeting.
ENOBARBUS. Our great navy's rigg'd. OCTAVIA. Good my lord,
EROS. For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius: To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it
My lord desires you presently; my news On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony,
I might have told hereafter. Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted
ENOBARBUS. 'Twill be naught; My grieved ear withal; whereon I begg'd
But let it be. Bring me to Antony. His pardon for return.
EROS. Come, sir. Exeunt CAESAR. Which soon he granted,
ACT_3|SC_6 Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.
SCENE VI. OCTAVIA. Do not say so, my lord.
Rome. CAESAR'S house CAESAR. I have eyes upon him,
Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS And his affairs come to me on the wind.
CAESAR. Contemning Rome, he has done all this and more Where is he now?
In Alexandria. Here's the manner of't: OCTAVIA. My lord, in Athens.
I' th' market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, CAESAR. No, my most wronged sister: Cleopatra
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire
Were publicly enthron'd; at the feet sat Up to a whore, who now are levying
Caesarion, whom they call my father's son, The kings o' th' earth for war. He hath assembled
And all the unlawful issue that their lust Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus
Since then hath made between them. Unto her Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king
Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; CANIDIUS. Why will my lord do so?
King Manchus of Arabia; King of Pont; ANTONY. For that he dares us to't.
Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king ENOBARBUS. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight.
Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas, CANIDIUS. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia,
The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, with Where Caesar fought with Pompey. But these offers,
More larger list of sceptres. Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;
OCTAVIA. Ay me most wretched, And so should you.
That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, ENOBARBUS. Your ships are not well mann'd;
That does afflict each other! Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people
CAESAR. Welcome hither. Ingross'd by swift impress. In Caesar's fleet
Your letters did withhold our breaking forth, Are those that often have 'gainst Pompey fought;
Till we perceiv'd both how you were wrong led Their ships are yare; yours heavy. No disgrace
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart; Shall fall you for refusing him at sea,
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives Being prepar'd for land.
O'er your content these strong necessities, ANTONY. By sea, by sea.
But let determin'd things to destiny ENOBARBUS. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome; The absolute soldiership you have by land;
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd Distract your army, which doth most consist
Beyond the mark of thought, and the high gods, Of war-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted
To do you justice, make their ministers Your own renowned knowledge; quite forgo
Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort, The way which promises assurance; and
And ever welcome to us. Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard
AGRIPPA. Welcome, lady. From firm security.
MAECENAS. Welcome, dear madam. ANTONY. I'll fight at sea.
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you; CLEOPATRA. I have sixty sails, Caesar none better.
Only th' adulterous Antony, most large ANTONY. Our overplus of shipping will we burn,
In his abominations, turns you off, And, with the rest full-mann'd, from th' head of Actium Beat th' approaching Caesar. But
And gives his potent regiment to a trull if we fail,
That noises it against us. We then can do't at land.
OCTAVIA. Is it so, sir? Enter a MESSENGER
CAESAR. Most certain. Sister, welcome. Pray you Thy business?
Be ever known to patience. My dear'st sister! Exeunt MESSENGER. The news is true, my lord: he is descried;
ACT_3|SC_7 Caesar has taken Toryne.
SCENE VII. ANTONY. Can he be there in person? 'Tis impossibleStrange
ANTONY'S camp near Actium that his power should be. Canidius,
Enter CLEOPATRA and ENOBARBUSCLEOPATRA. I will be even with thee, doubt Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land,And our twelve thousand horse. We'll to our ship.
it not. Away, my Thetis!
ENOBARBUS. But why, why, Enter a SOLDIER
CLEOPATRA. Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars, How now, worthy soldier?
And say'st it is not fit. SOLDIER. O noble Emperor, do not fight by sea;
ENOBARBUS. Well, is it, is it? Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt
CLEOPATRA. Is't not denounc'd against us? Why should not we Be there in person? This sword and these my wounds? Let th' Egyptians
ENOBARBUS. [Aside] Well, I could reply: And the Phoenicians go a-ducking; we
If we should serve with horse and mares together Have us'd to conquer standing on the earth
The horse were merely lost; the mares would bear And fighting foot to foot.
A soldier and his horse. ANTONY. Well, well- away.
CLEOPATRA. What is't you say? Exeunt ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, and ENOBARBUS SOLDIER. By Hercules, I think I am i' th'
ENOBARBUS. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony; right.
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from's time, CANIDIUS. Soldier, thou art; but his whole action grows
What should not then be spar'd. He is already Not in the power on't. So our leader's led,
Traduc'd for levity; and 'tis said in Rome And we are women's men.
That Photinus an eunuch and your maids SOLDIER. You keep by land
Manage this war. The legions and the horse whole, do you not?
CLEOPATRA. Sink Rome, and their tongues rot CANIDIUS. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,
That speak against us! A charge we bear i' th' war, Publicola, and Caelius are for sea;
And, as the president of my kingdom, will But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it; Carries beyond belief.
I will not stay behind. SOLDIER. While he was yet in Rome,
Enter ANTONY and CANIDIUS His power went out in such distractions as
ENOBARBUS. Nay, I have done. Beguil'd all spies.
Here comes the Emperor. CANIDIUS. Who's his lieutenant, hear you?
ANTONY. Is it not strange, Canidius, SOLDIER. They say one Taurus.
That from Tarentum and Brundusium CANIDIUS. Well I know the man.
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, Enter a MESSENGER
And take in Toryne?- You have heard on't, sweet? MESSENGER. The Emperor calls Canidius.
CLEOPATRA. Celerity is never more admir'd CANIDIUS. With news the time's with labour and throes forth Each minute some. Exeunt
Than by the negligent. ACT_3|SC_8
ANTONY. A good rebuke, SCENE VIII.
Which might have well becom'd the best of men A plain near Actium
To taunt at slackness. Canidius, we Enter CAESAR, with his army, marching
Will fight with him by sea. CAESAR. Taurus!
CLEOPATRA. By sea! What else? TAURUS. My lord?
CAESAR. Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke not battle Till we have done at sea. Do I am so lated in the world that I
not exceed Have lost my way for ever. I have a ship
The prescript of this scroll. Our fortune lies Laden with gold; take that; divide it. Fly,
Upon this jump. Exeunt And make your peace with Caesar.
ACT_3|SC_9 ALL. Fly? Not we!
SCENE IX. ANTONY. I have fled myself, and have instructed cowards
Another part of the plain To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone;
Enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS I have myself resolv'd upon a course
ANTONY. Set we our squadrons on yon side o' th' hill, Which has no need of you; be gone.
In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place My treasure's in the harbour, take it. O,
We may the number of the ships behold, I follow'd that I blush to look upon.
And so proceed accordingly. Exeunt My very hairs do mutiny; for the white
ACT_3|SC_10 Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them
SCENE X. For fear and doting. Friends, be gone; you shall
Another part of the plain Have letters from me to some friends that will
CANIDIUS marcheth with his land army one way Sweep your way for you. Pray you look not sad,
over the stage, and TAURUS, the Lieutenant of Nor make replies of loathness; take the hint
CAESAR, the other way. After their going in is heard Which my despair proclaims. Let that be left
the noise of a sea-fight Which leaves itself. To the sea-side straight way.I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
Alarum. Enter ENOBARBUS Leave me, I pray, a little; pray you now;
ENOBARBUS. Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer. Th' Antoniad, the Egyptian Nay, do so, for indeed I have lost command;
admiral,With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder. Therefore I pray you. I'll see you by and by. [Sits down]
To see't mine eyes are blasted. Enter CLEOPATRA, led by CHARMIAN and IRAS,
Enter SCARUS EROS following
SCARUS. Gods and goddesses, EROS. Nay, gentle madam, to him! Comfort him.
All the whole synod of them! IRAS. Do, most dear Queen.
ENOBARBUS. What's thy passion? CHARMIAN. Do? Why, what else?
SCARUS. The greater cantle of the world is lost CLEOPATRA. Let me sit down. O Juno!
With very ignorance; we have kiss'd away ANTONY. No, no, no, no, no.
Kingdoms and provinces. EROS. See you here, sir?
ENOBARBUS. How appears the fight? ANTONY. O, fie, fie, fie!
SCARUS. On our side like the token'd pestilence, CHARMIAN. Madam!
Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of EgyptWhom IRAS. Madam, O good Empress!
leprosy o'ertake!- i' th' midst o' th' fight, EROS. Sir, sir!
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, ANTONY. Yes, my lord, yes. He at Philippi kept
Both as the same, or rather ours the elderThe His sword e'en like a dancer, while I struck
breese upon her, like a cow in JuneHoists The lean and wrinkled Cassius; and 'twas I
sails and flies. That the mad Brutus ended; he alone
ENOBARBUS. That I beheld; Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had
Mine eyes did sicken at the sight and could not In the brave squares of war. Yet now- no matter.
Endure a further view. CLEOPATRA. Ah, stand by!
SCARUS. She once being loof'd, EROS. The Queen, my lord, the Queen!
The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, IRAS. Go to him, madam, speak to him.
Claps on his sea-wing, and, like a doting mallard, He is unqualitied with very shame.
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her. CLEOPATRA. Well then, sustain me. O!
I never saw an action of such shame; EROS. Most noble sir, arise; the Queen approaches.
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her but
Did violate so itself. Your comfort makes the rescue.
ENOBARBUS. Alack, alack! ANTONY. I have offended reputationA
Enter CANIDIUS most unnoble swerving.
CANIDIUS. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath, EROS. Sir, the Queen.
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general ANTONY. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See
Been what he knew himself, it had gone well. How I convey my shame out of thine eyes
O, he has given example for our flight By looking back what I have left behind
Most grossly by his own! 'Stroy'd in dishonour.
ENOBARBUS. Ay, are you thereabouts? CLEOPATRA. O my lord, my lord,
Why then, good night indeed. Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought
CANIDIUS. Toward Peloponnesus are they fled. You would have followed.
SCARUS. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend ANTONY. Egypt, thou knew'st too well
What further comes. My heart was to thy rudder tied by th' strings,
CANIDIUS. To Caesar will I render And thou shouldst tow me after. O'er my spirit
My legions and my horse; six kings already Thy full supremacy thou knew'st, and that
Show me the way of yielding. Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
ENOBARBUS. I'll yet follow Command me.
The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason CLEOPATRA. O, my pardon!
Sits in the wind against me. Exeunt ANTONY. Now I must
ACT_3|SC_11 To the young man send humble treaties, dodge
SCENE XI. And palter in the shifts of lowness, who
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace With half the bulk o' th' world play'd as I pleas'd,
Enter ANTONY With attendants Making and marring fortunes. You did know
ANTONY. Hark! the land bids me tread no more upon't; How much you were my conqueror, and that
It is asham'd to bear me. Friends, come hither. My sword, made weak by my affection, would
Obey it on all cause. And leave his navy gazing.
CLEOPATRA. Pardon, pardon! CLEOPATRA. Prithee, peace.
ANTONY. Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates Enter EUPHRONIUS, the Ambassador; with ANTONY
All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss; ANTONY. Is that his answer?
Even this repays me. EUPHRONIUS. Ay, my lord.
We sent our schoolmaster; is 'a come back? ANTONY. The Queen shall then have courtesy, so she
Love, I am full of lead. Some wine, Will yield us up.
Within there, and our viands! Fortune knows EUPHRONIUS. He says so.
We scorn her most when most she offers blows. Exeunt ANTONY. Let her know't.
ACT_3|SC_12 To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head,
SCENE XII. And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
CAESAR'S camp in Egypt With principalities.
Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, DOLABELLA, THYREUS, with others CLEOPATRA. That head, my lord?ANTONY. To him again. Tell him he wears the rose
CAESAR. Let him appear that's come from Antony. Of youth upon him; from which the world should note
Know you him? Something particular. His coin, ships, legions,
DOLABELLA. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster:An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither May be a coward's whose ministers would prevail
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, Under the service of a child as soon
Which had superfluous kings for messengers As i' th' command of Caesar. I dare him therefore
Not many moons gone by. To lay his gay comparisons apart,
Enter EUPHRONIUS, Ambassador from ANTONY And answer me declin'd, sword against sword,
CAESAR. Approach, and speak. Ourselves alone. I'll write it. Follow me.
EUPHRONIUS. Such as I am, I come from Antony. Exeunt ANTONY and EUPHRONIUS EUPHRONIUS. [Aside] Yes, like enough high-battled
I was of late as petty to his ends Caesar
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf will Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to th' show
To his grand sea. Against a sworder! I see men's judgments are
CAESAR. Be't so. Declare thine office. A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward
EUPHRONIUS. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and Do draw the inward quality after them,
Requires to live in Egypt; which not granted, To suffer all alike. That he should dream,
He lessens his requests and to thee sues Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will
To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdu'd
A private man in Athens. This for him. His judgment too.
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness, Enter a SERVANT
Submits her to thy might, and of thee craves SERVANT. A messenger from Caesar.
The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, CLEOPATRA. What, no more ceremony? See, my women!
Now hazarded to thy grace. Against the blown rose may they stop their nose
CAESAR. For Antony, That kneel'd unto the buds. Admit him, sir. Exit SERVANT ENOBARBUS. [Aside] Mine honesty
I have no ears to his request. The Queen and I begin to square.
Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she The loyalty well held to fools does make
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can endure
Or take his life there. This if she perform, To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. Does conquer him that did his master conquer,
EUPHRONIUS. Fortune pursue thee! And earns a place i' th' story.
CAESAR. Bring him through the bands. Exit EUPHRONIUS [To THYREUS] To try thy Enter THYREUS
eloquence, CLEOPATRA. Caesar's will?
now 'tis time. Dispatch; From Antony win Cleopatra. Promise, THYREUS. Hear it apart.
And in our name, what she requires; add more, CLEOPATRA. None but friends: say boldly.
From thine invention, offers. Women are not THYREUS. So, haply, are they friends to Antony.
In their best fortunes strong; but want will perjure ENOBARBUS. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has,
The ne'er-touch'd vestal. Try thy cunning, Thyreus; Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we Will leap to be his friend. For us, you know
Will answer as a law. Whose he is we are, and that is Caesar's.
THYREUS. Caesar, I go. THYREUS. So.
CAESAR. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, Thus then, thou most renown'd: Caesar entreats
And what thou think'st his very action speaks Not to consider in what case thou stand'st
In every power that moves. Further than he is Caesar.
THYREUS. Caesar, I shall. Exeunt CLEOPATRA. Go on. Right royal!
ACT_3|SC_13 THYREUS. He knows that you embrace not Antony
SCENE XIII. As you did love, but as you fear'd him.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA'S palace CLEOPATRA. O!
Enter CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, and IRAS THYREUS. The scars upon your honour, therefore, he
CLEOPATRA. What shall we do, Enobarbus? Does pity, as constrained blemishes,
ENOBARBUS. Think, and die. Not as deserv'd.
CLEOPATRA. Is Antony or we in fault for this? CLEOPATRA. He is a god, and knows
ENOBARBUS. Antony only, that would make his will What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded,
Lord of his reason. What though you fled But conquer'd merely.
From that great face of war, whose several ranges ENOBARBUS. [Aside] To be sure of that,
Frighted each other? Why should he follow? I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky
The itch of his affection should not then That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
Have nick'd his captainship, at such a point, Thy dearest quit thee. Exit THYREUS. Shall I say to Caesar
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being What you require of him? For he partly begs
The mered question. 'Twas a shame no less To be desir'd to give. It much would please him
Than was his loss, to course your flying flags That of his fortunes you should make a staff
To lean upon. But it would warm his spirits Upon the hill of Basan to outroar
To hear from me you had left Antony, The horned herd! For I have savage cause,
And put yourself under his shroud, And to proclaim it civilly were like
The universal landlord. A halter'd neck which does the hangman thank
CLEOPATRA. What's your name? For being yare about him.
THYREUS. My name is Thyreus. Re-enter a SERVANT with THYREUS
CLEOPATRA. Most kind messenger, Is he whipt?
Say to great Caesar this: in deputation SERVANT. Soundly, my lord.
I kiss his conquring hand. Tell him I am prompt ANTONY. Cried he? and begg'd 'a pardon?
To lay my crown at 's feet, and there to kneel. SERVANT. He did ask favour.
Tell him from his all-obeying breath I hear ANTONY. If that thy father live, let him repent
The doom of Egypt. Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry
THYREUS. 'Tis your noblest course. To follow Caesar in his triumph, sinceThou hast been whipt for following him. Henceforth
Wisdom and fortune combating together,If that the former dare but what it can, The white hand of a lady fever thee!
No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay Shake thou to look on't. Get thee back to Caesar;
My duty on your hand. Tell him thy entertainment; look thou say
CLEOPATRA. Your Caesar's father oft, He makes me angry with him; for he seems
When he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in, Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am,
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry;
As it rain'd kisses. And at this time most easy 'tis to do't,
Re-enter ANTONY and ENOBARBUS When my good stars, that were my former guides,
ANTONY. Favours, by Jove that thunders! Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires
What art thou, fellow? Into th' abysm of hell. If he mislike
THYREUS. One that but performs My speech and what is done, tell him he has
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom
To have command obey'd. He may at pleasure whip or hang or torture,
ENOBARBUS. [Aside] You will be whipt. As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou.
ANTONY. Approach there.- Ah, you kite!- Now, gods and devils! Authority melts from me. Of Hence with thy stripes, be gone. Exit THYREUS CLEOPATRA. Have you done yet?
late, when I cried 'Ho!' ANTONY. Alack, our terrene moon
Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth Is now eclips'd, and it portends alone
And cry 'Your will?' Have you no ears? I am The fall of Antony.
Antony yet. CLEOPATRA. I must stay his time.
Enter servants ANTONY. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
Take hence this Jack and whip him. With one that ties his points?
ENOBARBUS. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp CLEOPATRA. Not know me yet?
Than with an old one dying. ANTONY. Cold-hearted toward me?
ANTONY. Moon and stars! CLEOPATRA. Ah, dear, if I be so,
Whip him. Were't twenty of the greatest tributaries From my cold heart let heaven engender hail,
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them And poison it in the source, and the first stone
So saucy with the hand of she here- what's her name Drop in my neck; as it determines, so
Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite!
Till like a boy you see him cringe his face, Till by degrees the memory of my womb,
And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence. Together with my brave Egyptians all,
THYMUS. Mark AntonyANTONY. By the discandying of this pelleted storm,
Tug him away. Being whipt, Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile
Bring him again: the Jack of Caesar's shall Have buried them for prey.
Bear us an errand to him. Exeunt servants with THYREUS You were half blasted ere I knew ANTONY. I am satisfied.
you. Ha! Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Forborne the getting of a lawful race, Hath nobly held; our sever'd navy to
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sea-like.
By one that looks on feeders? Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady?
CLEOPATRA. Good my lordANTONY. If from the field I shall return once more
You have been a boggler ever. To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood.
But when we in our viciousness grow hardO I and my sword will earn our chronicle.
misery on't!- the wise gods seel our eyes, There's hope in't yet.
In our own filth drop our clear judgments, make us CLEOPATRA. That's my brave lord!
Adore our errors, laugh at's while we strut ANTONY. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
To our confusion. And fight maliciously. For when mine hours
CLEOPATRA. O, is't come to this? Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives
ANTONY. I found you as a morsel cold upon Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth,
Dead Caesar's trencher. Nay, you were a fragment And send to darkness all that stop me. Come,
Of Cneius Pompey's, besides what hotter hours, Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me
Unregist'red in vulgar fame, you have All my sad captains; fill our bowls once more;
Luxuriously pick'd out; for I am sure, Let's mock the midnight bell.
Though you can guess what temperance should be, CLEOPATRA. It is my birthday.
You know not what it is. I had thought t'have held it poor; but since my lord
CLEOPATRA. Wherefore is this? Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.
ANTONY. To let a fellow that will take rewards, ANTONY. We will yet do well.
And say 'God quit you!' be familiar with CLEOPATRA. Call all his noble captains to my lord.
My playfellow, your hand, this kingly seal ANTONY. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night I'll force The wine peep through their
And plighter of high hearts! O that I were scars. Come on, my queen,
There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight A mangled shadow. Perchance to-morrow
I'll make death love me; for I will contend You'll serve another master. I look on you
Even with his pestilent scythe. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS ENOBARBUS. Now he'll outstare As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
the lightning. To be furious Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood I turn you not away; but, like a master
The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still Married to your good service, stay till death.
A diminution in our captain's brain Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more,
Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason, And the gods yield you for't!
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek ENOBARBUS. What mean you, sir,
Some way to leave him. Exit To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep;
ACT_4|SC_1 And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd. For shame!
ACT IV. SCENE I. Transform us not to women.
CAESAR'S camp before Alexandria ANTONY. Ho, ho, ho!Now the witch take me if I meant it thus!
Enter CAESAR, AGRIPPA, and MAECENAS, with his army; Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends,
CAESAR reading a letterCAESAR. He calls me boy, and chides as he had power You take me in too dolorous a sense;
To beat me out of Egypt. My messenger For I spake to you for your comfort, did desire you
He hath whipt with rods; dares me to personal combat, To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts,
Caesar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know I hope well of to-morrow, and will lead you
I have many other ways to die, meantime Where rather I'll expect victorious life
Laugh at his challenge. Than death and honour. Let's to supper, come,
MAECENAS. Caesar must think And drown consideration. Exeunt
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted ACT_4|SC_3
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now SCENE III.
Make boot of his distraction. Never anger Alexandria. Before CLEOPATRA's palace
Made good guard for itself. Enter a company of soldiers
CAESAR. Let our best heads FIRST SOLDIER. Brother, good night. To-morrow is the day. SECOND SOLDIER. It will
Know that to-morrow the last of many battles determine one way. Fare you well. Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?
We mean to fight. Within our files there are FIRST SOLDIER. Nothing. What news?
Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late SECOND SOLDIER. Belike 'tis but a rumour. Good night to you. FIRST SOLDIER. Well, sir,
Enough to fetch him in. See it done; good night.
And feast the army; we have store to do't, [They meet other soldiers] SECOND SOLDIER. Soldiers, have careful watch.
And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony! Exeunt FIRST SOLDIER. And you. Good night, good night.
ACT_4|SC_2 [The two companies separate and place themselves
SCENE II. in every corner of the stage]
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace SECOND SOLDIER. Here we. And if to-morrow
Enter ANTONY, CLEOPATRA, ENOBARBUS, CHARMIAN, IRAS, Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
ALEXAS, with others Our landmen will stand up.
ANTONY. He will not fight with me, Domitius? THIRD SOLDIER. 'Tis a brave army,
ENOBARBUS. No. And full of purpose.
ANTONY. Why should he not? [Music of the hautboys is under the stage] SECOND SOLDIER. Peace, what noise?
ENOBARBUS. He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, He is twenty men to one. THIRD SOLDIER. List, list!
ANTONY. To-morrow, soldier, SECOND SOLDIER. Hark!
By sea and land I'll fight. Or I will live, THIRD SOLDIER. Music i' th' air.
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood FOURTH SOLDIER. Under the earth.
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well? THIRD SOLDIER. It signs well, does it not?
ENOBARBUS. I'll strike, and cry 'Take all.' FOURTH SOLDIER. No.
ANTONY. Well said; come on. THIRD SOLDIER. Peace, I say!
Call forth my household servants; let's to-night What should this mean?
Be bounteous at our meal. SECOND SOLDIER. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd, Now leaves him.
Enter three or four servitors THIRD SOLDIER. Walk; let's see if other watchmen
Give me thy hand, Do hear what we do.
Thou has been rightly honest. So hast thou; SECOND SOLDIER. How now, masters!
Thou, and thou, and thou. You have serv'd me well, SOLDIERS. [Speaking together] How now!
And kings have been your fellows. How now! Do you hear this?
CLEOPATRA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] What means this? FIRST SOLDIER. Ay; is't not strange?
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] 'Tis one of those odd tricks which THIRD SOLDIER. Do you hear, masters? Do you hear?
sorrow shoots FIRST SOLDIER. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter; Let's see how it will give
Out of the mind. off.
ANTONY. And thou art honest too. SOLDIERS. Content. 'Tis strange. Exeunt
I wish I could be made so many men, ACT_4|SC_4
And all of you clapp'd up together in SCENE IV.
An Antony, that I might do you service Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace
So good as you have done. Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS,
SERVANT. The gods forbid! with others
ANTONY. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night. ANTONY. Eros! mine armour, Eros!
Scant not my cups, and make as much of me CLEOPATRA. Sleep a little.
As when mine empire was your fellow too, ANTONY. No, my chuck. Eros! Come, mine armour, Eros!
And suffer'd my command. Enter EROS with armour
CLEOPATRA. [Aside to ENOBARBUS] What does he mean? Come, good fellow, put mine iron on.
ENOBARBUS. [Aside to CLEOPATRA] To make his followers weep. ANTONY. Tend me to- If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
night; Because we brave her. Come.
May be it is the period of your duty. CLEOPATRA. Nay, I'll help too.
Haply you shall not see me more; or if, What's this for?
ANTONY. Ah, let be, let be! Thou artThe armourer of my heart. False, false; this, this. SCENE VI.
CLEOPATRA. Sooth, la, I'll help. Thus it must be. Alexandria. CAESAR'S camp
ANTONY. Well, well; Flourish. Enter AGRIPPA, CAESAR, With DOLABELLA
We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow? and ENOBARBUS
Go put on thy defences. CAESAR. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight.
EROS. Briefly, sir. Our will is Antony be took alive;
CLEOPATRA. Is not this buckled well? Make it so known.
ANTONY. Rarely, rarely! AGRIPPA. Caesar, I shall. Exit CAESAR. The time of universal peace is near.
He that unbuckles this, till we do please Prove this a prosp'rous day, the three-nook'd world
To daff't for our repose, shall hear a storm. Shall bear the olive freely.
Thou fumblest, Eros, and my queen's a squire Enter A MESSENGER
More tight at this than thou. Dispatch. O love, MESSENGER. Antony
That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st Is come into the field.
The royal occupation! Thou shouldst see CAESAR. Go charge Agrippa
A workman in't. Plant those that have revolted in the vant,
Enter an armed SOLDIER That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Good-morrow to thee. Welcome. Upon himself. Exeunt all but ENOBARBUS ENOBARBUS. Alexas did revolt and went to Jewry
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge. on
To business that we love we rise betime, Affairs of Antony; there did dissuade
And go to't with delight. Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar
SOLDIER. A thousand, sir, And leave his master Antony. For this pains
Early though't be, have on their riveted trim, Casaer hath hang'd him. Canidius and the rest
And at the port expect you. That fell away have entertainment, but
[Shout. Flourish of trumpets within] No honourable trust. I have done ill,
Enter CAPTAINS and soldiers Of which I do accuse myself so sorely
CAPTAIN. The morn is fair. Good morrow, General. That I will joy no more.
ALL. Good morrow, General. Enter a SOLDIER of CAESAR'S
ANTONY. 'Tis well blown, lads. SOLDIER. Enobarbus, Antony
This morning, like the spirit of a youth Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
That means to be of note, begins betimes. His bounty overplus. The messenger
So, so. Come, give me that. This way. Well said. Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me. Unloading of his mules.
This is a soldier's kiss. Rebukeable, ENOBARBUS. I give it you.
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand SOLDIER. Mock not, Enobarbus.
On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee I tell you true. Best you saf'd the bringer
Now like a man of steel. You that will fight, Out of the host. I must attend mine office,
Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. Adieu. Or would have done't myself. Your emperor
Exeunt ANTONY, EROS, CAPTAINS and soldiers CHARMIAN. Please you retire to your Continues still a Jove. Exit ENOBARBUS. I am alone the villain of the earth,
chamber? And feel I am so most. O Antony,
CLEOPATRA. Lead me. Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid
He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might My better service, when my turpitude
Determine this great war in single fight! Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart.
Then, Antony- but now. Well, on. Exeunt If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean
ACT_4|SC_5 Shall outstrike thought; but thought will do't, I feel. I fight against thee? No! I will
SCENE V. go seek
Alexandria. ANTONY'S camp Some ditch wherein to die; the foul'st best fits
Trumpets sound. Enter ANTONY and EROS, a SOLDIER My latter part of life. Exit
meeting them ACT_4|SC_7
SOLDIER. The gods make this a happy day to Antony! SCENE VII.
ANTONY. Would thou and those thy scars had once prevail'd To make me fight at land! Field of battle between the camps
SOLDIER. Hadst thou done so, Alarum. Drums and trumpets. Enter AGRIPPA
The kings that have revolted, and the soldier and others
That has this morning left thee, would have still AGRIPPA. Retire. We have engag'd ourselves too far.
Followed thy heels. Caesar himself has work, and our oppression
ANTONY. Who's gone this morning? Exceeds what we expected. Exeunt
SOLDIER. Who? Alarums. Enter ANTONY, and SCARUS woundedSCARUS. O my brave Emperor, this is
One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus, fought indeed!
He shall not hear thee; or from Caesar's camp Had we done so at first, we had droven them home
Say 'I am none of thine.' With clouts about their heads.
ANTONY. What say'st thou? ANTONY. Thou bleed'st apace.
SOLDIER. Sir, SCARUS. I had a wound here that was like a T,
He is with Caesar. But now 'tis made an H.
EROS. Sir, his chests and treasure ANTONY. They do retire.
He has not with him. SCARUS. We'll beat'em into bench-holes. I have yet
ANTONY. Is he gone? Room for six scotches more.
SOLDIER. Most certain. Enter EROS
ANTONY. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it;Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to himI EROS. They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves
will subscribe- gentle adieus and greetings; For a fair victory.
Say that I wish he never find more cause SCARUS. Let us score their backs
To change a master. O, my fortunes have And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind.
Corrupted honest men! Dispatch. Enobarbus! Exeunt 'Tis sport to maul a runner.
ACT_4|SC_6 ANTONY. I will reward thee
Once for thy sprightly comfort, and tenfold The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me,
For thy good valour. Come thee on. That life, a very rebel to my will,
SCARUS. I'll halt after. Exeunt May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart
ACT_4|SC_8 Against the flint and hardness of my fault,
SCENE VIII. Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
Under the walls of Alexandria And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Alarum. Enter ANTONY, again in a march; SCARUS Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
with others Forgive me in thine own particular,
ANTONY. We have beat him to his camp. Run one before But let the world rank me in register
And let the Queen know of our gests. To-morrow, A master-leaver and a fugitive!
Before the sun shall see's, we'll spill the blood O Antony! O Antony! [Dies] FIRST WATCH. Let's speak to him.
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all; CENTURION. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
For doughty-handed are you, and have fought May concern Caesar.
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as't had been SECOND WATCH. Let's do so. But he sleeps.
Each man's like mine; you have shown all Hectors. CENTURION. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, Was never yet for sleep.
Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears FIRST WATCH. Go we to him.
Wash the congealment from your wounds and kiss SECOND WATCH. Awake, sir, awake; speak to us.
The honour'd gashes whole. FIRST WATCH. Hear you, sir?
Enter CLEOPATRA, attended CENTURION. The hand of death hath raught him.
[To SCARUS] Give me thy handTo [Drums afar off ] Hark! the drums
this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o' th' world, To th' court of guard; he is of note. Our hour
Chain mine arm'd neck. Leap thou, attire and all, Is fully out.
Through proof of harness to my heart, and there SECOND WATCH. Come on, then;
Ride on the pants triumphing. He may recover yet. Exeunt with the body
CLEOPATRA. Lord of lords! ACT_4|SC_10
O infinite virtue, com'st thou smiling from SCENE X.
The world's great snare uncaught? Between the two camps
ANTONY. Mine nightingale, Enter ANTONY and SCARUS, with their army
We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! though grey Do something mingle with our ANTONY. Their preparation is to-day by sea;
younger brown, yet ha' we We please them not by land.
A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can SCARUS. For both, my lord.
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man; ANTONY. I would they'd fight i' th' fire or i' th' air;
Commend unto his lips thy favouring handKiss We'd fight there too. But this it is, our foot
it, my warrior- he hath fought to-day Upon the hills adjoining to the city
As if a god in hate of mankind had Shall stay with us- Order for sea is given;
Destroyed in such a shape. They have put forth the havenWhere
CLEOPATRA. I'll give thee, friend, their appointment we may best discover
An armour all of gold; it was a king's. And look on their endeavour. Exeunt
ANTONY. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled ACT_4|SC_11
Like holy Phoebus' car. Give me thy hand. SCENE XI.
Through Alexandria make a jolly march; Between the camps
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them. Enter CAESAR and his armyCAESAR. But being charg'd, we will be still by land,
Had our great palace the capacity Which, as I take't, we shall; for his best force
To camp this host, we all would sup together, Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales,
And drink carouses to the next day's fate, And hold our best advantage. Exeunt
Which promises royal peril. Trumpeters, ACT_4|SC_12
With brazen din blast you the city's ear; SCENE XII.
Make mingle with our rattling tabourines, A hill near Alexandria
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together Enter ANTONY and SCARUS
Applauding our approach. ExeuntACT_4|SC_9 ANTONY. Yet they are not join'd. Where yond pine does stand I shall discover all. I'll
SCENE IX. bring thee word
CAESAR'S camp Straight how 'tis like to go. Exit SCARUS. Swallows have built
Enter a CENTURION and his company; ENOBARBUS follows In Cleopatra's sails their nests. The augurers
CENTURION. If we be not reliev'd within this hour, Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly,
We must return to th' court of guard. The night And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is shiny, and they say we shall embattle Is valiant and dejected; and by starts
By th' second hour i' th' morn. His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear
FIRST WATCH. This last day was Of what he has and has not.
A shrewd one to's. [Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight]
ENOBARBUS. O, bear me witness, nightSECOND Re-enter ANTONY
WATCH. What man is this? ANTONY. All is lost!
FIRST WATCH. Stand close and list him. This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me.
ENOBARBUS. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder
When men revolted shall upon record They cast their caps up and carouse together
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did Like friends long lost. Triple-turn'd whore! 'tis thou
Before thy face repent! Hast sold me to this novice; and my heart
CENTURION. Enobarbus? Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;
SECOND WATCH. Peace! For when I am reveng'd upon my charm,
Hark further. I have done all. Bid them all fly; begone. Exit SCARUS O sun, thy uprise shall I see no
ENOBARBUS. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, more!
Fortune and Antony part here; even here
Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark'd
That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am.
O this false soul of Egypt! this grave charmWhose
eye beck'd forth my wars and call'd them home,
Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief endLike
a right gypsy hath at fast and loose
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss.
What, Eros, Eros!
Enter CLEOPATRA
Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!
CLEOPATRA. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love?
ANTONY. Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians;
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown
For poor'st diminutives, for doits, and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails. Exit CLEOPATRA 'Tis well th'art gone,
If it be well to live; but better 'twere
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!
The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage;
Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' th' moon,
And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die.
To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot. She dies for't. Eros, ho! Exit
ACT_4|SC_13
SCENE XIII.
Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palaceEnter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and
MARDIAN
CLEOPATRA. Help me, my women. O, he is more mad
Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss'd.
CHARMIAN. To th'monument!
There lock yourself, and send him word you are dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting
Than greatness going off.
CLEOPATRA. To th' monument!
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say that the last I spoke was 'Antony'
And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence, Mardian,
And ed him medicine, he struck the tin, sending its contents flying. However serious his
hurts were they had evidently not mitigated the ferocity of his mood.\ For the three
succeeding days he remained in the wagon, stiff with bruises and refusing to speak. Daddy
John was detailed to take him his meals, and the doctor dressed his wounds and tried to
find the cause of his murderous outburst. But Leff was obdurate. He would express no
regret for his action, and would give no reason for it. Once when the questioner asked
him if he hated David, he said "Yes." But to the succeeding, "Why did he?" he offered no
explanation, said he "didn't know why."\ "Hate never came without a reason," said the
physician, curious and puzzled. "Has David wronged you in any way?"\ "What's that to
you?" answered the farm boy. "I can hate him if I like, can't I?"\ "Not in my train."\
"Well there are other trains where the men aren't all fools, and the women----"\ He
stopped. The doctor's eye held him with a warning gleam.\ "I don't know what's the matter
with that boy," he said afterwards in the evening conference. "I can't get at him."\ "Sun
mad," Daddy John insisted.\ Courant gave a grunt that conveyed disdain of a question of
such small import.\ David couldn't account for it at all.\ Susan said nothing.\ At Green
River the Oregon Trail broke from the parent road and slanted off to the northwest. Here
the Oregon companies mended their wagons and braced their yokes for the long pull across
the broken teeth of mountains to Fort Hall, and from there onward to the new country of
great rivers and virgin forests. A large train was starting as the doctor's wagons came
down the slope. There was some talk, and a little bartering between the two companies,
but time was precious, and the head of the Oregon caravan had begun to roll out when the
California party were raising their tents on the river bank.\ It was a sere and sterile
prospect. Drab hills rolled in lazy waves toward the river where they reared themselves
into bolder forms, a line of ramparts guarding the precious thread of water. The sleek,
greenish current ate at the roots of lofty bluffs, striped by bands of umber and orange,
and topped with out-croppings of rock as though a vanished race had crowned them with now
crumbling fortresses. At their feet, sucking life from the stream, a fringe of alder and
willows decked the sallow landscape with a trimming of green.\ Here the doctor's party
camped for the night, rising in the morning to find a new defection in their ranks. Leff
had gone. Nailed to the mess chest was a slip of paper on which he had traced a few words
announcing his happiness to be rid of them, his general dislike of one and all, and his
intention to catch up the departed train and go to the Oregon country. This was just what
they wanted, the desired had been accomplished without their intervention. But when they
discovered that, beside his own saddle horse, he had taken David's, their gladness
suffered a check. It was a bad situation, for it left the young man with but one horse,
the faithful Ben. There was nothing for it but to abandon the wagon, and give David the
doctor's extra mount for a pack animal. With silent pangs the student saw his books
thrown on the banks of the river while his keg of whisky, sugar and coffee were stored
among the Gillespies' effects. Then they started, a much diminished train--one wagon, a
girl, and three mounted men.\ \pard\pardeftab720\sa340\ql\qnatural \f1\b\fs45 \cf0
CHAPTER VII\ \pard\pardeftab720\sa300\ql\qnatural \f0\b0\fs37\fsmilli18750 \cf0 It was
Sunday afternoon, and the doctor and his daughter were sitting by a group of alders on
the banks of the little river called Ham's Fork. On the uplands above, the shadows were
lengthening, and at intervals a light air caught up swirls of dust and carried them
careening away in staggering spirals.\ The doctor was tired and lay stretched on the
ground. He looked bloodless and wan, the grizzled beard not able to hide the thinness of
his face. The healthful vigor he had found on the prairie had left him, each day's march
claiming a dole from his hoarded store of strength. He knew--no one else--that he had
never recovered the vitality expended at the time of Bella's illness. The call then had
been too strenuous, the depleted reservoir had filled slowly, and now the demands of
unremitting toil were draining it of what was left. He said nothing of this, but thought
much in his feverish nights, and in the long afternoons when his knees felt weak against
the horse's sides. As the silence of each member of the little train was a veil over
secret trouble, his had hidden the darkest, the most sinister.\ Susan, sitting beside
him, watching him with an anxious eye, noted the languor of his long, dry hands, the
network of lines, etched deep on the loose skin of his cheeks. Of late she had been shut
in with her own preoccupations, but never too close for the old love and the old habit to
force a way through. She had seen a lessening of energy and spirit, asked about it, and
received the accustomed answers that came with the quick, brisk cheeriness that now had
to be whipped up. She had never seen his dauntless belief in life shaken. Faith and a
debonair courage were his message. They were still there, but the effort of the unbroken
spirit to maintain them against the body's weakness was suddenly revealed to her and the
pathos of it caught at her throat. She leaned forward and passed her hand over his hair,
her eyes on his face in a long gaze of almost solemn tenderness.\ "You're worn out," she
said.\ "Not a bit of it," he answered stoutly. "You're the most uncomplimentary person Iknow. I
was just thinking what a hardy pioneer I'd become, and that's the way you dash me
to the ground."\ She looked at the silvery meshes through which her fingers were laced.\
"It's quite white and there were lots of brown hairs left when we started."\ "That's the
Emigrant Trail," he smothered a sigh, and his trouble found words: "It's not for old men,
Missy."\ "Old!" scornfully; "you're fifty-three. That's only thirty-two years older than
I am. When I'm fifty-three you'll be eighty-five. Then we'll begin to talk about your
being old."\ "My little Susan fifty-three!" He moved his head so that he could command
her face and dwell upon its blended bloom of olive and clear rose, "With wrinkles here
and here," an indicating finger helped him, "and gray hairs all round here, and thick
eyebrows, and--" he dropped the hand and his smile softened to reminiscence, "It was only
yesterday you were a baby, a little, fat, crowing thing all creases and dimples. Your
mother and I used to think everything about you so wonderful that we each secretly
believed--and we'd tell each other so when nobody was round--that there \f2\i had \f0\i0
been other babies in the world, but never before one like ours. I don't know but what I
think that yet."\ "Silly old doctor-man!" she murmured.\ "And now my baby's a woman with
all of life before her. From where you are it seems as if it was never going to end, but
when you get where I am and begin to look back, you see that it's just a little journey
over before you've got used to the road and struck your gait. We ought to have more time.
The first half's just learning and the second's where we put the learning into practice.
And we're busy over that when we have to go. It's too short."\ "Our life's going to be
long. Out in California we're going to come into a sort of second childhood, be
perennials like those larkspurs I had in the garden at home."\ They were silent, thinking
of the garden behind the old house in Rochester with walks outlined by shells and edged
by long flower beds. The girl looked back on it with a detached interest as an
unregretted feature of a past existence in which she had once played her part and that
was cut from the present by a chasm never to be bridged. The man held it cherishingly as
one of many lovely memories that stretched from this river bank in a strange land back
through the years, a link in the long chain.\ "Wasn't it pretty!" she said dreamily,
"with the line of hollyhocks against the red brick wall, and the big, bushy pine tree in
the corner. Everything was bright except that tree."\ His eyes narrowed in wistful
retrospect:\ "It was as if all the shadows in the garden had concentrated there--huddled
together in one place so that the rest could be full of color and sunshine. And when
Daddy John and I wanted to cut it down you wouldn't let us, cried and stamped, and so, of
course, we gave it up. I actually believe you had a sentiment about that tree."\ "I
suppose I had, though I don't know exactly what you mean by a sentiment. I loved it
because I'd once had such a perfect time up there among the branches. The top had been
cut off and a ring of boughs was left round the place, and it made the most comfortable
seat, almost like a cradle. One day you went to New York and when you came back you
brought me a box of candy. Do you remember it--burnt almonds and chocolate drops with a
dog painted on the cover? Well, I wanted to get them at their very best, enjoy them as
much as I could, so I climbed to the seat in the top of the pine and ate them there. I
can remember distinctly how lovely it was. They tasted better than any candies I've ever
had before or since, and I leaned back on the boughs, rocking and eating and looking at
the clouds and feeling the wind swaying the trunk. I can shut my eyes and feel again the
sense of being entirely happy, sort of limp and forgetful and \f2\i so \f0\i0 contented.
I don't know whether it was only the candies, or a combination of things that were just
right that day and never combined the same way again. For I tried it often afterwards,
with cake and fruit tart and other candies, but it was no good. But I couldn't have the
tree cut down, for there was always a hope that I might get the combination right and
have that perfectly delightful time once more."\ The doctor's laughter echoed between the
banks, and hers fell in with it, though she had told her story with the utmost
sedateness.\ "Was there ever such a materialist?" he chuckled. "It all rose from a box of
New York candy, and I thought it was sentiment. Twenty-one years old and the same baby,
only not quite so fat."\ "Well, it was the truth," she said defensively. "I suppose if
I'd left the candy out it would have sounded better."\ "Don't leave the candy out. It was
the candy and the truth that made it all Susan's."\ She picked up a stone and threw it in
the river, then as she watched its splash: "Doesn't it seem long ago when we were in
Rochester?"\ "We left there in April and this is June."\ "Yes, a short time in weeks, but
some way or other it seems like ages. When I think of it I feel as if it was at the other
side of the world, and I'd grown years and years older since we left. If I go on this way
I'll be fully fifty-three when we get to California."\ "What's made you feel so old?"\ "I
don't exactly know. I don't think it's because we've gone over so much space, but that
has something to do with it. It seems as if the change was more in me."\ "How have you
changed?"\ She gathered up the loose stones near her and dropped them from palm to palm,
frowning a little in an effort to find words to clothe her vague thought.\ "I don't know
that either, or I can't express it. I liked things there that I don't care for any more.
They were such babyish things and amounted to nothing, but they seemed important then.
Now nothing seems important but things that are--the things that would be on a desert
island. And in getting to think that way, in getting so far from what you once were, a
person seems to squeeze a good many years into a few weeks." She looked sideways at him,
the stones dropping from a slanting palm. "Do you understand me?"\ He nodded:\ "'When I
was a child I thought as a child--now I have put away childish things.' Is that it?"\
"Yes, exactly."\ "Then you wouldn't like to go back to the old life?"\ She scattered the
stones with an impatient gesture:\ "I couldn't. I'd hate it. I wouldn't squeeze back into
the same shape. I'd be all cramped and crowded up. You see every day out here I've been
growing wider and wider," she stretched her arms to their length, "widening out to fit
these huge, enormous places."\ "The new life will be wide enough for you. You'll grow
like a tree, a beautiful, tall, straight tree that has plenty of room for its branches tospread and
plenty of sun and air to nourish it. There'll be no crowding or cramping out
there. It's good to know you'll be happy in California. In the beginning I had fears."\
She picked up a stone and with its pointed edge drew lines on the dust which seemed to
interest her, for she followed them with intent eyes, not answering. He waited for a
moment, then said with an undernote of pleading in his voice, "You think you will be
happy, dearie?"\ "I--I--don't--know," she stammered. "Nobody can tell. We're not there
yet."\ "I can tell." He raised himself on his elbow to watch her face. She knew that he
expected to see the maiden's bashful happiness upon it, and the difference between his
fond imaginings and the actual facts sickened her with an intolerable sense of deception.
She could never tell him, never strike out of him his glad conviction of her
contentment.\ "We're going back to the Golden Age, you and I, and David. We'll live as we
want, not the way other people want us to. When we get to California we'll build a house
somewhere by a river and we'll plant our seeds and have vines growing over it and a
garden in the front, and Daddy John will break Julia's spirit and harness her to the
plow. Then when the house gets too small--houses have a way of doing that--I'll build a
little cabin by the edge of the river, and you and David will have the house to
yourselves where the old, white-headed doctor won't be in the way."\ He smiled for the
joy of his picture, and she turned her head from him, seeing the prospect through clouded
eyes.\ "You'll never go out of my house," she said in a low voice.\ "Other spirits will
come into it and fill it up."\ A wish that anything might stop the slow advance to this
roseate future choked her. She sat with averted face wrestling with her sick distaste,
and heard him say:\ "You don't know how happy you're going to be, my little Missy."\ She
could find no answer, and he went on: "You have everything for it, health and youth and a
pure heart and David for your mate."\ She had to speak now and said with urgence, trying
to encourage herself, since no one else could do it for her,\ "But that's all in the
future, a long time from now."\ "Not so very long. We ought to be in California in five
or six weeks."\ To have the dreaded reality suddenly brought so close, set at the limit
of a few short weeks, grimly waiting at a definite point in the distance, made her
repugnance break loose in alarmed words.\ "Longer than that," she cried. "The desert's
the hardest place, and we'll go slow, very slow, there."\ "You sound as if you wanted to
go slow," he answered, his smile indulgently quizzical, as completely shut away from her,
in his man's ignorance, as though no bond of love and blood held them together.\ "No, no,
of course not," she faltered. "But I'm not at all sure we'll get through it so easily.
I'm making allowance for delays. There are always delays."\ "Yes, there may be delays,
but we'll hope to be one of the lucky trains and get through on time."\ She swallowed
dryly, her heart gone down too far to be plucked up by futile contradition [Transcriber's
note: contradiction?]. He mused a moment, seeking the best method of broaching a subject
that had been growing in his mind for the past week. Frankness seemed the most simple,
and he said:\ "I've something to suggest to you. I've been thinking of it since we left
the Pass. Bridger is a large post. They say there are trains there from all over the West
and people of all sorts, and quite often there are missionaries."\ "Missionaries?" in a
faint voice.\ "Yes, coming in and going out to the tribes of the Northwest. Suppose we
found one there when we arrived?"\ He stopped, watching her.\ "Well?" her eyes slanted
sideways in a fixity of attention.\ "Would you marry David? Then we could all go on
together."\ Her breath left her and she turned a frightened face on him.\ "Why?" she
gasped. "What for?"\ He laid his hand on hers and said quietly:\ "Because, as you say,
the hardest part of the journey is yet to come, and I am--well--not a strong man any
more. The trip hasn't done for me what I hoped. If by some mischance--if anything should
happen to me--then I'd know you'd be taken care of, protected and watched over by some
one who could be trusted, whose right it was to do that."\ "Oh, no. Oh, no," she cried in
a piercing note of protest. "I couldn't, I couldn't."\ She made as if to rise, then sank
back, drawn down by his grasping hand. He thought her reluctance natural, a girl's
shrinking at the sudden intrusion of marriage into the pretty comedy of courtship.\
"Susan, I would like it," he pleaded.\ "No," she tried to pull her hand away, as if
wishing to draw every particle of self together and shut it all within her own protecting
shell.\ "Why not?"\ "It's--it's--I don't want to be married out here in the wilds. I want
to wait and marry as other girls do, and have a real wedding and a house to go to. I
should hate it. I couldn't. It's like a squaw. You oughtn't to ask it."\ Her terror lent
her an unaccustomed subtlety. She eluded the main issue, seizing on objections that did
not betray her, but that were reasonable, what might have been expected by the most
unsuspicious of men:\ "And as for your being afraid of falling sick in these dreadful
places, isn't that all the more reason why I should be free to give all my time and
thought to you? If you don't feel so strong, then marrying is the last thing I'd think of
doing. I'm going to be with you all the time, closer than I ever was before. No man's
going to come between us. Marry David and push you off into the background when you're
not well and want me most--that's perfectly ridiculous."\ She meant all she said. It was
the truth, but it was the truth reinforced, given a fourfold strength by her own
unwillingness. The thought that she had successfully defeated him, pushed the marriage
away into an indefinite future, relieved her so that the dread usually evoked by his ill
health was swept aside. She turned on him a face, once again bright, all clouds
withdrawn, softened into dimpling reassurance.\ "What an idea!" she said. "Men have no
sense."\ "Very well, spoiled girl. I suppose we'll have to put it off till we get to
California."\ She dropped back full length on the ground, and in the expansion of her
relief laid her cheek against the hand that clasped hers.\ "And until we get the house
built," she cried, beginning to laugh.\ "And the garden laid out and planted, I
suppose?"\ "Of course. And the vines growing over the front porch."\ "Why not over the
second story? We'll have a second story by that time."\ "Over the whole house, up to the
chimneys."\ They both laughed, a cheerful bass and a gay treble, sweeping out across
theunquiet water.\ "It's going to be the Golden Age," she said, in the joy of her respite
pressing her lips on the hand she held. "A cottage covered with vines to the roof and you
and I and Daddy John inside it."\ "And David, don't forget David."\ "Of course, David,"
she assented lightly, for David's occupancy was removed to a comfortable distance.\ After
supper she and David climbed to the top of the bank to see the sunset. The breeze had
dropped, the dust devils died with it. The silence of evening lay like a cool hand on the
heated earth. Dusk was softening the hard, bright colors, wiping out the sharpness of
stretching shadows the baked reflection of sun on clay. The West blazed above the
mountains, but the rest of the sky was a thick, pure blue. Against it to the South, a
single peak rose, snow-enameled on a turquoise background.\ Susan felt at peace with the
moment and her own soul. She radiated the good humor of one who has faced peril and
escaped. Having postponed the event that was to make her David's forever, she felt bound
to offer recompense. Her conscience went through one of those processes by which the
consciences of women seek ease through atonement, prompting them to actions of a baleful
kindliness. Contrition made her tender to the man she did not love. The thought that she
had been unfair added a cruel sweetness to her manner.\ He lay on the edge of the bluff
beside her, not saying much, for it was happiness to feel her within touch of his hand,
amiable and gentle as she had been of late. It would have taken an eye shrewder than
David's to have seen into the secret springs of her conduct. He only knew that she had
been kinder, friendlier, less withdrawn into the sanctuary of her virgin coldness, round
which in the beginning he had hovered. His heart was high, swelled by the promise of her
beaming looks and ready smiles. At last, in this drama of slow winning she was drawing
closer, shyly melting, her whims and perversities mellowing to the rich, sweet yielding
of the ultimate surrender.\ "We ought to be at Fort Bridger now in a few days," he said.
"Courant says if all goes well we can make it by Thursday and of course he knows."\
"Courant!" she exclaimed with the familiar note of scorn. "He knows a little of
everything, doesn't he?"\ "Why don't you like him, Missy? He's a fine man for the
trail."\ "Yes, I dare say he is. But that's not everything."\ "Why don't you like him?
Come, tell the truth."\ They had spoken before of her dislike of Courant. She had
revealed it more frankly to David than to anyone else. It was one of the subjects over
which she could become animated in the weariest hour. She liked to talk to her betrothed
about it, to impress it upon him, warming to an eloquence that allayed her own unrest.\
"I don't know why I don't like him. You can't always tell why you like or dislike a
person. It's just something that comes and you don't know why."\ "But it seems so
childish and unfair. I don't like my girl to be unfair. Has he ever done anything or said
anything to you that offended you?"\ She gave a petulant movement: "No, but he thinks so
much of himself, and he's hard and has no feeling, and-- Oh, I don't know--it's just that
I don't like him."\ David laughed:\ "It's all prejudice. You can't give any real
reason."\ "Of course I can't. Those things don't always have reasons. You're always
asking for reasons and I never have any to give you."\ "I'll have to teach you to have
them."\ She looked slantwise at him smiling. "I'm afraid that will be a great
undertaking. I'm very stupid about learning things. You ask father and Daddy John what a
terrible task it was getting me educated. The only person that didn't bother about it was
this one"--she laid a finger on her chest-- "She never cared in the least."\ "Well I'll
begin a second education. When we get settled I'll teach you to reason."\ "Begin now."
She folded her hands demurely in her lap and lifting her head back laughed: "Here I am
waiting to learn."\ "No. We want more time. I'll wait till we're married."\ Her laughter
diminished to a smile that lay on her lips, looking stiff and uncomfortable below the
fixity of her eyes.\ "That's such a long way off," she said faintly.\ "Not so very
long."\ "Oh, California's hundreds of miles away yet. And then when we get there we've
got to find a place to settle, and till the land, and lay out the garden and build a
house, quite a nice house; I don't want to live in a cabin. Father and I have just been
talking about it. Why it's months and months off yet."\ He did not answer. She had spoken
this way to him before, wafting the subject away with evasive words. After a pause he
said slowly: "Why need we wait so long?"\ "We must. I'm not going to begin my married
life the way the emigrant women do. I want to live decently and be comfortable."\ He
broke a sprig off a sage bush and began to pluck it apart. She had receded to her
defenses and peeped nervously at him from behind them.\ "Fort Bridger," he said, his eyes
on the twig, "is a big place, a sort of rendezvous for all kinds of people."\ She stared
at him, her face alert with apprehension, ready to dart into her citadel and lower the
drawbridge.\ "Sometimes there are missionaries stopping there."\ "Missionaries?" she
exclaimed in a high key. "I hate missionaries!"\ This was a surprising statement. David
knew the doctor to be a supporter and believer in the Indian missions, and had often
heard his daughter acquiesce in his opinions.\ "Why do you hate them?"\ "I don't know.
There's another thing you want a reason for. It's getting cold up here--let's go down by
the fire."\ She gathered herself together to rise, but he turned quickly upon her, and
his face, while it made her shrink, also arrested her. She had come to dread that
expression, persuasion hardened into desperate pleading. It woke in her a shocked
repugnance, as though something had been revealed to her that she had no right to see.
She felt shame for him, that he must beg where a man should conquer and subdue.\ "Wait a
moment," he said. "Why can't one of those missionaries marry us there?"\ She had
scrambled to her knees, and snatched at her skirt preparatory to the jump to her feet.\
"No," she said vehemently. "No. What's the matter with you all talking about marriages
and missionaries when we're in the middle of the wilds?"\ "Susan," he cried, catching at
her dress, "just listen a moment. I could take care of you then, take care of you
properly. You'd be my own, to look after and work for. It's seemed to me lately you loved
me enough. I wouldn't have suggested such a thing if you were as you were in the
beginning. But you seem to care now. You seem as if--as if--it wouldn't be so hard foryou to
live with me and let me love you."\ She jerked her skirt away and leaped to her
feet crying again, "No, David, no. Not for a minute."\ He rose too, very pale, the piece
of sage in his hand shaking. They looked at each other, the yellow light clear on both
faces. Hers was hard and combative, as if his suggestion had outraged her and she was
ready to fight it. Its expression sent a shaft of terror to his soul, for with all his
unselfishness he was selfish in his man's longing for her, hungered for her till his
hunger had made him blind. Now in a flash of clairvoyance he saw truly, and feeling the
joy of life slipping from him, faltered:\ "Have I made a mistake? Don't you care?"\ It
was her opportunity, she was master of her fate. But her promise was still a thing that
held, the moment had not come when she saw nothing but her own desire, and to gain it
would have sacrificed all that stood between. His stricken look, his expression of
nerving himself for a blow, pierced her, and her words rushed out in a burst of
contrition.\ "Of course, of course, I do. Don't doubt me. Don't. But-- Oh, David, don't
torment me. Don't ask anything like that now. I can't, I can't. I'm not ready--not yet."\
Her voice broke and she put her hand to her mouth to hide its trembling. Over it, her
eyes, suddenly brimming with tears, looked imploringly into his.\ It was a heart-tearing
sight to the lover. He forgot himself and, without knowing what he did, opened his arms
to inclose her in an embrace of pity and remorse.\ "Oh, dearest, I'll never ask it till
you're willing to come to me," he cried, and saw her back away, with upheld shoulders
raised in defense against his hands.\ "I won't touch you," he said, quickly dropping his
arms. "Don't draw back from me. If you don't want it I'll never lay a finger on you."\
The rigidity of her attitude relaxed. She turned away her head and wiped her tears on the
end of the kerchief knotted round her neck. He stood watching her, struggling with
passion and foreboding, reassured and yet with the memory of the seeing moment, chill at
his heart.\ Presently she shot a timid glance at him, and met his eyes resting
questioningly upon her. Her face was tear stained, a slight, frightened smile on the
lips.\ "I'm sorry," she whispered.\ "Susan, do you truly care for me?"\ "Yes," she said,
looking down. "Yes--but--let me wait a little while longer."\ "As long as you like. I'll
never ask you to marry me till you say you're willing."\ She held out her hand shyly, as
if fearing a repulse. He took it, and feeling it relinquished to his with trust and
confidence, swore that never again would he disturb her, never demand of her till she was
ready to give.\ \pard\pardeftab720\sa340\ql\qnatural \f1\b\fs45 \cf0 CHAPTER VIII\
\pard\pardeftab720\sa300\ql\qnatural \f0\b0\fs37\fsmilli18750 \cf0 Fort Bridger was like
a giant magnet perpetually revolving and sweeping the western half of the country with
its rays. They wheeled from the west across the north over the east and down to the
south. Ox teams, prairie schooners, pack trains, horsemen came to it from the barren
lands that guarded the gates of California, from the tumultuous rivers and fragrant
forests of the Oregon country, from the trapper's paths and the thin, icy streams of the
Rockies, from the plains where the Platte sung round its sand bars, from the sun-drenched
Spanish deserts. All roads led to it, and down each one came the slow coil of the long
trains and the pacing files of mounted men. Under its walls they rested and repaired
their waste, ere they took the trail again intent on the nation's work of conquest.\ The
fort's centripetal attraction had caught the doctor's party, and was drawing it to the
focus. They reckoned the days on their fingers and pressed forward with a feverish hurry.
They were like wayworn mariners who sight the lights of a port. Dead desires, revived,
blew into a glow extinguished vanities. They looked at each other, and for the first time
realized how ragged and unkempt they were, then dragged out best clothes from the bottom
of their chests and hung their looking-glasses to the limbs of trees. They were coming to
the surface after a period of submersion.\ Susan fastened her mirror to the twig on an
alder trunk and ransacked her store of finery. It yielded up a new red merino bodice, and
the occasion was great enough to warrant breaking into her reserve of hairpins. Then she
experimented with her hair, parted and rolled it in the form that had been the fashion in
that long dead past--was it twenty years ago?--when she had been a girl in Rochester. She
inspected her reflected image with a fearful curiosity, as if expecting to find gray
hairs and wrinkles. It was pleasant to see that she looked the same--a trifle thinner may
be. And as she noted that her cheeks were not as roundly curved, the fullness of her
throat had melted to a more muscular, less creased and creamy firmness, she felt a glow
of satisfaction. For in those distant days--twenty-five years ago it must be--she had
worried because she was a little \f2\i too \f0\i0 fat. No one could say that now. She
stole a look over her shoulder to make sure she was not watched--it seemed an absurdly
vain thing to do--and turned back the neck of her blouse. The faintest rise of collar
bone showed under the satiny skin, fine as a magnolia petal, the color of faintly tinted
meerschaum. She ran her hand across it and it was smooth as curds yielding with an
elastic resistance over its bedding of firm flesh. The young girl's pride in her beauty
rose, bringing with it a sense of surprise. She had thought it gone forever, and now it
still held, the one surviving sensation that connected her with that other Susan
Gillespie who had lived a half century ago in Rochester.\ It was the day after this
recrudescence of old coquetry that the first tragedy of the trail, the tragedy that was
hers alone, smote her.\ The march that morning had been over a high level across which
they headed for a small river they would follow to the Fort. Early in the afternoon they
saw its course traced in intricate embroidery across the earth's leathern carpet. The
road dropped into it, the trail grooved deep between ramparts of clay. On the lip of the
descent the wayward Julia, maddened with thirst, plunged forward, her obedient mates
followed, and the wagon went hurling down the slant, dust rising like the smoke of an
explosion. The men struggled for control and, seized by the contagion of their
excitement, the doctor laid hold of a wheel. It jerked him from his feet and flung him
sprawling, stunned by the impact, a thin trickle of blood issuing from his lips. The
others saw nothing, in the tumult did not hear Susan's cry. When they came back thedoctor
was lying where he had fallen, and she was sitting beside him wiping his lips with
the kerchief she had torn from her neck. She looked up at them and said:\ "It's a
hemorrhage."\ Her face shocked them into an understanding of the gravity of the accident.
It was swept clean of its dauntless, rosy youth, had stiffened into an unelastic skin
surface, taut over rigid muscles. But her eyes were loopholes through which anguish
escaped. Bending them on her father a hungry solicitude suffused them, too all-pervading
to be denied exit. Turned to the men an agonized questioning took its place. It spoke to
them like a cry, a cry of weakness, a cry for succor. It was the first admission of their
strength she had ever made, the first look upon them which had said, "You are men, I am a
woman. Help me."\ They carried the doctor to the banks of the stream and laid him on a
spread robe. He protested that it was nothing, it had happened before, several times.
Missy would remember it, last winter in Rochester? Her answering smile was pitiable, a
grimace of the lips that went no farther. She felt its failure and turned away plucking
at a weed near her. Courant saw the trembling of her hand and the swallowing movement of
her throat, bared of its sheltering kerchief. She glanced up with a stealthy side look,
fearful that her moment of weakness was spied upon, and saw him, the pity surging from
his heart shining on his face like a softening light. She shrank from it, and, as he made
an involuntary step toward her, warned him off with a quick gesture. He turned to the
camp and set furiously to work, his hands shaking as he drove in the picket pins, his
throat dry. He did not dare to look at her again. The desire to snatch her in his arms,
to hold her close till he crushed her in a passion of protecting tenderness, made him
fear to look at her, to hear her voice, to let the air of her moving body touch him.\ The
next morning, while lifting the doctor into the wagon, there was a second hemorrhage.
Even the sick man found it difficult to maintain his cheery insouciance. Susan looked
pinched, her tongue seemed hardened to the consistency of leather that could not flex for
the ready utterance of words. The entire sum of her consciousness was focused on her
father. "Breakfast?"--with a blank glance at the speaker--"is it breakfast time?" The men
cooked for her and brought her a cup of coffee and her plate of food. She set them on the
driver's seat, and when the doctor, keeping his head immovable, and turning smiling eyes
upon her, told her to eat she felt for them like a blind woman. It was hard to swallow
the coffee, took effort to force it down a channel that was suddenly narrowed to a
parched, resistent tube. She would answer no one, seemed to have undergone an ossifying
of all faculties turned to the sounds and sights of life. David remembered her state when
the doctor had been ill on the Platte. But the exclusion of the outer world was then an
obsession of worry, a jealous distraction, as if she resented the well-being of others
when hers were forced to suffer. This was different. She did not draw away from him now.
She did not seem to see or hear him. Her glance lit unknowing on his face, her hand lay
in his, passive as a thing of stone. Sometimes he thought she did not know who he was.\
"Can't we do anything to cheer her or take her mind off it?" he said to Daddy John behind
the wagon.\ The old man gave him a glance of tolerant scorn.\ "You can't take a person's
mind off the only thing that's in it. She's got nothing inside her but worry. She's
filled up with it, level to the top. You might as well try and stop a pail from
overflowing that's too full of water."\ They fared on for two interminable, broiling
days. The pace was of the slowest, for a jolt or wrench of the wagon might cause another
hemorrhage. With a cautious observance of stones and chuck holes they crawled down the
road that edged the river. The sun was blinding, beating on the canvas hood till the
girl's face was beaded with sweat, and the sick man's blankets were hot against the
intenser heat of his body. Outside the world held its breath spellbound in a white
dazzle. The river sparkled like a coat of mail, the only unquiet thing on the earth's
incandescent surface. When the afternoon declined, shadows crept from the opposite
bluffs, slanted across the water, slipped toward the little caravan and engulfed it.
Through the front opening Susan watched the road. There was a time when each dust ridge
showed a side of bright blue. To half-shut eyes they were like painted stripes weaving
toward the distance. Following them to where the trail bent round a buttress, her glance
brought up on Courant's mounted figure. He seemed the vanishing point of these converging
stripes, the object they were striving toward, the end they aimed for. Reaching him they
ceased as though they had accomplished their purpose, led the woman's eyes to him as to a
symbolical figure that piloted the train to succor.\ With every hour weakness grew on the
doctor, his words were fewer. By the ending of the first day, he lay silent looking out
at the vista of bluffs and river, his eyes shining in sunken orbits. As dusk fell Courant
dropped back to the wagon and asked Daddy John if the mules could hold the pace all
night. Susan heard the whispered conference, and in a moment was kneeling on the seat,
her hand clutched like a spread starfish on the old man's shoulder.\ Courant leaned from
his saddle to catch the driver's ear with his lowered tones. "With a forced march we can
get there to-morrow afternoon. The animals can rest up and we can make him comfortable
and maybe find a doctor."\ Her face, lifted to him, was like a transparent medium through
which anxiety and hope that was almost pain, shone. She hung on his words and breathed
back quick agreement. It would have been the same if he had suggested the impossible, if
the angel of the Lord had appeared and barred the way with a flaming sword.\ "Of course
they can go all night. They must. We'll walk and ride by turns. That'll lighten the
wagon. I'll go and get my horse," and she was out and gone to the back of the train where
David rode at the head of the pack animals.\ The night was of a clear blue darkness,
suffused with the misty light of stars. Looking back, Courant could see her upright
slenderness topping the horse's black shape. When the road lay pale and unshaded behind
her he could decipher the curves of her head and shoulders. Then he turned to the trail
in front, and her face, as it had been when he first saw her and as it was now, came back
to his memory. Once, toward midnight, he drew up till they reached him, her horse's
muzzle nosing soft against his pony's flank. He could see the gleam of her eyes, fastenedon
him, wide and anxious.\ "Get into the wagon and ride," he commanded.\ "Why? He's no
worse! He's sleeping."\ "I was thinking of you. This is too hard for you. It'll wear you
out."\ "Oh, I'm all right," she said with a slight movement of impatience. "Don't worry
about me. Go on."\ He returned to his post and she paced slowly on, keeping level with
the wheels. It was very still, only the creaking of the wagon and the hoof beats on the
dust. She kept her eyes on his receding shape, watched it disappear in dark turns, then
emerge into faintly illumined stretches. It moved steadily, without quickening of gait, a
lonely shadow that they followed through the unknown to hope. Her glance hung to it, her
ear strained for the thud of his pony's feet, sight and sound of him came to her like a
promise of help. He was the one strong human thing in this place of remote skies and dumb
unfeeling earth.\ It was late afternoon when the Fort came in sight. A flicker of
animation burst up in them as they saw the square of its long, low walls, crowning an
eminence above the stream. The bottom lay wide at its feet, the river slipping bright
through green meadows sprinkled with an army of cattle. In a vast, irregular circle, a
wheel of life with the fort as its hub, spread an engirdling encampment. It was scattered
over plain and bottom in dottings of white, here drawn close in clustering
agglomerations, there detached in separate spatterings. Coming nearer the white spots
grew to wagon hoods and tent roofs, and among them, less easy to discern, were the
pointed summits of the lodges with the bunched poles bristling through the top. The air
was very still, and into it rose the straight threads of smoke from countless fires,
aspiring upwards in slender blue lines to the bluer sky. They lifted and dispersed the
smell of burning wood that comes to the wanderer with a message of home, a message that
has lain in his blood since the first man struck fire and turned the dry heap of sticks
to an altar to be forever fixed as the soul of his habitation.\ They camped in the bottom
withdrawn from the closer herding of tents. It was a slow settling, as noiseless as might
be, for two at least of their number knew that the doctor was dying. That afternoon Daddy
John and Courant had seen the shadow of the great change. Whether Susan saw it they
neither knew. She was full of a determined, cold energy, urging them at once to go among
the camps and search for a doctor. They went in different directions, leaving her sitting
by her father's feet at the raised flap of the tent. Looking back through the gathering
dusk Courant could see her, a dark shape, her body drooping in relaxed lines. He thought
that she knew.\ When they came back with the word that there was no doctor to be found,
darkness was closing in. Night came with noises of men and the twinkling of innumerable
lights. The sky, pricked with stars, looked down on an earth alive with answering gleams,
as though a segment of its spark-set shield had fallen and lay beneath it, winking back
messages in an aerial telegraphy. The fires leaped high or glowed in smoldering mounds,
painting the sides of tents, the flanks of ruminating animals, the wheels of wagons, the
faces of men and women. Coolness, rest, peace brooded over the great bivouac, with the
guardian shape of the Fort above it and the murmur of the river at its feet.\ A lantern,
standing on a box by the doctor's side, lit the tent. Through the opening the light from
the fire outside poured in, sending shadows scurrying up the canvas walls. Close within
call David sat by it, his chin on his knees, his eyes staring at the tongues of flames as
they licked the fresh wood. There was nothing now for him to do. He had cooked the
supper, and then to ease the pain of his unclaimed sympathies, cleaned the pans, and from
a neighboring camp brought a piece of deer meat for Susan. It was the only way he could
serve her, and he sat disconsolately looking now at the meat on a tin plate, then toward
the tent where she and Daddy John were talking. He could hear the murmur of their voices,
see their silhouettes moving on the canvas, gigantic and grotesque. Presently she
appeared in the opening, paused there for a last word, and then came toward him.\ "He
wants to speak to Daddy John for a moment," she said and dropping on the ground beside
him, stared at the fire.\ David looked at her longingly, but he dared not intrude upon
her somber abstraction. The voices in the tent rose and fell. Once at a louder phrase
from Daddy John she turned her head quickly and listened, a sheaf of strained nerves. The
voices dropped again, her eye came back to the light and touched the young man's face. It
contained no recognition of him, but he leaped at the chance, making stammering proffer
of such aid as he could give.\ "I've got you some supper."\ He lifted the plate, but she
shook her head.\ "Let me cook it for you," he pleaded. "You haven't eaten anything since
morning."\ "I can't eat," she said, and fell back to her fire-gazing, slipping away from
him into the forbidding dumbness of her thoughts. He could only watch her, hoping for a
word, an expressed wish. When it came it was, alas! outside his power to gratify:\ "If
there had only been a doctor here! That was what I was hoping for."\ And so when she
asked for the help he yearned to give, it was his fate that he should meet her longing
with a hopeless silence.\ When Daddy John emerged from the tent she leaped to her feet.\
"Well?" she said with low eagerness.\ "Go back to him. He wants you," answered the old
man. "I've got something to do for him."\ He made no attempt to touch her, his words and
voice were brusque, yet David saw that she responded, softened, showed the ragged wound
of her pain to him as she did to no one else. It was an understanding that went beneath
all externals. Words were unnecessary between them, heart spoke to heart.\ She returned
to the tent and sunk on the skin beside her father. He smiled faintly and stretched a
hand for hers, and her fingers slipped between his, cool and strong against the lifeless
dryness of his palm. She gave back his smile bravely, her eyes steadfast. She had no
desire for tears, no acuteness of sensation. A weight as heavy as the world lay on her,
crushing out struggle and resistance. She knew that he was dying. When they told her
there was no doctor in the camp her flickering hope had gone out. Now she was prepared to
sit by him and wait with a lethargic patience beyond which was nothing.\ He pressed her
hand and said: "I've sent Daddy John on a hunt. Do you guess what for?"\ She shook her
head feeling no curiosity.\ "The time is short, Missy."\ The living's instinct to fight
against the acquiescence of the dying prompted her to the utterance of a sharp "No."\ "Iwant it
all arranged and settled before it's too late. I sent him to see if there was a
missionary here."\ She was leaning against the couch of robes, resting on the piled
support of the skins. In the pause after his words she slowly drew herself upright, and
with her mouth slightly open inhaled a deep breath. Her eyes remained fixed on him,
gleaming from the shadow of her brows, and their expression, combined with the amaze of
the dropped underlip, gave her a look of wild attention.\ "Why?" she said. The word came
obstructed and she repeated it.\ "I want you to marry David here to-night."\ The doctor's
watch on a box at the bed head ticked loudly in the silence. They looked at each other
unconscious of the length of the pause. Death on the one hand, life pressing for its due
on the other, were the only facts they recognized. Hostility, not to the man but to the
idea, drove the amazement from her face and hardened its softness to stone.\ "Here,
to-night?" she said, her comprehension stimulated by an automatic repetition of his
words.\ "Yes. I may not be able to understand tomorrow."\ She moved her head, her glance
touching the watch, the lantern, then dropping to the hand curled round her own. It
seemed symbolic of the will against which hers was rising in combat. She made an
involuntary effort to withdraw her fingers but his closed tighter on them.\ "Why?" she
whispered again.\ "Some one must take care of you. I can't leave you alone."\ She
answered with stiffened lips: "There's Daddy John."\ "Some one closer than Daddy John. I
want to leave you with David."\ Her antagonism rose higher, sweeping over her
wretchedness. Worn and strained she had difficulty to keep her lips shut on it, to
prevent herself from crying out her outraged protests. All her dormant womanhood,
stirring to wakefulness in the last few weeks, broke into life, gathering itself in a
passion of revolt, abhorrent of the indignity, ready to flare into vehement refusal. To
the dim eyes fastened on her she was merely the girl, reluctant still. He watched her
down-drooped face and said:\ "Then I could go in peace. Am I asking too much?"\ She made
a negative movement with her head and turned her face away from him.\ "You'll do this for
my happiness now?"\ "Anything," she murmured.\ "It will be also for your own."\ He moved
his free hand and clasped it on the mound made by their locked fingers. Through the
stillness a man's voice singing Zavier's Canadian song came to them. It stopped at the
girl's outer ear, but, like a hail from a fading land, penetrated to the man's brain and
he stirred.\ "Hist!" he said raising his brows, "there's that French song your mother
used to sing."\ The distant voice rose to the plaintive burden and he lay motionless, his
eyes filmed with memories. As the present dimmed the past grew clearer. His hold on the
moment relaxed and he slipped away from it on a tide of recollection, muttering the
words.\ The girl sat mute, her hand cold under his, her being passing in an agonized
birth throe from unconsciousness to self-recognition. Her will--its strength till now
unguessed--rose resistant, a thing of iron. Love was too strong in her for open
opposition, but the instinct to fight, blindly but with caution, for the right to herself
was stronger.\ His murmuring died into silence and she looked at him. His eyes were
closed, the pressure of his fingers loosened. A light sleep held him, and under its truce
she softly withdrew her hand, then stole to the tent door and stood there a waiting
moment, stifling her hurried breathing. She saw David lying by the fire, gazing into its
smoldering heart. With noiseless feet she skirted the encircling ropes and pegs, and
stood, out of range of his eye, on the farther side. Here she stopped, withdrawn from the
light that came amber soft through the canvas walls, slipping into shadow when a figure
passed, searching the darkness with peering eyes.\ Around her the noises of the camp
rose, less sharp than an hour earlier, the night silence gradually hushing them. The
sparks and shooting gleams of fires still quivered, imbued with a tenacious life. She had
a momentary glimpse of a naked Indian boy flinging loose his blanket, a bronze statue
glistening in a leap of flame. Nearer by a woman's figure bent over a kettle black on a
bed of embers, then a girl's fire-touched form, with raised arms, shaking down a snake of
hair, which broke and grew cloudy under her disturbing hands. A resounding smack sounded
on a horse's flank, a low ripple of laughter came tangled with a child's querulous
crying, and through the walls of tents and the thickness of smoke the notes of a flute
filtered.\ Her ear caught the pad of a footstep on the grass, and her eyes seized on a
shadow that grew from dusky uncertainty to a small, bent shape. She waited, suffocated
with heartbeats, then made a noiseless pounce on it.\ "Daddy John," she gasped, clutching
at him.\ The old man staggered, almost taken off his feet.\ "Is he worse?" he said.\
"He's told me. Did you find anyone?"\ "Yes--two. One's Episcopal--in a train from St.
Louis."\ A sound came from her that he did not understand. She gripped at his shoulders
as if she were drowning. He thought she was about to swoon and put his arm around her
saying:\ "Come back to the tent. You're all on a shake as if you had ague."\ "I can't go
back. Don't bring him. Don't bring him. Don't tell father. Not now. I will later, some
other time. When we get to California, but not now--not to-night."\ The sentences were
cut apart by breaths that broke from her as if she had been running. He was frightened
and tried to draw her to the light and see her face.\ "Why, Missy!" he said with scared
helplessness, "Why, Missy! What's got you?"\ "Don't get the clergyman. Tell him there
isn't any. Tell him you've looked all over. Tell him a lie."\ He guessed the trouble was
something more than the grief of the moment, and urged in a whisper:\ "What's the matter
now? Go ahead and tell me. I'll stick by you."\ She bent her head back to look into his
face.\ "I don't want to marry him now. I can't. I can't. I \f2\i can't \f0\i0 ."\ Her
hands on his shoulders shook him with each repetition. The force of the words was
heightened by the suppressed tone. They should have been screamed. In these whispered
breaths they burst from her like blood from a wound. With the last one her head bowed
forward on his shoulder with a movement of burrowing as though she would have crawled up
and hidden under his skin, and tears, the most violent he had ever seen her shed, broke
from her. They came in bursting sobs, a succession of rending throes that she struggled
to stifle, swaying and quivering under their stress.\ He thought of nothing now but thisnew pain
added to the hour's tragedy, and stroked her shoulder with a low "Keep
quiet--keep quiet," then leaned his face against her hair and breathed through its
tangles.\ "It's all right, I'll do it. I'll say I couldn't find anyone. I'll lie for you,
Missy."\ She released him at once, dropped back a step and, lifting a distorted face,
gave a nod. He passed on, and she fell on the grass, close to the tent ropes and lay
there, hidden by the darkness.\ She did not hear a step approaching from the herded
tents. Had she been listening it would have been hard to discern, for the feet were
moccasin shod, falling noiseless on the muffling grass. A man's figure with fringes
wavering along its outline came round the tent wall. The head was thrust forward, the ear
alert for voices. Faring softly his foot struck her and he bent, stretching down a
feeling hand. It touched her shoulder, slipped along her side, and gripped at her arm.
"What's the matter?" came a deep voice, and feeling the pull on her arm she got to her
knees with a strangled whisper for silence. When the light fell across her, he gave a
smothered cry, jerked her to her feet and thrust his hand into her hair, drawing her head
back till her face was uplifted to his.\ There was no one to see, and he let his eyes
feed full upon it, a thief with the coveted treasure in his hands. She seemed unconscious
of him, a broken thing without sense or volition, till a stir came from the tent. Then he
felt her resist his grasp. She put a hand on his breast and pressed herself back from
him.\ "Hush," she breathed. "Daddy John's in there."\ A shadow ran up the canvas wall,
bobbing on it, huge and wavering. She turned her head toward it, the tears on her cheeks
glazed by the light. He watched her with widened nostrils and immovable eyes. In the
mutual suspension of action that held them he could feel her heart beating.\ "Well?" came
the doctor's voice.\ The old servant answered:\ "There weren't no parsons anywhere, I've
been all over and there's not one."\ "Parsons?" Courant breathed.\ She drew in the
fingers spread on his breast with a clawing movement and emitted an inarticulate sound
that meant "Hush."\ "Not a clergyman or missionary among all these people?"\ "Not one."\
"We must wait till to-morrow, then."\ "Yes--mebbe there'll be one to-morrow."\ "I hope
so."\ Then silence fell and the shadow flickered again on the canvas.\ She made a
struggle against Courant's hold, which for a moment he tried to resist, but her fingers
plucked against his hand, and she tore herself free and ran to the tent opening. She
entered without speaking, threw herself at the foot of the couch, and laid her head
against her father's knees.\ "Is that you, Missy?" he said, feeling for her with a
groping hand. "Daddy John couldn't find a clergyman."\ "I know," she answered, and lay
without moving, her face buried in the folds of the blanket.\ They said no more, and
Daddy John stole out of the tent.\ The next day the doctor was too ill to ask for a
clergyman, to know or to care. At nightfall he died. The Emigrant Trail had levied its
first tribute on them, taken its toll.\ \pard\pardeftab720\sa140\ql\qnatural \cf0 \
\pard\pardeftab720\sa300\ql\qnatural \cf0 END OF PART III\
\pard\pardeftab720\sa140\ql\qnatural \cf0 \ \pard\pardeftab720\sa300\ql\qnatural \cf0
PART IV\ The Desert\ \pard\pardeftab720\sa340\ql\qnatural \f1\b\fs45 \cf0 CHAPTER I\
\pard\pardeftab720\sa300\ql\qnatural \f0\b0\fs37\fsmilli18750 \cf0 They were camped on
the edges of that harsh land which lay between the Great Salt Lake and the Sierra. Behind
them the still, heavy reach of water stretched, reflecting in mirrored clearness the
mountains crowding on its southern rim. Before them the sage reached out to dim
infinities of distance. The Humboldt ran nearby, sunk in a stony bed, its banks matted
with growths of alder and willow. The afternoon was drawing to the magical sunset hour.
Susan, lying by the door of her tent, could see below the growing western blaze the bowl
of the earth filling with the first, liquid oozings of twilight.\ A week ago they had
left the Fort. To her it had been a blank space of time, upon which no outer interest had
intruded. She had presented an invulnerable surface to all that went on about her, the
men's care, the day's incidents, the setting of the way. Cold-eyed and dumb she had moved
with them, an inanimate idol, unresponsive to the observances of their worship, aloof
from them in somber uncommunicated musings.\ The men respected her sorrow, did her work
for her, and let her alone. To them she was set apart in the sanctuary of her mourning,
and that her grief should express itself by hours of drooping silence was a thing they
accepted without striving to understand. Once or twice David tried to speak to her of her
father, but it seemed to rouse in her an irritated and despairing pain. She begged him to
desist and got away from him as quickly as she could, climbing into the wagon and lying
on the sacks, with bright, unwinking eyes fastened on Daddy John's back. But she did not
rest stunned under an unexpected blow as they thought. She was acutely alive, bewildered,
but with senses keen, as if the world had taken a dizzying revolution and she had come up
panting and clutching among the fragments of what had been her life.\ If there had been
some one to whom she could have turned, relieving herself by confession, she might have
found solace and set her feet in safer ways. But among the three men she was virtually
alone, guarding her secret with that most stubborn of all silences, a girl's in the first
wakening of sex. She had a superstitious hope that she could regain peace and
self-respect by an act of reparation, and at such moments turned with expiatory passion
to the thought of David. She would go to California, live as her father had wished, marry
her betrothed, and be as good a wife to him as man could have. And for a space these
thoughts brought her ease, consoled her as a compensating act of martyrdom.\ She shunned
Courant, rarely addressing him, keeping her horse to the rear of the train where the
wagon hood hid him from her. But when his foot fell on the dust beside her, or he dropped
back for a word with Daddy John, a stealthy, observant quietude held her frame. She
turned her eyes from him as from an unholy sight, but it was useless, for her mental
vision called up his figure, painted in yellow and red upon the background of the sage.
She knew the expression of the lithe body as it leaned from the saddle, the gnarled hand
from which the rein hung loose, the eyes, diamond hard and clear, living sparks set in
leathery skin wrinkled against the glare of the waste. She did not lie to herself anymore. No
delusions could live in this land stripped of all conciliatory deception.\ The
night before they left the Fort the men had had a consultation. Sitting apart by the tent
she had watched them, David and Daddy John between her and the fire, Courant beyond it.
His face, red lit between the hanging locks of hair, his quick eyes, shifting from one
man to the other, was keen with a furtive anxiety. At a point in the murmured interview,
he had looked beyond them to the darkened spot where she sat. Then Daddy John and David
had come to her and told her that if she wished they would turn back, take her home to
Rochester, and stay there with her always. There was money enough they said. The doctor
had left seven thousand dollars in his chest, and David had three to add to it. It would
be ample to live on till the men could set to work and earn a maintenance for them. No
word was spoken of her marriage, but it lay in the offing of their argument as the happy
finale that the long toil of the return journey and the combination of resources were to
prelude.\ The thought of going back had never occurred to her, and shocked her into
abrupt refusal. It would be an impossible adaptation to outgrown conditions. She could
not conjure up the idea of herself refitted into the broken frame of her girlhood. She
told them she would go on, there was nothing now to go back for. Their only course was to
keep to the original plan, emigrate to California and settle there. They returned to the
fire and told Courant. She could see him with eager gaze listening. Then he smiled and,
rising to his feet, sent a bold, exultant glance through the darkness to her. She drew
her shawl over her head to shut it out, for she was afraid.\ They rested now on the lip
of the desert, gathering their forces for the last lap of the march. There had been no
abatement in the pressure of their pace, and Courant had told them it must be kept up. He
had heard the story of the Donner party two years before, and the first of September must
see them across the Sierra. In the evenings he conferred with Daddy John on these matters
and kept a vigilant watch on the animals upon whose condition the success of the journey
depended.\ David was not included in these consultations. Both men now realized that he
was useless when it came to the rigors of the trail. Of late he had felt a physical and
spiritual impairment, that showed in a slighted observance of his share of the labor. He
had never learned to cord his pack, and day after day it turned under his horse's belly,
discharging its cargo on the ground. The men, growling with irritation, finally took the
work from him, not from any pitying consideration, but to prevent further delay.\ He was,
in fact, coming to that Valley of Desolation where the body faints and only the spirit's
dauntlessness can keep it up and doing. What dauntlessness his spirit once had was gone.
He moved wearily, automatically doing his work and doing it ill. The very movements of
his hands, slack and fumbling, were an exasperation to the other men, setting their
strength to a herculean measure, and giving of it without begrudgment. David saw their
anger and did not care. Fatigue made him indifferent, ate into his pride, brought down
his self-respect. He plodded on doggedly, the alkali acrid on his lips and burning in his
eyeballs, thinking of California, not as the haven of love and dreams, but as a place
where there was coolness, water, and rest. When in the dawn he staggered up to the call
of "Catch up," and felt for the buckle of his saddle girth, he had a vision of a place
under trees by a river where he could sleep and wake and turn to sleep again, and go on
repeating the performance all day with no one to shout at him if he was stupid and forgot
things.\ Never having had the fine physical endowment of the others all the fires of his
being were dying down to smoldering ashes. His love for Susan faded, if not from his
heart, from his eyes and lips. She was as dear to him as ever, but now with a
devitalized, undemanding affection in which there was something of a child's fretful
dependence. He rode beside her not looking at her, contented that she should be there,
but with the thought of marriage buried out of sight under the weight of his weariness.
It did not figure at all in his mind, which, when roused from apathy, reached forward
into the future to gloat upon the dream of sleep. She was grateful for his silence, and
they rode side by side, detached from one another, moving in separated worlds of
sensation.\ This evening he came across to where she sat, dragging a blanket in an
indolent hand. He dropped it beside her and threw himself upon it with a sigh. He was too
empty of thought to speak, and lay outstretched, looking at the plain where dusk gathered
in shadowless softness. In contrast with his, her state was one of inner tension,
strained to the breaking point. Torturings of conscience, fears of herself, the
unaccustomed bitterness of condemnation, melted her, and she was ripe for confession. A
few understanding words and she would have poured her trouble out to him, less in hope of
sympathy than in a craving for relief. The widening gulf would have been bridged and he
would have gained the closest hold upon her he had yet had. But if she were more a woman
than ever before, dependent, asking for aid, he was less a man, wanting himself to rest
on her and have his discomforts made bearable by her consolations.\ She looked at him
tentatively. His eyes were closed, the lids curiously dark, and fringed with long lashes
like a girl's.\ "Are you asleep?" she asked.\ "No," he answered without raising them.
"Only tired."\ She considered for a moment, then said:\ "Have you ever told a lie?"\ "A
lie? I don't know. I guess so. Everybody tells lies sometime or other."\ "Not little
lies. Serious ones, sinful ones, to people you love."\ "No. I never told that kind.
That's a pretty low-down thing to do."\ "Mightn't a person do it--to--to--escape from
something they didn't want, something they suddenly--at that particular moment--dreaded
and shrank from?"\ "Why couldn't they speak out, say they didn't want to do it? Why did
they have to lie?"\ "Perhaps they didn't have time to think, and didn't want to hurt the
person who asked it. And--and--if they were willing to do the thing later, sometime in
the future, wouldn't that make up for it?"\ "I can't tell. I don't know enough about it.
I don't understand what you mean." He turned, trying to make himself more comfortable.
"Lord, how hard this ground is! I believe it's solid iron underneath."\ He stretched and
curled on the blanket, elongating his body in a mighty yawn which subsided into the
solaced note of a groan. "There, that's better. I ache all over to-night."\ She made noanswer,
looking at the prospect from morose brows. More at ease he returned to the
subject and asked, "Who's been telling lies?"\ "I," she answered.\ He gave a short laugh,
that drew from her a look of quick protest. He was lying on his side, one arm crooked
under his head, his eyes on her in a languid glance where incredulity shone through
amusement.\ "Your father told me once you were the most truthful woman he'd ever known,
and I agree with him."\ "It was to my father I lied," she answered.\ She began to
tremble, for part at least of the story was on her lips. She clasped her shaking hands
round her knees, and, not looking at him, said "David," and then stopped, stifled by the
difficulties and the longing to speak.\ David answered by laughing outright, a pleasant
sound, not guiltless of a suggestion of sleep, a laugh of good nature that refuses to
abdicate. It brushed her back into herself as if he had taken her by the shoulders,
pushed her into her prison, and slammed the door.\ "That's all imagination," he said.
"When some one we love dies we're always thinking things like that--that we neglected
them, or slighted them, or told them what wasn't true. They stand out in our memories
bigger than all the good things we did. Don't you worry about any lies you ever told your
father. You've got nothing to accuse yourself of where he's concerned--or anybody else,
either."\ Her heart, that had throbbed wildly as she thought to begin her confession,
sunk back to a forlorn beat. He noticed her dejected air, and said comfortingly:\ "Don't
be downhearted, Missy. It's been terribly hard for you, but you'll feel better when we
get to California, and can live like Christians again."\ "California!" Her intonation
told of the changed mind with which she now looked forward to the Promised Land.\ His
consolatory intentions died before his own sense of grievance at the toil yet before
them.\ "Good Lord, it does seem far--farther than it did in the beginning. I used to be
thinking of it all the time then, and how I'd get to work the first moment we arrived.
And now I don't care what it's like or think of what I'm going to do. All I want to get
there for is to stop this eternal traveling and rest."\ She, too, craved rest, but of the
spirit. Her outlook was blacker than his, for it offered none and drew together to a
point where her tribulations focused in a final act of self-immolation. There was a
pause, and he said, drowsiness now plain in his voice:\ "But we'll be there some day
unless we die on the road, and then we can take it easy. The first thing I'm going to do
is to get a mattress to sleep on. No more blankets on the ground for me. Do you ever
think what it'll be like to sleep in a room again under a roof, a good, waterproof roof,
that the sun and the rain can't come through? The way I feel now that's my idea of
Paradise."\ She murmured a low response, her thoughts far from the flesh pots of his
wearied longing.\ "I think just at this moment," he went on dreamily, "I'd rather have a
good sleep and a good meal than anything else in the world. I often dream of 'em, and
then Daddy John's kicking me and it's morning and I got to crawl out of the blanket and
light the fire. I don't know whether I feel worse at that time or in the evening when
we're making the last lap for the camping ground." His voice dropped as if exhausted
before the memory of these unendurable moments, then came again with a note of cheer:
"Thank God, Courant's with us or I don't believe we'd ever get there."\ She had no reply
to make to this. Neither spoke for a space, and then she cautiously stole a glance at him
and was relieved to see that he was asleep. Careful to be noiseless she rose, took up a
tin water pail and walked to the river.\ The Humboldt rushed through a deep-cut bed,
nosing its way between strewings of rock. Up the banks alders and willows grew thick,
thrusting roots, hungry for the lean deposits of soil, into cracks and over stony ledges.
By the edge the current crisped about a flat rock, and Susan, kneeling on this, dipped in
her pail. The water slipped in in a silvery gush which, suddenly seething and bubbling,
churned in the hollowed tin, nearly wrenching it from her. She leaned forward, dragging
it awkwardly toward her, clutching at an alder stem with her free hand. Her head was
bent, but she raised it with a jerk when she heard Courant's voice call, "Wait, I'll do
it for you."\ He was on the opposite bank, the trees he had broken through swishing
together behind him. She lowered her head without answering, her face suddenly charged
with color. Seized by an overmastering desire to escape him, she dragged at the pail,
which, caught in the force of the current, leaped and swayed in her hand. She took a
hurried upward glimpse, hopeful of his delayed progress, and saw him jump from the bank
to a stone in mid-stream. His moccasined feet clung to its slippery surface, and for a
moment he oscillated unsteadily, then gained his balance and, laughing, looked at her.
For a breathing space each rested motionless, she with strained, outstretched arm, he on
the rock, a film of water covering his feet. It was a moment of physical mastery without
conscious thought. To each the personality of the other was so perturbing, that without
words or touch, the heart beats of both grew harder, and their glances held in a gaze
fixed and gleaming. The woman gained her self-possession first, and with it an animal
instinct to fly from him, swiftly through the bushes.\ But her flight was delayed. A
stick, whirling in the current, caught between the pail's rim and handle and ground
against her fingers. With an angry cry she loosed her hold, and the bucket went careening
into midstream. That she had come back to harmony with her surroundings was attested by
the wail of chagrin with which she greeted the accident. It was the last pail she had
left. She watched Courant wade into the water after it, and forgot to run in her anxiety
to see if he would get it. "Oh, good!" came from her in a gasp as he caught the handle.
But when he came splashing back and set it on the rock beside her, it suddenly lost its
importance, and as suddenly she became a prey to low-voiced, down-looking discomfort. A
muttered "thank you," was all the words she had for him, and she got to her feet with
looks directed to the arrangement of her skirt.\ He stood knee-high in the water watching
her, glad of her down-drooped lids, for he could dwell on the bloom that deepened under
his eye.\ "You haven't learned the force of running water yet," he said. "It can be very
strong sometimes, so strong that a little woman's hand like yours has no power against
it."\ "It was because the stick caught in the handle," she muttered, bending for thepail. "It hurt
my fingers."\ "You've never guessed that I was called 'Running Water,'
have you?"\ "You?" she paused with look arrested in sudden interest. "Who calls you
that?"\ "Everybody--you. \f2\i L'eau courante \f0\i0 means running water, doesn't it?
That's what you call me."\ In the surprise of the revelation she forgot her unease and
looked at him, repeating slowly, "L'eau courante, running water. Why, of course. But it's
like an Indian's name."\ "It is an Indian's name. The Blackfeet gave it to me because
they said I could run so fast. They were after me once and a man makes the best time he
can then. It was a fine race and I won it, and after that they called me, 'The man that
goes like Running Water.' The voyageurs and coureurs des bois put it into their lingo and
it stuck."\ "But your real name?" she asked, the pail forgotten.\ "Just a common French
one, Duchesney, Napoleon Duchesney, if you want to know both ends of it. It was my
father's. He was called after the emperor whom my grandfather knew years ago in France.
He and Napoleon were students together in the military school at Brienne. In the
Revolution they confiscated his lands, and he came out to Louisiana and never wanted to
go back." He splashed to the stone and took up the bucket.\ She stood absorbed in the
discovery, her child's mind busy over this new conception of him as a man whose birth and
station had evidently been so different to the present conditions of his life. When she
spoke her mental attitude was na\'95vely displayed.\ "Why didn't you tell before?"\ He
shrugged.\ "What was there to tell? The mountain men don't always use their own names."\
The bucket, swayed by the movement, threw a jet of water on her foot. He moved back from
her and said, "I like the Indian name best."\ "It is pretty," and in a lower key, as
though trying its sound, she repeated softly, " \f2\i L'eau Courante \f0\i0 , Running
Water."\ "It's something clear and strong, sometimes shallow and then again deeper than
you can guess. And when there's anything in the way, it gathers all its strength and
sweeps over it. It's a mighty force. You have to be stronger than it is--and more cunning
too--to stop it in the way it wants to go."\ Above their heads the sky glowed in red
bars, but down in the stream's hollow the dusk had come, cool and gray. She was suddenly
aware of it, noticed the diminished light, and the thickening purplish tones that had
robbed the trees and rocks of color. Her warm vitality was invaded by chill that crept
inward and touched her spirit with an eerie dread. She turned quickly and ran through the
bushes calling back to him, "I must hurry and get supper. They'll be waiting. Bring the
pail."\ Courant followed slowly, watching her as she climbed the bank.\
\pard\pardeftab720\sa340\ql\qnatural \f1\b\fs45 \cf0 CHAPTER II\
\pard\pardeftab720\sa300\ql\qnatural \f0\b0\fs37\fsmilli18750 \cf0 For some days their
route followed the river, then they would leave it and strike due west, making marches
from spring to spring. The country was as arid as the face of a dead planet, save where
the water's course was marked by a line of green. Here and there the sage was broken by
bare spaces where the alkali cropped out in a white encrusting. Low mountains edged up
about the horizon, thrusting out pointed scarps like capes protruding into slumbrous,
gray-green seas. These capes were objects upon which they could fix their eyes, goals to
reach and pass. In the blank monotony they offered an interest, something to strive for,
something that marked an advance. The mountains never seemed to retreat or come nearer.
They encircled the plain in a crumpled wall, the same day after day, a low girdle of
volcanic shapes, cleft with moving shadows.\ The sun was the sun of August. It reeled
across a sky paled by its ardor, at midday seeming to pause and hang vindictive over the
little caravan. Under its fury all color left the blanched earth, all shadows shrunk away
to nothing. The train alone, as if in desperate defiance, showed a black blot beneath the
wagon, an inky snake sliding over the ground under each horse's sweating belly. The air
was like a stretched tissue, strained to the limit of its elasticity, in places parting
in delicate, glassy tremblings. Sometimes in the distance the mirage hung brilliant, a
blue lake with waves crisping on a yellow shore. They watched it with hungry eyes, a
piece of illusion framed by the bleached and bitter reality.\ When evening came the great
transformation began. With the first deepening of color the desert's silent heart began
to beat in expectation of its hour of beauty. Its bleak detail was lost in shrouding
veils and fiery reflection. The earth floor became a golden sea from which the capes
reared themselves in shapes of bronze and copper. The ring of mountains in the east
flushed to the pink of the topaz, then bending westward shaded from rosy lilac to mauve,
and where the sunset backed them, darkened to black. As the hour progressed the stillness
grew more profound, the naked levels swept out in wilder glory, inundated by pools of
light, lines of fire eating a glowing way through sinks where twilight gathered. With
each moment it became a more tremendous spectacle. The solemnity attendant on the
passage
of a miracle held it. From the sun's mouth the voice of God seemed calling the dead land
to life.\ Each night the travelers gazed upon it, ragged forms gilded by its radiance,
awed and dumb. Its splendors crushed them, filling them with nostalgic longings. They
bore on with eyes that were sick for a sight of some homely, familiar thing that would
tell them they were still human, still denizens of a world they knew. The life into which
they fitted and had uses was as though perished from the face of the earth. The weak man
sunk beneath the burden of its strangeness. Its beauty made no appeal to him. He felt
lost and dazed in its iron-ringed ruthlessness, dry as a skeleton by daylight, at night
transformed by witchfires of enchantment. The man and woman, in whom vitality was strong,
combatted its blighting force, refused to be broken by its power. They desired with
vehemence to assert themselves, to rebel, not to submit to the sense of their
nothingness. They turned to one another hungry for the life that now was only within
themselves. They had passed beyond the limits of the accustomed, were like detached
particles gone outside the law of gravity, floating undirected through spaces where they
were nothing and had nothing but their bodies, their passions, themselves.\ To a surface
observation they would have appeared as stolid as savages, but their nerves were taut as
drawn violin strings. Strange self-assertions, violences of temper, were under the skinready to
break out at a jar in the methodical routine. Had the train been larger, its
solidarity less complete, furious quarrels would have taken place. With an acknowledged
leader whom they believed in and obeyed, the chances of friction were lessened. Three of
them could meet the physical demands of the struggle. It was David's fate that, unable to
do this, he should fall to a position of feeble uselessness, endurable in a woman, but
difficult to put up with in a man.\ One morning Susan was waked by angry voices. An oath
shook sleep from her, and thrusting her head out of the wagon where she now slept, she
saw the three men standing in a group, rage on Courant's face, disgust on Daddy John's,
and on David's an abstraction of aghast dismay that was not unlike despair. To her
question Daddy John gave a short answer. David's horses, insecurely picketed, had pulled
up their stakes in the night and gone. A memory of the young man's exhaustion the evening
before, told the girl the story; David had forgotten to picket them and immediately after
supper had fallen asleep. He had evidently been afraid to tell and invented the
explanation of dragged picket pins. She did not know whether the men believed it, but she
saw by their faces they were in no mood to admit extenuating circumstances. The oath had
been Courant's. When he heard her voice he shut his lips on others, but they welled up in
his eyes, glowering furiously on the culprit from the jut of drawn brows.\ "What am I to
do?" said the unfortunate young man, sending a despairing glance over the prospect. Under
his weak misery, rebellious ill humor was visible.\ "Go after them and bring them back."\
Susan saw the leader had difficulty in confining himself to such brief phrases. Dragging
a blanket round her shoulders she leaned over the seat. She felt like a woman who enters
a quarrel to protect a child.\ "Couldn't we let them go?" she cried. "We've still my
father's horse. David can ride it and we can put his things in the wagon."\ "Not another
ounce in the wagon," said Daddy John. "The mules are doing their limit now." The wagon
was his kingdom over which he ruled an absolute monarch.\ Courant looked at her and spoke
curtly, ignoring David. "We can't lose a horse now. We need every one of them. It's not
here. It's beyond in the mountains. We've got to get over by the first of September, and
we want every animal we have to do it. \f2\i He's \f0\i0 not able to walk."\ He shot a
contemptuous glance at David that in less bitter times would have made the young man's
blood boil. But David was too far from his normal self to care. He was not able to walk
and was glad that Courant understood it.\ "I've got to go after them, I suppose," he said
sullenly and turned to where the animals looked on with expectant eyes. "But it's the
last time I'll do it. If they go again they'll stay gone."\ There was a mutter from the
other men. Susan, full of alarm, scrambled into the back of the wagon and pulled on her
clothes. When she emerged David had the doctor's horse saddled and was about to mount.
His face, heavy-eyed and unwashed, bore an expression of morose anger, but fatigue spoke
pathetically in his slow, lifeless movements, the droop of his thin, high shoulders.\
"David," she called, jumping out over the wheel, "wait."\ He did not look at her or
answer, but climbed into the saddle and gathered his rein. She ran toward him crying,
"Wait and have some breakfast. I'll get it for you."\ He continued to pay no attention to
her, glancing down at his foot as it felt for the stirrup. She stopped short, repulsed by
his manner, watching him as he sent a forward look over the tracks of the lost horses.
They wound into the distance fading amid the sweep of motionless sage. It would be a long
search and the day was already hot. Pity rose above all other feelings, and she said:\
"Have they told you what they're going to do? Whether we'll wait here or go on and have
you catch us up?"\ "I don't know what they're going to do and don't care," he answered,
and touching the horse with his spur rode away between the brushing bushes.\ She turned
to Daddy John, her eyes full of alarmed question.\ "He knows all about it," said the old
man with slow phlegm, "I told him myself. There's food and water for him packed on behind
the saddle, I done that too. He'd have gone without it just to spite himself. We'll rest
here this morning, and if he ain't back by noon move on slow till he catches us up. Don't
you worry. He done the wrong thing and he's got to learn."\ No more was said about David,
and after breakfast they waited doing the odd tasks that accumulated for their few
periods of rest. Susan sat sewing where the wagon cast a cooling slant of shade. Daddy
John was beyond her in the sun, his sere old body, from which time had stripped the
flesh, leaving only a tenuous bark of muscle, was impervious to the heat. In the growing
glare he worked over a broken saddle, the whitening reaches stretching out beyond him to
where the mountains waved in a clear blue line as if laid on with one wash of a saturated
paint brush. Courant was near him in the shadow of his horse, cleaning a gun, sharp
clicks of metal now and then breaking into the stillness.\ As the hours passed the shadow
of the wagon shrunk and the girl moved with it till her back was pressed against the
wheel. She was making a calico jacket, and as she moved it the crisp material emitted low
cracklings. Each rustle was subdued and stealthy, dying quickly away as if it were in
conspiracy with the silence and did not want to disturb it. Courant's back was toward
her. He had purposely set his face away, but he could hear the furtive whisperings of the
stirred calico. He was full of the consciousness of her, and this sound, which carried a
picture of her drooped head and moving hands, came with a stealing unquiet, urgently
intrusive and persistent. He tried to hold his mind on his work, but his movements
slackened, grew intermittent, his ear attentive for the low rustling that crept toward
him at intervals like the effervescent approach of waves. Each time he heard it the waves
washed deeper to his inner senses and stole something from his restraining will. For days
the desert had been stealing from it too. He knew it and was guarded and fearful of it,
but this morning he forgot to watch, forgot to care. His reason was drugged by the sound,
the stifled, whispering sound that her hands made moving the material from which she
fashioned a covering for her body.\ He sat with his back turned to her, his hands loose
on the gun, his eyes fixed in an unseeing stare. He did not know what he looked at or
that the shadow of the horse had slipped beyond him. When he heard her move his quietness
increased to a trancelike suspension of movement, the inner concentration holding
everymuscle in spellbound rigidness. Suddenly she tore the calico with a keen, rending noise,
and it was as if her hands had seized upon and so torn the tension that held him. His
fists clinched on the gun barrel, and for a moment the mountain line undulated to his
gaze. Had they been alone, speech would have burst from him, but the presence of the old
man kept him silent. He bowed his head over the gun, making a pretense of giving it a
last inspection, then, surer of himself, leaped to his feet and said gruffly:\ "Let's
move on. There's no good waiting here."\ The other two demurred. Susan rose and walked
into the glare sweeping the way David had gone. Against the pale background she stood out
a vital figure, made up of glowing tints that reached their brightest note in the heated
rose of her cheeks and lips. Her dark head with its curly crest of hair was defined as if
painted on the opaque blue of the sky. She stood motionless, only her eyes moving as they
searched the distance. All of life that remained in the famished land seemed to have
flowed into her and found a beautified expression in the rich vitality of her upright
form, the flushed bloom of her face. Daddy John bent to pick up the saddle, and the
mountain man, safe from espial, looked at her with burning eyes.\ "David's not in sight,"
she said. "Do you think we'd better go on?"\ "Whether we'd better or not we will," he
answered roughly. "Catch up, Daddy John."\ They were accustomed to obeying him like
children their master. So without more parley they pulled up stakes, loaded the wagon,
and started. As Susan fell back to her place at the rear, she called to Courant:\ "We'll
go as slowly as we can. We mustn't get too far ahead. David can't ride hard the way he is
now."\ The man growled an answer that she did not hear, and without looking at her took
the road.\ They made their evening halt by the river. It had dwindled to a fragile stream
which, wandering away into the dryness, would creep feebly to its sink and there
disappear, sucked into secret subways that no man knew. To-morrow they would start across
the desert, where they could see the road leading straight in a white seam to the west.
David had not come. The mules stood stripped of their harness, the wagon rested with
dropped tongue, the mess chest was open and pans shone in mingled fire and sunset gleams,
but the mysteries of the distance, over which twilight veils were thickening, gave no
sign of him. Daddy John built up the desert fire as a beacon--a pile of sage that burned
like tinder. It shot high, tossed exultant flames toward the dimmed stars and sent long
jets of light into the encircling darkness. Its wavering radiance, red and dancing,
touched the scattered objects of the camp, revealing and then losing them as new flame
ran along the leaves or charred branches dropped. Outside the night hung, deep and
silent. Susan hovered on the outskirts of the glow. Darkness was thickening, creeping
from the hills that lay inky-edged against the scarlet of the sky. Once she sent up a
high cry of David's name. Courant, busy with his horses, lifted his head and looked at
her, scowling over his shoulder.\ "Why are you calling?" he said. "He can see the fire."\
She came back and stood near him, her eyes on him in uneasy scrutiny: "We shouldn't have
gone on. We should have waited for him."\ There was questioning and also a suggestion of
condemnation in her voice. She was anxious and her tone and manner showed she thought it
his fault.\ He bent to loosen a girth.\ "Are you afraid he's lost?" he said, his face
against the horse.\ "No. But if he was?"\ "Well! And if he was?"\ The girth was uncinched
and he swept saddle and blanket to the ground.\ "We'd have to go back for him, and you
say we must lose no time."\ He kicked the things aside and made no answer. Then as he
groped for the picket pins he was conscious that she turned again with the nervous
movement of worry and swept the plain.\ "He was sick. We oughtn't to have gone on," she
repeated, and the note of blame was stronger. "Oh, I wish he'd come!"\ Their conversation
had been carried on in a low key. Suddenly Courant, wheeling round on her, spoke in the
raised tone of anger.\ "And am I to stop the train because that fool don't know enough or
care enough to picket his horses? Is it always to be him? Excuses made and things done
for him as if he was a sick girl or a baby. Let him be lost, and stay lost, and be damned
to him."\ Daddy John looked up from the sheaf of newly gathered sage with the alertness
of a scared monkey. Susan stepped back, feeling suddenly breathless. Courant made a
movement as if to follow her, then stopped, his face rived with lines and red with rage.
He was shaken by what to her was entirely inexplicable anger, and in her amazement she
stared vacantly at him.\ "What's that, what's that?" chirped Daddy John, scrambling to
his feet and coming toward them with chin thrust belligerently forward and blinking eyes
full of fight.\ Neither spoke to him and he added sharply:\ "Didn't I hear swearing?
Who's swearing now?" as if he had his doubts that it might be Susan.\ Courant with a
stifled phrase turned from them, picked up his hammer and began driving in the stakes.\
"What was it?" whispered the old man. "What's the matter with him? Is he mad at David?"\
She shook her head, putting a finger on her lip in sign of silence, and moving away to
the other side of the fire. She felt the strain in the men and knew it was her place to
try and keep the peace. But a sense of forlorn helplessness amid these warring spirits
lay heavily on her and she beckoned to the old servant, wanting him near her as one who,
no matter how dire the circumstances, would never fail her.\ "Yes, he's angry," she said
when they were out of earshot. "I suppose it's about David. But what can we do? We can't
make David over into another man, and we can't leave him behind just because he's not as
strong as the rest of us. I feel as if we were getting to be savages."\ The old man gave
a grunt that had a note of cynical acquiescence, then held up his hand in a signal for
quiet. The thud of a horse's hoofs came from the outside night. With a quick word to get
the supper ready, she ran forward and stood in the farthest rim of the light waiting for
her betrothed.\ David was a pitiable spectacle. The dust lay thick on his face, save
round his eyes, whence he had rubbed it, leaving the sockets looking unnaturally sunken
and black. His collar was open and his neck rose bare and roped with sinews. There was
but one horse at the end of the trail rope. As he slid out of the saddle, he dropped the
rope on the ground, saying that the other animal was sick, he had left it dying he
thought. He had found them miles off, miles and miles--with a weak wave of his handtoward
the south--near an alkaline spring where he supposed they had been drinking. The
other couldn't move, this one he had dragged along with him. The men turned their
attention to the horse, which, with swollen body and drooping head, looked as if it might
soon follow its mate. They touched it, and spoke together, brows knit over the trouble,
not paying any attention to David, who, back in the flesh, was sufficiently accounted
for.\ Susan was horrified by his appearance. She had never seen him look so much a
haggard stranger to himself. He was prostrate with fatigue, and throughout the day he had
nursed a sense of bitter injury. Now back among them, seeing the outspread signs of their
rest, and with the good smell of their food in his nostrils, this rose to the pitch of
hysterical rage, ready to vent itself at the first excuse. The sight of the girl,
fresh-skinned from a wash in the river, instead of soothing, further inflamed him. Her
glowing well-being seemed bought at his expense. Her words of concern spoke to his sick
ear with a note of smug, unfeeling complacence.\ "David, you're half dead. Every thing'll
be ready in a minute. Sit down and rest. Here, take my blanket."\ She spread her blanket
for him, but he stood still, not answering, staring at her with dull, accusing eyes.
Then, with a dazed movement, he pushed his hand over the crown of his head throwing off
his hat. The hand was unsteady, and it fell, the hooked forefinger catching in the
opening of his shirt, dragging it down and showing his bony breast. If he had been
nothing to her she would have pitied him. Sense of wrongs done him made the pity
passionate. She went to him, the consoling woman in her eyes, and laid her hand on the
one that rested on his chest.\ "David, sit down and rest. Don't move again. I'll get you
everything. I never saw you look as you do to-night."\ With an angry movement he threw
her hand off.\ "You don't care," he said. "What does it matter to you when you've been
comfortable all day? So long as you and the others are all right I don't matter."\ It was
so unlike him, his face was so changed and charged with a childish wretchedness, that she Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
felt no check upon her sympathy. She knew it was not David that spoke, but a usurping Such a nut is Rosalinde.
spirit born of evil days. The other men pricked their ears and listened, but she was He that sweetest rose will find
indifferent to their watch, and tried again to take his hand, saying, pleadingly:\ "Sit Must find love's prick and Rosalinde.
down. When I get your supper you'll be better. I'll have it ready in a few minutes."\ This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself with them?
This time he threw her hand off with violence. His face, under its dust mask, flamed with ROSALIND. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.
the anger that had been accumulating through the day.\ "Let me alone," he cried, his TOUCHSTONE. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
voice strangled like a wrathful child's. "I don't want anything to do with you. Eat your ROSALIND. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar. Then it will
supper. When I'm ready I'll get mine without any help from you. Let me be."\ He turned be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and
from her, and moving over the blanket, stumbled on its folds. The jar was the breaking that's the right virtue of the medlar.
touch to his overwrought nerves. He staggered, caught his breath with a hiccoughing gasp, TOUCHSTONE. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.
and dropping his face into his hands burst into hysterical tears. Then in a sudden Enter CELIA, with a writing
abandonment of misery he threw himself on the blanket, buried his head in his folded arms ROSALIND. Peace!
and rending sobs broke from him. For a moment they were absolutely still, staring at him Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.
in stupefied surprise. Daddy John, his neck craned round the blaze, surveyed him with CELIA. 'Why should this a desert be?
bright, sharp eyes of unemotional query, then flopped the bacon pan on the embers, and For it is unpeopled? No;
said:\ "He's all done."\ Courant advanced a step, looked down on him and threw a sidelong Tongues I'll hang on every tree
glance at Susan, bold with meaning. After her first moment of amazement, she moved to That shall civil sayings show.
David's side, drew the edge of the blanket over him, touched his head with a light Some, how brief the life of man
caress, and turned back to the fire. The plates and cups were lying there and she quietly Runs his erring pilgrimage,
set them out, her eye now and then straying for a needed object, her hand hanging in That the streching of a span
suspended search then dropping upon it, and noiselessly putting it in its place. Buckles in his sum of age;
Unconsciously they maintained an awed silence, as if they were sitting by the dead. Daddy Some, of violated vows
John turned the bacon with stealthy care, the scrape of his knife on the pan sounding a 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend;
rude and unseemly intrusion. Upon this scrupulously maintained quietude the man's weeping But upon the fairest boughs,
broke insistent, the stifled CORIN. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, Or at every sentence end,
you know, are greasy. Will I Rosalinda write,
TOUCHSTONE. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? And is not the grease of a mutton Teaching all that read to know
as The quintessence of every sprite
wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come. Heaven would in little show.
CORIN. Besides, our hands are hard. Therefore heaven Nature charg'd
TOUCHSTONE. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance; That one body should be fill'd
come. With all graces wide-enlarg'd.
CORIN. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have Nature presently distill'd
us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfum'd with civet. Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
TOUCHSTONE. Most shallow man! thou worm's meat in respect of a good piece of flesh Cleopatra's majesty,
indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar- the very Atalanta's better part,
uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. Sad Lucretia's modesty.
CORIN. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Thus Rosalinde of many parts
TOUCHSTONE. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in By heavenly synod was devis'd,
thee! Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,
thou art raw. To have the touches dearest priz'd.
CORIN. Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest And I to live and die her slave.'
of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck. ROSALIND. O most gentle pulpiter! What tedious homily of love have you wearied your
TOUCHSTONE. That is another simple sin in you: to bring the ewes and the rams together, parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have patience, good people.'
and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, CELIA. How now! Back, friends; shepherd, go off a little; go with him, sirrah.
and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of TOUCHSTONE. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and
all reasonable match. If thou beest not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst scape. Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE CELIA. Didst thou hear these verses?
CORIN. Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. ROSALIND. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet
Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper than the verses would bear.
ROSALIND. 'From the east to western Inde, No jewel is like Rosalinde. CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were
Her worth, being mounted on the wind, lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse,
Through all the world bears Rosalinde. and therefore stood lamely in the verse. CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how
All the pictures fairest lin'd thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these trees?
Are but black to Rosalinde. ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here
Let no face be kept in mind what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an
But the fair of Rosalinde.' Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.
TOUCHSTONE. I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners, and suppers, and sleeping CELIA. Trow you who hath done this?
hours, excepted. It is the right ROSALIND. Is it a man?
butter-women's rank to market. CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
ROSALIND. Out, fool! Change you colour?
TOUCHSTONE. For a taste: ROSALIND. I prithee, who?
If a hart do lack a hind, CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be
Let him seek out Rosalinde. remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter. ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it?
If the cat will after kind, CELIA. Is it possible?
So be sure will Rosalinde. ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.
Winter garments must be lin'd, CELIA. O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and
So must slender Rosalinde. after that, out of all whooping!
They that reap must sheaf and bind, ROSALIND. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have
Then to cart with Rosalinde. a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South Sea of discovery.
I prithee tell me who is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou could'st stammer, that
thou mightst pour this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of
narrow-mouth'd bottleeither too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork out
of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings.
CELIA. So you may put a man in your belly.
ROSALIND. Is he of God's making? What manner of man?
Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard?
CELIA. Nay, he hath but a little beard.
ROSALIND. Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let me stay the growth of
his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.
CELIA. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in
an instant.
ROSALIND. Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true maid.
CELIA. I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
ROSALIND. Orlando?
CELIA. Orlando.
ROSALIND. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou
saw'st him? What said he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he
ask
for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him again?
Answer me in one word.
CELIA. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of
this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a
catechism.
ROSALIND. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's apparel? Looks he as
freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CELIA. It is as easy to count atomies as to
resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good
observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn.
ROSALIND. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.
CELIA. Give me audience, good madam.
ROSALIND. Proceed.
CELIA. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded knight. ROSALIND. Though it be pity
to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.
CELIA. Cry 'Holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.
ROSALIND. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
CELIA. I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring'st me out of tune.
ROSALIND. Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
CELIA. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES
ROSALIND. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.
JAQUES. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself
alone.
ORLANDO. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society.
JAQUES. God buy you; let's meet as little as we can.
ORLANDO. I do desire we may be better strangers.
JAQUES. I pray you mar no more trees with writing love songs in their barks.
ORLANDO. I pray you mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.
JAQUES. Rosalind is your love's name?
ORLANDO. Yes, just.
JAQUES. I do not like her name.
ORLANDO. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christen'd.
JAQUES. What stature is she of?
ORLANDO. Just as high as my heart.
JAQUES. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths'
wives, and conn'd them out of rings? ORLANDO. Not so; but I answer you right painted
cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.JAQUES. You have a nimble wit; I think
'twas made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down
with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.
ORLANDO. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most
faults.
JAQUES. The worst fault you have is to be in love.
ORLANDO. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.
JAQUES. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. ORLANDO. He is drown'd in
the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.
JAQUES. There I shall see mine own figure.
ORLANDO. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
JAQUES. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good Signior Love. ORLANDO. I am glad of
your departure; adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.
Exit JAQUES ROSALIND. [Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under
that habit play the knave with him.- Do you hear, forester?
ORLANDO. Very well; what would you?
ROSALIND. I pray you, what is't o'clock?
ORLANDO. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock in the forest.
ROSALIND. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute and
groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
ORLANDO. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as proper?
ROSALIND. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell
you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he
stands still withal.
ORLANDO. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
ROSALIND. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and
the day it is solemniz'd; if the interim be but a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that
it seems the length of seven year.
ORLANDO. Who ambles Time withal?
ROSALIND. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the
one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels
no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning, the other knowing no
burden of heavy tedious penury. These Time ambles withal.
ORLANDO. Who doth he gallop withal?
ROSALIND. With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he
thinks himself too soon there.
ORLANDO. Who stays it still withal?
ROSALIND. With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and then
they perceive not how Time moves.
ORLANDO. Where dwell you, pretty youth?
ROSALIND. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe
upon a petticoat.
ORLANDO. Are you native of this place?
ROSALIND. As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled. ORLANDO. Your accent is
something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.
ROSALIND. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught
me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for
there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I
am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd
their whole sex withal.
ORLANDO. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?
ROSALIND. There were none principal; they were all like one another as halfpence are;
every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.
ORLANDO. I prithee recount some of them.
ROSALIND. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man
haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving 'Rosalind' on their barks;
hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of
Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he
seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.
ORLANDO. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your remedy.
ROSALIND. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in
love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.
ORLANDO. What were his marks?
ROSALIND. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have not; an
unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not; but I
pardon you for that, for simply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue. Then
your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe
untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no
such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself than
seeming the lover of any other.
ORLANDO. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. ROSALIND. Me believe it!
You may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do
than to confess she does. That is one of the points in the which women still give the lie
to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees
wherein Rosalind is so admired? ORLANDO. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
ROSALIND. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? ORLANDO. Neither rhyme
nor
reason can express how much.ROSALIND. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you,
deserves as well a dark house and a
whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the
lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by
counsel.
ORLANDO. Did you ever cure any so?
ROSALIND. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and
I set him every day to woo me; at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve,
be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow,
inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something and for no passion shrunk panel, and like green timber warp, warp. TOUCHSTONE. [Aside] I am not in the mind
truly anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now but I were better to be married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me
like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my
spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of wife.
madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook merely JAQUES. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as TOUCHSTONE. Come, sweet Audrey;
clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in 't. We must be married or we must live in bawdry.
ORLANDO. I would not be cured, youth. Farewell, good Master Oliver. NotO
ROSALIND. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my sweet Oliver,
cote and woo me. O brave Oliver,
ORLANDO. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is. ROSALIND. Go with me Leave me not behind thee.
to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you ButWind
live. Will you go? ORLANDO. With all my heart, good youth. away,
ROSALIND. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? Exeunt Begone, I say,
SCENE III. I will not to wedding with thee.
The forest Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind MARTEXT. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all
TOUCHSTONE. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, shall flout me out of my calling. Exit
Audrey, SCENE IV.
am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? The forest
AUDREY. Your features! Lord warrant us! What features? Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
TOUCHSTONE. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, ROSALIND. Never talk to me; I will weep.
was among the Goths. CELIA. Do, I prithee; but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not become a man.
JAQUES. [Aside] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! ROSALIND. But have I not cause to weep?
TOUCHSTONE. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded CELIA. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. ROSALIND. His very hair is of
with the dissembling colour.
the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a CELIA. Something browner than Judas's.
little room. Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. Marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.
AUDREY. I do not know what 'poetical' is. Is it honest in deed and word? Is it a true ROSALIND. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
thing? CELIA. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour. ROSALIND. And his
TOUCHSTONE. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning, and lovers are given kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.
to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign. CELIA. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of winter's sisterhood kisses
AUDREY. Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical? TOUCHSTONE. I do, truly, not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.
for thou swear'st to me thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope ROSALIND. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?
thou didst feign. CELIA. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
AUDREY. Would you not have me honest? ROSALIND. Do you think so?
TOUCHSTONE. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty is CELIA. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in
to have honey a sauce to sugar. love, I do think him as concave as covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.
JAQUES. [Aside] A material fool! ROSALIND. Not true in love?
AUDREY. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. CELIA. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.
TOUCHSTONE. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat into ROSALIND. You have heard him swear downright he was.
an unclean dish. CELIA. 'Was' is not 'is'; besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a
AUDREY. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. TOUCHSTONE. Well, praised be tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest
the gods for thy foulness; on the Duke, your father.
sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee; and to that ROSALIND. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him. He asked me of what
end I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd and let me go. But what talk
to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. we of fathers when there is such a man as Orlando?
JAQUES. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. CELIA. O, that's a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave
AUDREY. Well, the gods give us joy! oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny
TOUCHSTONE. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But
here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?
Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said: 'Many a man knows no end of Enter CORIN
his goods.' Right! Many a man has good horns and knows no end of them. Well, that is the CORIN. Mistress and master, you have oft enquired
dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; After the shepherd that complain'd of love,
the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than That was his mistress.
no skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver. CELIA. Well, and what of him?
Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT CORIN. If you will see a pageant truly play'd
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall Between the pale complexion of true love
we go with you to your chapel? MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman? And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man. Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. JAQUES. [Discovering If you will mark it.
himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her. TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master ROSALIND. O, come, let us remove!
What-ye-call't; how do you, sir? You are very well met. Goddild you for your last The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
company. I am very glad to see you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay; pray be cover'd. I'll prove a busy actor in their play. Exeunt
JAQUES. Will you be married, motley?TOUCHSTONE. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse SCENE V.
his curb, and the falcon her bells, so Another part of the forest
man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE
JAQUES. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush, like a SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe.
beggar? Get you to church and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is; this Say that you love me not; but say not so
fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a In bitterness. The common executioner,
Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard, Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard.
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better,
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance And be not proud; though all the world could see,
PHEBE. I would not be thy executioner; None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. Come, to our flock. Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN PHEBE. Dead shepherd, now I
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye. find
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, thy saw of might:
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things, 'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?'
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe.
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! PHEBE. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius?
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; SILVIUS. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. PHEBE. Why, I arn sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; SILVIUS. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, If you do sorrow at my grief in love,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. Were both extermin'd.
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains PHEBE. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly?
Some scar of it; lean upon a rush, SILVIUS. I would have you.
The cicatrice and capable impressure PHEBE. Why, that were covetousness.
Thy palm some moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Silvius, the time was that I hated thee;
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; And yet it is not that I bear thee love;
Nor, I am sure, there is not force in eyes But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
That can do hurt. Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
SILVIUS. O dear Phebe, I will endure; and I'll employ thee too.
If ever- as that ever may be nearYou But do not look for further recompense
meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Then shall you know the wounds invisible SILVIUS. So holy and so perfect is my love,
That love's keen arrows make. And I in such a poverty of grace,
PHEBE. But till that time That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
Come not thou near me; and when that time comes, To glean the broken ears after the man
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then
As till that time I shall not pity thee. A scatt'red smile, and that I'll live upon.
ROSALIND. [Advancing] And why, I pray you? Who might be your PHEBE. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
mother, SILVIUS. Not very well; but I have met him oft;
That you insult, exult, and all at once, And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
Over the wretched? What though you have no beautyAs, That the old carlot once was master of.
by my faith, I see no more in you PHEBE. Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
Than without candle may go dark to bedMust 'Tis but a peevish boy; yet he talks well.
you be therefore proud and pitiless? But what care I for words? Yet words do well
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
I see no more in you than in the ordinary It is a pretty youth- not very pretty;
Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him.
I think she means to tangle my eyes too! He'll make a proper man. The best thing in him
No faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall;
That can entame my spirits to your worship. His leg is but so-so; and yet 'tis well.
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, There was a pretty redness in his lip,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? A little riper and more lusty red
You are a thousand times a properer man Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Betwixt the constant red and
Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you mingled damask.
That makes the world full of ill-favour'd children. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her; In parcels as I did, would have gone near
And out of you she sees herself more proper To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
Than any of her lineaments can show her. I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet
But, mistress, know yourself. Down on your knees, I have more cause to hate him than to love him;
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love; For what had he to do to chide at me?
For I must tell you friendly in your ear: He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black,
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. And, now I am rememb'red, scorn'd at me.
Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer; I marvel why I answer'd not again;
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. But that's all one: omittance is no quittance.
So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well.PHEBE. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
together; And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius?
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. SILVIUS. Phebe, with all my heart.
ROSALIND. He's fall'n in love with your foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger. PHEBE. I'll write it straight;
If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter The matter's in my head and in my heart;
words. Why look you so upon me? I will be bitter with him and passing short.
PHEBE. For no ill will I bear you. Go with me, Silvius. Exeunt<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS
ROSALIND. I pray you do not fall in love with me, OF WILLIAM
For I am falser than vows made in wine;
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ACT IV. SCENE I.
The forest
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES
JAQUES. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.
ROSALIND. They say you are a melancholy fellow.
JAQUES. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
ROSALIND. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and betray
themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.
JAQUES. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
ROSALIND. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
JAQUES. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's,
which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is
ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the
lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many
simples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my
travels; in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
ROSALIND. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. I fear you have sold
your own lands to see other men's; then to have seen much and to have nothing is to have
rich eyes and poor hands.
JAQUES. Yes, I have gain'd my experience.
Enter ORLANDO
ROSALIND. And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a fool to make me merry
than experience to make me sad- and to travel for it too.
ORLANDO. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!
JAQUES. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in blank verse. ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur
Traveller; look you lisp and wear strange suits, disable all the benefits of your own
country, be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that
countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. [Exit JAQUES]
Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover! An you serve me
such another trick, never come in my sight more.
ORLANDO. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. ROSALIND. Break an
hour's
promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part
of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid
hath clapp'd him o' th' shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
ORLANDO. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
ROSALIND. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had as lief be woo'd of a
snail.
ORLANDO. Of a snail!
ROSALIND. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head- a
better jointure, I think, than you make a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.
ORLANDO. What's that?
ROSALIND. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for; but
he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife.
ORLANDO. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. ROSALIND. And I am your
Rosalind.
CELIA. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.
ROSALIND. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to
consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
ORLANDO. I would kiss before I spoke.
ROSALIND. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravell'd for lack of
matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will
spit; and for lovers lacking- God warn us!- matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
ORLANDO. How if the kiss be denied?
ROSALIND. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
ORLANDO. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? ROSALIND. Marry, that
should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.
ORLANDO. What, of my suit?
ROSALIND. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?
ORLANDO. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.
ROSALIND. Well, in her person, I say I will not have you. ORLANDO. Then, in mine own
person, I die.
ROSALIND. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old,
and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a
love-cause. Troilus had his brains dash'd out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he
could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have liv'd
many a fair year, though Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummernight; for,
good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken
with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was- Hero
of Sestos. But these are all lies: men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten
them, but not for love.
ORLANDO. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might
kill me.
ROSALIND. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in
a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.
ORLANDO. Then love me, Rosalind.
ROSALIND. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all. ORLANDO. And wilt thou have
me?
ROSALIND. Ay, and twenty such.
ORLANDO. What sayest thou?
ROSALIND. Are you not good?
ORLANDO. I hope so.
ROSALIND. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? Come, sister, you shall be
the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?
ORLANDO. Pray thee, marry us.
CELIA. I cannot say the words.
ROSALIND. You must begin 'Will you, Orlando'-
CELIA. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? ORLANDO. I will.
ROSALIND. Ay, but when?
ORLANDO. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us.
ROSALIND. Then you must say 'I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.' ORLANDO. I take thee,
Rosalind, for wife.
ROSALIND. I might ask you for your commission; but- I do take thee, Orlando, for my
husband. There's a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs
before her actions. ORLANDO. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.
ROSALIND. Now tell me how long you would have her, after you have possess'd her.
ORLANDO. For ever and a day.
ROSALIND. Say 'a day' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo,
December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when
they
are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more
clamorous than a parrot against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my
desires than a monkey. I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do
that when you are dispos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou are
inclin'd to sleep.
ORLANDO. But will my Rosalind do so?
ROSALIND. By my life, she will do as I do.
ORLANDO. O, but she is wise.
ROSALIND. Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser, the waywarder. Make
the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out
at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
ORLANDO. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say 'Wit, whither wilt?'
ROSALIND. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to
your neighbour's bed.
ORLANDO. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
ROSALIND. Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her
answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault
her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like
a fool!
ORLANDO. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. ROSALIND. Alas, dear love, I
cannot lack thee two hours!
ORLANDO. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.
ROSALIND. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would prove; my friends told me
as much, and I thought no less. That flattering tongue of yours won me. 'Tis but one cast
away, and so, come death! Two o'clock is your hour?
ORLANDO. Ay, sweet Rosalind.
ROSALIND. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths
that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind
your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover,
and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band
of the unfaithful. Therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.
ORLANDO. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind; so, adieu.
ROSALIND. Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time
try. Adieu. Exit ORLANDO CELIA. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate. We
must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and show the world what the bird [Reads]
hath done to her own nest. 'Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?'
ROSALIND. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom Can a woman rail thus?
deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like SILVIUS. Call you this railing?
the Bay of Portugal. CELIA. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, ROSALIND. 'Why, thy godhead laid apart,
it runs out. Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?'
ROSALIND. No; that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd of Did you ever hear such railing?
spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, 'Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
because his own are out- let him be judge how deep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, That could do no vengeance to me.'
I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Meaning me a beast.
CELIA. And I'll sleep. ExeuntSCENE II. 'If the scorn of your bright eyne
The forest Have power to raise such love in mine,
Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the habit of foresters Alack, in me what strange effect
JAQUES. Which is he that killed the deer? Would they work in mild aspect!
LORD. Sir, it was I. Whiles you chid me, I did love;
JAQUES. Let's present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to How then might your prayers move!
set the deer's horns upon his head for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, He that brings this love to the
for this purpose? LORD. Yes, sir. Little knows this love in me;
JAQUES. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. And by him seal up thy mind,
SONG. Whether that thy youth and kind
What shall he have that kill'd the deer? Will the faithful offer take
His leather skin and horns to wear. Of me and all that I can make;
[The rest shall hear this burden:] Then sing him home. Or else by him my love deny,
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; And then I'll study how to die.'
It was a crest ere thou wast born. SILVIUS. Call you this chiding?
Thy father's father wore it; CELIA. Alas, poor shepherd!
And thy father bore it. ROSALIND. Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee! Not to be endur'd! Well, go
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt your way to her, for I see love hath made thee tame snake, and say this to herthat if she
SCENE III. love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou
The forest entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA company.
ROSALIND. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? Exit SILVIUS
And here much Orlando! Enter OLIVER
CELIA. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and OLIVER. Good morrow, fair ones; pray you, if you know,
arrows, and is gone forth- to sleep. Look, who comes here. Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
Enter SILVIUS A sheep-cote fenc'd about with olive trees?
SILVIUS. My errand is to you, fair youth; CELIA. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom.
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this. The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
I know not the contents; but, as I guess Left on your right hand brings you to the place.
By the stern brow and waspish action But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
Which she did use as she was writing of it, There's none within.
It bears an angry tenour. Pardon me, OLIVER. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
I am but as a guiltless messenger. Then should I know you by descriptionSuch
ROSALIND. Patience herself would startle at this letter, garments, and such years: 'The boy is fair,
And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all. Of female favour, and bestows himself
She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; Like a ripe sister; the woman low,
She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, And browner than her brother.' Are not you
Were man as rare as Phoenix. 'Od's my will! The owner of the house I did inquire for?
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt; CELIA. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are.
Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, OLIVER. Orlando doth commend him to you both;
This is a letter of your own device. And to that youth he calls his Rosalind
SILVIUS. No, I protest, I know not the contents; He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he?
Phebe did write it. ROSALIND. I am. What must we understand by this?
ROSALIND. Come, come, you are a fool, OLIVER. Some of my shame; if you will know of me
And turn'd into the extremity of love. What man I am, and how, and why, and where,
I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand, This handkercher was stain'd.
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think CELIA. I pray you, tell it.
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; OLIVER. When last the young Orlando parted from you,
She has a huswife's hand- but that's no matter. He left a promise to return again
I say she never did invent this letter: Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
This is a man's invention, and his hand. Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
SILVIUS. Sure, it is hers. Lo, what befell! He threw his eye aside,
ROSALIND. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style; And mark what object did present itself.
A style for challengers. Why, she defies me, Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,
Like Turk to Christian. Women's gentle brain And high top bald with dry antiquity,
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect Lay sleeping on his back. About his neck
Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,Who with her head nimble in threats approach'd
SILVIUS. So please you, for I never heard it yet; The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
ROSALIND. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush; under which bush's shade GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch, READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
The royal disposition of that beast COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
This seen, Orlando did approach the man, DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
And found it was his brother, his elder brother. ACT V. SCENE I.
CELIA. O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; The forest
And he did render him the most unnatural Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY
That liv'd amongst men. TOUCHSTONE. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. AUDREY. Faith, the
OLIVER. And well he might so do, priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying.
For well I know he was unnatural. TOUCHSTONE. A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is
ROSALIND. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? AUDREY. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest in me in the world; here comes the man
OLIVER. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so; you mean.
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, Enter WILLIAM
And nature, stronger than his just occasion, TOUCHSTONE. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have good
Made him give battle to the lioness, wits have much to answer for: we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.
Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling WILLIAM. Good ev'n, Audrey.
From miserable slumber I awak'd. AUDREY. God ye good ev'n, William.
CELIA. Are you his brother? WILLIAM. And good ev'n to you, sir.
ROSALIND. Was't you he rescu'd? TOUCHSTONE. Good ev'n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, prithee be
CELIA. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? cover'd. How old are you, friend? WILLIAM. Five and twenty, sir.
OLIVER. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame TOUCHSTONE. A ripe age. Is thy name William?
To tell you what I was, since my conversion WILLIAM. William, sir.
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. TOUCHSTONE. A fair name. Wast born i' th' forest here?
ROSALIND. But for the bloody napkin? WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I thank God.
OLIVER. By and by. TOUCHSTONE. 'Thank God.' A good answer.
When from the first to last, betwixt us two, Art rich?
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd, WILLIAM. Faith, sir, so so.
As how I came into that desert placeIn TOUCHSTONE. 'So so' is good, very good, very excellent good; and yet it is not; it is but
brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, so so. Art thou wise?
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, WILLIAM. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.
Committing me unto my brother's love; TOUCHSTONE. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying: 'The fool doth think he is
Who led me instantly unto his cave, wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.' The heathen philosopher, when he had
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning
The lioness had torn some flesh away, thereby that grapes were made to eat and lips to open. You do love this maid?
Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, WILLIAM. I do, sir.
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. TOUCHSTONE. Give me your hand. Art thou learned?
Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound, WILLIAM. No, sir.
And, after some small space, being strong at heart, TOUCHSTONE. Then learn this of me: to have is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric
He sent me hither, stranger as I am, that drink, being pour'd out of cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the
To tell this story, that you might excuse other; for all your writers do consent that ipse is he; now, you are not ipse, for I am
His broken promise, and to give this napkin, he.
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth WILLIAM. Which he, sir?
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. TOUCHSTONE. He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon- which is
[ROSALIND swoons] CELIA. Why, how now, Ganymede! sweet Ganymede! in the vulgar leave- the society- which in the boorish is company- of this female- which
OLIVER. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. in the common is woman- which together is: abandon the society of this female; or, clown,
CELIA. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede! thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, I kill thee, make
OLIVER. Look, he recovers. thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison
ROSALIND. I would I were at home. with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; will o'er-run
CELIA. We'll lead you thither. thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble and
I pray you, will you take him by the arm? depart.
OLIVER. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man! AUDREY. Do, good William.
You lack a man's heart. WILLIAM. God rest you merry, sir. Exit
ROSALIND. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well Enter CORIN
counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! CORIN. Our master and mistress seeks you; come away, away. TOUCHSTONE. Trip, Audrey,
OLIVER. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion that it trip, Audrey. I attend, I attend.
was a passion of earnest. Exeunt
ROSALIND. Counterfeit, I assure you. SCENE II.
OLIVER. Well then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. ROSALIND. So I do; but, The forest
i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. Enter ORLANDO and OLIVER
CELIA. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. ORLANDO. Is't possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that but
OLIVER. That will I, for I must bear answer back seeing you should love her? and loving woo? and, wooing, she should grant? and will you
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. persever to enjoy her?
ROSALIND. I shall devise something; but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. OLIVER. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small
Will you go? Exeunt acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent with both that we may enjoy each other.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED It shall be to your good; for my father's house and all the revenue that was old Sir
BY PROJECT 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 ROSALIND. Why do you speak too, 'Why blame you me to love you?' ORLANDO. To her that
my Rosalind. isnot here, nor doth not hear.
Enter ROSALIND ROSALIND. Pray you, no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the
ROSALIND. God save you, brother. moon. [To SILVIUS] I will help you if I can. [To PHEBE] I would love you if I could.-
OLIVER. And you, fair sister. Exit ROSALIND. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see To-morrow meet me all together. [ To PHEBE ] I will marry you if ever I marry woman, and
thee wear thy heart in a scarf! I'll be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] I will satisfy you if ever I satisfied man, and
ORLANDO. It is my arm. you shall be married to-morrow. [To Silvius] I will content you if what pleases you
ROSALIND. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To ORLANDO] As you love Rosalind,
ORLANDO. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. meet. [To SILVIUS] As you love Phebe, meet;- and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So, fare
ROSALIND. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he show'd me your you well; I have left you commands.
handkercher? SILVIUS. I'll not fail, if I live.
ORLANDO. Ay, and greater wonders than that. PHEBE. Nor I.
ROSALIND. O, I know where you are. Nay, 'tis true. There was never any thing so sudden ORLANDO. Nor I. Exeunt
but the fight of two rams and Caesar's thrasonical brag of 'I came, saw, and overcame.' SCENE III.
For your brother and my sister no sooner met but they look'd; no sooner look'd but they The forest
lov'd; no sooner lov'd but they sigh'd; no sooner sigh'd but they ask'd one another the Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY
reason; no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy- and in these degrees have TOUCHSTONE. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audre'y; to-morrow will we be married.
they made pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be AUDREY. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire
incontinent before marriage. They are in the very wrath of love, and they will together. to be a woman of the world. Here come two of the banish'd Duke's pages.
Clubs cannot part them. Enter two PAGES
ORLANDO. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial. But, O, FIRST PAGE. Well met, honest gentleman.
how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song. SECOND PAGE. We are for
the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think you; sit i' th' middle.
my brother happy in having what he wishes for. ROSALIND. Why, then, to-morrow I cannot FIRST PAGE. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking, or spitting, or saying we are
serve your turn for Rosalind? hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice?
ORLANDO. I can live no longer by thinking. SECOND PAGE. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse.
ROSALIND. I will weary you, then, no longer with idle talking. Know of me then- for now I SONG.
speak to some purpose- that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit. I speak not this It was a lover and his lass,
that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are; With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief That o'er the green corn-field did pass
from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
can do strange things. I have, since I was three year old, convers'd with a magician, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding.
most profound in his art and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart Sweet lovers love the spring.
as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I Between the acres of the rye,
know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, These pretty country folks would lie,
and without any danger. In the spring time, &c.
ORLANDO. Speak'st thou in sober meanings? This carol they began that hour,
ROSALIND. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
Therefore put you in your best array, bid your friends; for if you will be married How that a life was but a flower,
to-morrow, you shall; and to Rosalind, if you will. In the spring time, &c.
Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE And therefore take the present time,
Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
PHEBE. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness For love is crowned with the prime,
To show the letter that I writ to you. In the spring time, &c.
ROSALIND. I care not if I have. It is my study TOUCHSTONE. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. the note was very untuneable.
You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; FIRST PAGE. YOU are deceiv'd, sir; we kept time, we lost not our time.
Look upon him, love him; he worships you. TOUCHSTONE. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God
PHEBE. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. buy you; and God mend your voices. Come, Audrey. Exeunt
SILVIUS. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; SCENE IV.
And so am I for Phebe. The forest
PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. Enter DUKE SENIOR, AMIENS, JAQUES, ORLANDO, OLIVER, and CELIA
ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. DUKE SENIOR. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
ROSALIND. And I for no woman. Can do all this that he hath promised?
SILVIUS. It is to be all made of faith and service; ORLANDO. I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not:
And so am I for Phebe. As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
PHEBE. And I for Ganymede. Enter ROSALIND, SILVIUS, and PHEBE
ORLANDO. And I for Rosalind. ROSALIND. Patience once more, whiles our compact is urg'd: You say, if I bring in your
ROSALIND. And I for no woman. Rosalind,
SILVIUS. It is to be all made of fantasy, You will bestow her on Orlando here?
All made of passion, and all made of wishes; DUKE SENIOR. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. ROSALIND. And you say you
All adoration, duty, and observance, will have her when I bring her? ORLANDO. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, ROSALIND. You say you'll marry me, if I be willing?PHEBE. That will I, should I die the hour
All purity, all trial, all obedience; after.
And so am I for Phebe. ROSALIND. But if you do refuse to marry me,
PHEBE. And so am I for Ganymede. You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd?
ORLANDO. And so am I for Rosalind. PHEBE. So is the bargain.
ROSALIND. And so am I for no woman. ROSALIND. You say that you'll have Phebe, if she will?
PHEBE. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? SILVIUS. Though to have her and death were both one thing. ROSALIND. I have promis'd to
SILVIUS. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? make all this matter even.
ORLANDO. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter;
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter; myself, for I am yours.
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, DUKE SENIOR. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. ORLANDO. If there be truth
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd; in sight, you are my Rosalind. PHEBE. If sight and shape be true,
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her Why then, my love adieu!
If she refuse me; and from hence I go, ROSALIND. I'll have no father, if you be not he;
To make these doubts all even. I'll have no husband, if you be not he;
Exeunt ROSALIND and CELIA DUKE SENIOR. I do remember in this shepherd boy Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. HYMEN. Peace, ho! I bar confusion;
ORLANDO. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him 'Tis I must make conclusion
Methought he was a brother to your daughter. Of these most strange events.
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, Here's eight that must take hands
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments To join in Hymen's bands,
Of many desperate studies by his uncle, If truth holds true contents.
Whom he reports to be a great magician, You and you no cross shall part;
Obscured in the circle of this forest. You and you are heart in heart;
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY You to his love must accord,
JAQUES. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Or have a woman to your lord;
Here comes a pair of very strange beasts which in all tongues are call'd fools. You and you are sure together,
TOUCHSTONE. Salutation and greeting to you all! As the winter to foul weather.
JAQUES. Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
often met in the forest. He hath been a courtier, he swears. Feed yourselves with questioning,
TOUCHSTONE. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; That reason wonder may diminish,
I have flatt'red a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I How thus we met, and these things finish.
have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. SONG
JAQUES. And how was that ta'en up? Wedding is great Juno's crown;
TOUCHSTONE. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. O blessed bond of board and bed!
JAQUES. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. DUKE SENIOR. I like him very 'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
well. High wedlock then be honoured.
TOUCHSTONE. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst Honour, high honour, and renown,
the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear, according as marriage To Hymen, god of every town!
binds and blood breaks. A poor virgin, sir, an ill-favour'd thing, sir, but mine own; a DUKE SENIOR. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me!
poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.
miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster. PHEBE. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine;
DUKE SENIOR. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. TOUCHSTONE. According to Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
the Enter JAQUES de BOYS
fool's bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. JAQUES de BOYS. Let me have audience for a word or two.
JAQUES. But, for the seventh cause: how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause? I am the second son of old Sir Rowland,
TOUCHSTONE. Upon a lie seven times removed- bear your body more seeming, Audrey- as That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
thus, Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard; he sent me word, if I said his Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was. This is call'd the Retort Courteous. Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
If I sent him word again it was not well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please In his own conduct, purposely to take
himself. This is call'd the Quip Modest. If again it was not well cut, he disabled my His brother here, and put him to the sword;
judgment. This is call'd the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut, he would And to the skirts of this wild wood he came,
answer I spake not true. This is call'd the Reproof Valiant. If again it was not well Where, meeting with an old religious man,
cut, he would say I lie. This is call'd the Countercheck Quarrelsome. And so to the Lie After some question with him, was converted
Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. Both from his enterprise and from the world;
JAQUES. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? TOUCHSTONE. I durst go no His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we And all their lands restor'd to them again
measur'd swords and parted. That were with him exil'd. This to be true
JAQUES. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? TOUCHSTONE. O, sir, we I do engage my life.
quarrel in print by the book, as you have books for good manners. I will name you the DUKE SENIOR. Welcome, young man.
degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; To one, his lands withheld; and to the other,
the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too with an If. I knew when seven First, in this forest let us do those ends
justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of That here were well begun and well begot;
them thought but of an If, as: 'If you said so, then I said so.' And they shook hands, And after, every of this happy number,
and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If. JAQUES. Is not That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
this a rare fellow, my lord? Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
He's as good at any thing, and yet a fool. According to the measure of their states.
DUKE SENIOR. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
he shoots his wit: And fall into our rustic revelry.
Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. Still MUSIC Play, music; and you brides and bridegrooms all,
HYMEN. Then is there mirth in heaven, With measure heap'd in joy, to th' measures fall.
When earthly things made even Atone together. JAQUES. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
Good Duke, receive thy daughter; The Duke hath put on a religious life,
Hymen from heaven brought her, And thrown into neglect the pompous court.JAQUES DE BOYS. He hath.
Yea, brought her hither, JAQUES. To him will I. Out of these convertites
That thou mightst join her hand with his, There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.
Whose heart within his bosom is. [To DUKE] You to your former honour I bequeath;
ROSALIND. [To DUKE] To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To ORLANDO] To you I give 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, Nay, more: if any born at Ephesus
and love, and great allies [To SILVIUS] You to a long and well-deserved bed; Be seen at any Syracusian marts and fairs;
[To TOUCHSTONE] And you to wrangling; for thy loving voyage Is but for two months Again, if any Syracusian born
victuall'd.- So to your pleasures; I am for other than for dancing measures. Come to the bay of Ephesus-he dies,
DUKE SENIOR. Stay, Jaques, stay. His goods confiscate to the Duke's dispose,
JAQUES. To see no pastime I. What you would have Unless a thousand marks be levied,
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. Exit DUKE SENIOR. Proceed, proceed. We will To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
begin these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [A dance] Exeunt Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
EPILOGUE Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
EPILOGUE. Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die.
ROSALIND. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more AEGEON. Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue. Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; DUKE. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, Why thou departed'st from thy native home,
that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
play! I am not furnish'd like a beggar; therefore to beg will not become me. My way is to AEGEON. A heavier task could not have been impos'd
conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable;
to men, to like as much of this play as please you; and I charge you, O men, for the love Yet, that the world may witness that my end
you bear to women- as I perceive by your simp'ring none of you hates them- that between Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
had beards that pleas'd me, complexions that lik'd me, and breaths that I defied not; In Syracuse was I born, and wed
and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for Unto a woman, happy but for me,
my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. And by me, had not our hap been bad.
THE END With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my factor's death,
1593 And the great care of goods at random left,
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
by William Shakespeare From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself, almost at fainting under
DRAMATIS PERSONAE The pleasing punishment that women bear,
SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus Had made provision for her following me,
AEGEON, a merchant of Syracuse And soon and safe arrived where I was.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS twin brothers and sons to There had she not been long but she became
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE Aegion and Aemelia A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
DROMIO OF EPHESUS twin brothers, and attendants on And, which was strange, the one so like the other
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE the two Antipholuses As could not be disdnguish'd but by names.
BALTHAZAR, a merchant That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
ANGELO, a goldsmith A mean woman was delivered
FIRST MERCHANT, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse Of such a burden, male twins, both alike.
SECOND MERCHANT, to whom Angelo is a debtor Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
PINCH, a schoolmaster I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
AEMILIA, wife to AEgeon; an abbess at Ephesus My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
ADRIANA, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus Made daily motions for our home return;
LUCIANA, her sister Unwilling, I agreed. Alas! too soon
LUCE, servant to Adriana We came aboard.
A COURTEZAN A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd
Gaoler, Officers, Attendants Before the always-wind-obeying deepGave any tragic instance of our harm:
SCENE: But longer did we not retain much hope,
Ephesus For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS Which though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
ACT I. SCENE 1 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
A hall in the DUKE'S palace Weeping before for what she saw must come,
Enter the DUKE OF EPHESUS, AEGEON, the Merchant And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
of Syracuse, GAOLER, OFFICERS, and other ATTENDANTS That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
AEGEON. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And by the doom of death end woes and all. And this it was, for other means was none:
DUKE. Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more; The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
I am not partial to infringe our laws. And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us;
The enmity and discord which of late My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke Had fast'ned him unto a small spare mast,
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, Such as sea-faring men provide for storms;
Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives, To him one of the other twins was bound,
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods, Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
For, since the mortal and intestine jars Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, Fast'ned ourselves at either end the mast,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed, And, floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns; At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us; Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, and FIRST MERCHANT
And, by the benefit of his wished light, FIRST MERCHANT. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
Two ships from far making amain to usOf This very day a Syracusian merchant
Corinth that, of Epidaurus this. Is apprehended for arrival here;
But ere they came-O, let me say no more! And, not being able to buy out his life,
Gather the sequel by that went before. According to the statute of the town,
DUKE. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so; Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
For we may pity, though not pardon thee. There is your money that I had to keep.
AEGEON. O, had the gods done so, I had not now ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host. And stay there,
Worthily term'd them merciless to us! Dromio,
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, till I come to thee.
We were encount'red by a mighty rock, Within this hour it will be dinner-time;
Which being violently borne upon, Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us, And then return and sleep within mine inn;
Fortune had left to both of us alike For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Get thee away.
Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Many a man would take you at your word, And go indeed, having
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, so good
Was carried with more speed before the wind; a mean.
And in our sight they three were taken up <Exit
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, When I am dull with care
At length another ship had seiz'd on us; and melancholy,
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wreck'd guests, What, will you walk with me about the town,
And would have reft the fishers of their prey, And then go to my inn and dine with me?
Had not their bark been very slow of sail; FIRST MERCHANT. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
And therefore homeward did they bend their course. Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss, I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock,
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. And afterward consort you till bed time.
DUKE. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, My present business calls me from you now.
Do me the favour to dilate at full ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Farewell till then. I will go lose myself, And wander up and
What have befall'n of them and thee till now. down
AEGEON. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, to view the city.
At eighteen years became inquisitive FIRST MERCHANT. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
After his brother, and importun'd me <Exit FIRST MERCHANT
That his attendant-so his case was like, ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his nameMight the thing
bear him company in the quest of him; I cannot get.
Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see, I to the world am like a drop of water
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; So I, to find a mother and a brother,
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Or that or any place that harbours men. Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS
But here must end the story of my life; Here comes the almanac of my true date.
And happy were I in my timely death, What now? How chance thou art return'd so soon?
Could all my travels warrant me they live. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late. The capon burns, the
DUKE. Hapless, Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd pig
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, falls from the spit;
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bellMy
Which princes, would they, may not disannul, mistress made it one upon my cheek;
My soul should sue as advocate for thee. She is so hot because the meat is cold,
But though thou art adjudged to the death, The meat is cold because you come not home,You come not home because you have no
And passed sentence may not be recall'd stomach,
But to our honour's great disparagement, You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
Yet will I favour thee in what I can. But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day Are penitent for your default to-day.
To seek thy help by beneficial hap. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray: Where have you left
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; the money that I gave you?
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O-Sixpence that I had a Wednesday last
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die. To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?
Gaoler, take him to thy custody. The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.
GAOLER. I will, my lord. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I am not in a sportive humour now;
AEGEON. Hopeless and helpless doth Aegeon wend, Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
<Exeunt So great a charge from thine own custody?
SCENE 2 DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I pray you jest, sir, as you sit at dinner. I from my mistress come to
The mart you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed, A man is master of his liberty;
For she will score your fault upon my pate. Time is their master, and when they see time,
Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock, They'll go or come. If so, be patient, sister.
And strike you home without a messenger. ADRIANA. Why should their liberty than ours be more?
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season; Reserve LUCIANA. Because their business still lies out o' door.
them ADRIANA. Look when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
till a merrier hour than this. LUCIANA. O, know he is the bridle of your will.
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? ADRIANA. There's none but asses will be bridled so.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. To me, sir? Why, you gave no gold to me. ANTIPHOLUS OF LUCIANA. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
SYRACUSE. Come There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
on, sir knave, have done your foolishness, And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
the Are their males' subjects, and at their controls.
Phoenix, sir, to dinner. Man, more divine, the master of all these,
My mistress and her sister stays for you. Lord of the wide world and wild wat'ry seas,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me In what safe place you Indu'd with intellectual sense and souls,
have Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
bestow'd my money, Are masters to their females, and their lords;
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, Then let your will attend on their accords.
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd. ADRIANA. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? LUCIANA. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I have some marks of yours upon my pate, Some of my mistress' ADRIANA. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.
marks LUCIANA. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
upon my shoulders, ADRIANA. How if your husband start some other where?
But not a thousand marks between you both. LUCIANA. Till he come home again, I would forbear.
If I should pay your worship those again, ADRIANA. Patience unmov'd! no marvel though she pause:
Perchance you will not bear them patiently. They can be meek that have no other cause.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thy mistress' marks! What mistress, slave, hast thou? A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
DROMIO OF We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
EPHESUS. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; She that doth fast till you But were we burd'ned with like weight of pain,
come home to dinner, As much, or more, we should ourselves complain.
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, Being forbid? With urging helpless patience would relieve me;
There, But if thou live to see like right bereft,
take you that, sir knave. This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.
[Beats him] LUCIANA. Well, I will marry one day, but to try.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. What mean you, sir? For God's sake hold your hands! Nay, an you Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.
will Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS
not, sir, I'll take my heels. ADRIANA. Say, is your tardy master now at hand?
<Exit DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Upon my life, by some device or other The villain is o'erraught ADRIANA. Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his mind? DROMIO OF EPHESUS.
of all my money. Ay,
They say this town is full of cozenage; ay, he told his mind upon mine ear.
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, LUCIANA. Spake he so doubtfully thou could'st not feel his meaning? DROMIO OF EPHESUS.
Soul-killing witches that deform the body, Nay, he struck so plainly I could to
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce understand them.
And many such-like liberties of sin; ADRIANA. But say, I prithee, is he coming home?
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. It seems he hath great care to please his wife.
I'll to the Centaur to go seek this slave. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. ADRIANA. Horn-mad,
I greatly fear my money is not safe. thou
<Exit villain!
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I mean not cuckold-mad;
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED But, sure, he is stark mad.
BY PROJECT When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE "Tis dinner time' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR 'Your meat doth burn' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.
YOUR OR OTHERS 'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED 'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?'
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY 'The pig' quoth I 'is burn'd'; 'My gold!' quoth he.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR 'My mistress, sir,' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress;
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress.'
ACT Il. SCENE 1 LUCIANA. Quoth who?
The house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Quoth my master.
Enter ADRIANA, wife to ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, with LUCIANA, her sister 'I know' quoth he 'no house, no wife, no mistress.'
ADRIANA. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
That in such haste I sent to seek his master! I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
LUCIANA. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,And from the mart he's somewhere gone ADRIANA. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.
to dinner; DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Go back again, and be new beaten home?
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret. For God's sake, send some other messenger.
ADRIANA. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. bargain do you give it me?
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And he will bless that cross with other beating; Between you I shall ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool
have a holy head. and
ADRIANA. Hence, prating peasant! Fetch thy master home.DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Am I so chat with you,
round with you, as you with me, Your sauciness will jest upon my love,
That like a football you do spurn me thus? And make a common of my serious hours.
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither; When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.If you will jest with me, know my aspect,
<Exit And fashion your demeanour to my looks,
LUCIANA. Fie, how impatience loureth in your face! Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
ADRIANA. His company must do his minions grace, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sconce, call you it? So you would
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. leave battering, I had rather have it a head. An you use
Hath homely age th' alluring beauty took these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and
From my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it. insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But I pray, sir, why am I
Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit? beaten?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Dost thou not know?
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Shall I tell you why?
That's not my fault; he's master of my state. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say
What ruins are in me that can be found every why hath a wherefore.
By him not ruin'd? Then is he the ground ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, first for flouting me; and then wherefore, For urging it the
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair second time to me.
A sunny look of his would soon repair. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season, When in the
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, why and
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale. the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason? Well, sir, I thank you.
LUCIANA. Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thank me, sir! for what?
ADRIANA. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I'll make you amends next, to
Or else what lets it but he would be here? give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinnertime? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No,
Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain; sir; I think the meat wants that I have. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. In good time, sir,
Would that alone a love he would detain, what's that?
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Basting.
I see the jewel best enamelled ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.
Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.
That others touch and, often touching, will Your reason?
Where gold; and no man that hath a name DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting.
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; there's a time for all
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, things.
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I durst have denied that, before you
LUCIANA. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! were so choleric.
<Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. By what rule, sir?
SCENE 2 DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the
The mart plain bald pate of Father Time himself.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Let's hear it.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up Safe at the Centaur, and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. There's no time for a man to recover
the his hair that grows bald by nature.
heedful slave ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. May he not do it by fine and recovery? DROMIO OF
Is wand'red forth in care to seek me out. SYRACUSE. Yes,
By computation and mine host's report to pay a fine for a periwig, and
I could not speak with Dromio since at first recover the lost hair of another man.
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why is Time such a niggard of
Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
How now, sir, is your merry humour alter'd? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts, and what he
As you love strokes, so jest with me again. hath
You know no Centaur! You receiv'd no gold! scanted men in hair he hath
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner! given them in wit.
My house was at the Phoenix! Wast thou mad, ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, but there's many a man
That thus so madly thou didst answer me? hath more hair than wit.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. What answer, sir? When spake I such a word? ANTIPHOLUS OF DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not a man of those but he hath the
SYRACUSE. wit to lose his hair.
Even now, even here, not half an hour since. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I did not see you ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, thou didst conclude hairy
since men plain dealers without wit.
you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost;
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt, And told'st me of a yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
mistress and a dinner; ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. For what reason?
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. For two; and sound ones too.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. What means this jest? I pray ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sound I pray you.
you, master, tell me. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Sure ones, then.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? Think'st thou I ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Certain ones, then.
[Beating him] ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Name them.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Hold, sir, for God's sake! Now your jest is earnest. Upon what DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that
at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. You would all this time have prov'd there is no time for all But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
things. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine;
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature. Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
recover. Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
and therefore to the world's end will have bald followers. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;
knew Who all, for want of pruning, with intrusion
't'would be a bald conclusion. But, soft, who wafts us yonder? Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme. What, was I
ADRIANA. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown. married
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects; to her in my dream?
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
The time was once when thou unurg'd wouldst vowThat never words were music to thine ear, What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
That never object pleasing in thine eye, Until I know this sure uncertainty,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand, I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, LUCIANA. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee. How comes it now, my husband, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, for my beads! I cross me for sinner. This is the fairy land. O
O, how comes it, spite of spites!
That thou art then estranged from thyself? We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites.
Thyself I call it, being strange to me, If we obey them not, this will ensue:
That, undividable, incorporate, They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.LUCIANA. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and
Am better than thy dear self's better part. answer'st not?
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am transformed, master, am not I?
A drop of water in the breaking gulf, ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think thou art in mind, and so am I. DROMIO OF
And take unmingled thence that drop again SYRACUSE. Nay,
Without addition or diminishing, master, both in mind and in my shape. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou hast thine own
As take from me thyself, and not me too. form.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, I am an ape.
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious, LUCIANA. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.
And that this body, consecrate to thee, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass. 'Tis so, I am an ass;
By ruffian lust should be contaminate! else it could never be
Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me, But I should know her as well as she knows me.
And hurl the name of husband in my face, ADRIANA. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow, To put the finger in the eye and weep,
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn.
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.
I know thou canst, and therefore see thou do it. Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust; Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
For if we two be one, and thou play false, Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.
I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.
Being strumpeted by thy contagion. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking, mad
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed; or
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured. well-advis'd?
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not: In Ephesus I am Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!
but I'll say as they say, and persever so,
two hours old, And in this mist at all adventures go.
As strange unto your town as to your talk, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, ADRIANA. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.
Wants wit in all one word to understand. LUCIANA. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.
LUCIANA. Fie, brother, how the world is chang'd with you! <Exeunt
When were you wont to use my sister thus? <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. By Dromio? BY PROJECT
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. By me? GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
ADRIANA. By thee; and this thou didst return from himThat ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
he did buffet thee, and in his blows READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
Denied my house for his, me for his wife. YOUR OR OTHERS
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman? What is the PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
course COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
and drift of your compact? SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I, Sir? I never saw her till this time. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Villain, thou liest; for even her very words Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. ACT III. SCENE 1
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I never spake with her in all my life. Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How can she thus, then, call us by our names, Unless it be by Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, DROMIO OF EPHESUS, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR
inspiration? ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all; My wife is
ADRIANA. How ill agrees it with your gravity shrewish
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, when I keep not hours.
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! Say that I linger'd with you at your shop
To see the making of her carcanet, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] And you said no.
And that to-morrow you will bring it home. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. SO, Come, help: well struck! there was blow for blow. ANTIPHOLUS
But here's a villain that would face me down OF
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, EPHESUS. Thou baggage, let me in.
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold, LUCE. [Within] Can you tell for whose sake?
And that I did deny my wife and house. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Master, knock the door hard.
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? LUCE. [Within] Let him knock till it ache.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know. That you beat me at ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You'll cry for this, minion, if beat the door down. LUCE. [Within]
the mart I have your hand to show; What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would Enter ADRIANA, within
tell you what I think. ADRIANA. [Within] Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise? DROMIO OF
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I think thou art an ass. SYRACUSE.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Marry, so it doth appear [Within] By my troth, your town is
By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. troubled with unruly boys.
I should kick, being kick'd; and being at that pass, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Are you there, wife? You might
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. have come before.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Y'are sad, Signior Balthazar; pray God our cheer May answer ADRIANA. [Within] Your wife, sir knave! Go get you from the door. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. If
my YOU went in pain, master, this 'knave' would go sore. ANGELO. Here is neither cheer, sir,
good will and your good welcome here. nor welcome; we would fain have either. BALTHAZAR. In debating which was best, we shall
BALTHAZAR. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. ANTIPHOLUS OF part with neither. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome
EPHESUS. hither. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.
O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome makes scarce one DROMIO OF EPHESUS. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. Your cake
dainty dish. here
BALTHAZAR. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. ANTIPHOLUS OF is warm within; you stand here in the cold; It would make a man mad as a buck to be so
EPHESUS. bought and sold. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Go fetch me something; I'll break ope the gate.
And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Break any breaking here,
BALTHAZAR. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. ANTIPHOLUS OF and I'll break your knave's pate.
EPHESUS. Ay, DROMIO OF EPHESUS. A man may break a word with you,
to a niggardly host and more sparing guest. But though my cates be mean, take them in sir; and words are but wind;
good part; Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] It
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. seems thou want'st breaking;out upon thee, hind!
But, soft, my door is lock'd; go bid them let us in. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Here's too much 'out upon thee!' pray thee let me in. DROMIO OF
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Ay, when fowls have no
SYRACUSE. feathers and fish have no fin.
[Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! Either get thee from the door, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Well, I'll break in; go borrow me a crow. DROMIO OF
or sit down at the hatch. EPHESUS. A
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, When one is one toomany? Go crow without feather? Master, mean you so? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl
get thee from the door. without a feather; If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. ANTIPHOLUS
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. What patch is made our porter? OF EPHESUS. Go get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow. BALTHAZAR. Have patience, sir; O,
My master stays in the street. let it not be so!
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Let him walk from whence he came, Herein you war against your reputation,
lest he catch cold on's feet. And draw within the compass of suspect
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Who talks within there? Ho, open the door! DROMIO OF Th' unviolated honour of your wife.
SYRACUSE. Once this-your long experience of her wisdom,
[Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,
an you'll tell me wherefore. Plead on her part some cause to you unknown;
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Wherefore? For my dinner; And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
I have not din'd to-day. Why at this time the doors are made against you.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; Be rul'd by me: depart in patience,
come again when you may. And let us to the Tiger all to dinner;
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. What art thou that keep'st me out And, about evening, come yourself alone
from the house I owe? To know the reason of this strange restraint.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. [Within] The porter for this time, If by strong hand you offer to break in
sir, and my name is Dromio. Now in the stirring passage of the day,
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O Villain, thou hast stol'n both mine A vulgar comment will be made of it,
office and my name! And that supposed by the common rout
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. Against your yet ungalled estimation
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, That may with foul intrusion enter in
Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;
Enter LUCE, within For slander lives upon succession,
LUCE. [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? Who are those at the gate? DROMIO OF For ever hous'd where it gets possession.
EPHESUS. Let my master in, Luce. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You have prevail'd. I will depart in quiet, And in despite of
LUCE. [Within] Faith, no, he comes too late; mirth mean to be merry.
And so tell your master. I know a wench of excellent discourse,
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. O Lord, I must laugh! Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle;
Have at you with a proverb: Shall I set in my staff? There will we dine. This woman that I mean,
LUCE. [Within] Have at you with another: that's-when? can you tell? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. My wife-but, I protest, without desertHath
[Within] If thy name be called Luce oftentimes upbraided me withal;
-Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. To her will we to dinner. [To ANGELO] Get you home
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Do you hear, you minion? You'll let us in, I hope? LUCE. And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made.
[Within] Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;
I thought to have ask'd you. For there's the house. That chain will I bestowBe
it for nothing but to spite my wifeUpon It is thyself, mine own self's better part;
mine hostess there; good sir, make haste. Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
ANGELO. I'll meet you at that place some hour hence. LUCIANA. All this my sister is, or else should be.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Do so; this jest shall cost me some expense. <Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee; Thee will I love, and
SCENE 2 with thee lead my life;
Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.
Enter LUCIANA with ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE Give me thy hand.
LUCIANA. And may it be that you have quite forgot LUCIANA. O, soft, sir, hold you still;
A husband's office? Shall, Antipholus, I'll fetch my sister to get her good will.
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? <Exit LUCIANA
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
If you did wed my sister for her wealth, ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, how now, Dromio! Where run'st thou so fast?
Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness; DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio?
Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; Am I your man? Am I myself?
Muffle your false love with some show of blindness; ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art Dromio, thou art my
Let not my sister read it in your eye; man, thou art thyself.
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself.
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What woman's man, and how besides thyself? DROMIO OF
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger; SYRACUSE.
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; to a woman-one that claims me, one that haunts me, one
Be secret-false. What need she be acquainted? that will have me.
What simple thief brags of his own attaint? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What claim lays she to thee?
'Tis double wrong to truant with your bed DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, such claim as you would
And let her read it in thy looks at board; lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she,
Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word. being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.
Alas, poor women! make us but believe, ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What is she?
Being compact of credit, that you love us; DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. A very reverent body; ay, such a one
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;We in your motion turn, and you may move as a man may not speak of without he say 'Sir-reverence.' I have but lean luck in the
us. match, and yet is she a
Then, gentle brother, get you in again; wondrous fat marriage.
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How dost thou mean a fat marriage?
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Sweet mistress-what your name is else, I know not, Nor by from her by her own light.
what I warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burnPoland winter. If she lives till doomsday,
wonder you do hit of mineLess she'll burn
in your knowledge and your grace you show not week longer than the whole world.
Than our earth's wonder-more than earth, divine. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What complexion is she of?
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Swart, like my shoe; but her face
Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit, nothing like so clean kept; for why, she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of
Smoth'red in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, it.
The folded meaning of your words' deceit. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. That's a fault that water will mend. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you No, sir,
To make it wander in an unknown field? 'tis in grain; Noah's flood
Are you a god? Would you create me new? could not do it.
Transform me, then, and to your pow'r I'll yield. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What's her name?
But if that I am I, then well I know DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nell, sir; but her name and three
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe; ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Then she bears some breadth?
Far more, far more, to you do I decline. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No longer from head to foot than
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. In what part of her body stands Ireland? DROMIO OF
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote; SYRACUSE.
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.
And as a bed I'll take them, and there he; ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where Scotland?
And in that glorious supposition think DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I found it by the barrenness, hard in
He gains by death that hath such means to die. the palm of the hand.
Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where France?
LUCIANA. What, are you mad, that you do reason so? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. In her forehead, arm'd and reverted,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. LUCIANA. It is a fault making war against her heir.
that springeth from your eye. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where England?
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. LUCIANA. Gaze DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I
where could find no whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that
you should, and that will clear your sight. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. As good to wink, ran between France and it.
sweet love, as look on night. LUCIANA. Why call you me love? Call my sister so. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where Spain?
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thy sister's sister. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Faith, I saw it not, but I felt it hot in her breath.
LUCIANA. That's my sister. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where America, the Indies?
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. No; DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, sir, upon her nose, an o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles,
sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole I shall receive the money for the same.
armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose. Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? DROMIO OF I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.
SYRACUSE. O, Sir, Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, and DROMIO OF EPHESUS, from the COURTEZAN'S
I did not look so low. To OFFICER. That labour may you save; see where he comes.
conclude: this drudge or diviner laid claim to me; call'd me Dromio; swore I was assur'd ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's
to her; told me what privy end;
marks I had about me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the that will I bestow
mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, Among my wife and her confederates,
amaz'd, ran from her as a witch. For locking me out of my doors by day.
And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, But, soft, I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone;
and my heart of steel, Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.
She had transform'd me to a curtal dog, and made me turn i' th' wheel. ANTIPHOLUS OF DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I buy a thousand pound a year; I buy a rope. <Exit DROMIO
SYRACUSE. Go hie thee presently post to the road; An if the wind blow any way from shore, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. A man is well holp up that trusts to you! I promised your
I will not harbour in this town to-night. presence
If any bark put forth, come to the mart, and the chain;
Where I will walk till thou return to me. But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.
If every one knows us, and we know none, Belike you thought our love would last too long,
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone. If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would ANGELO. Saving your merry humour, here's the note
be my wife. How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
<Exit The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. There's none but witches do inhabit here, And therefore 'tis Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
high Than I stand debted to this gentleman.
time that I were hence. I pray you see him presently discharg'd,
She that doth call me husband, even my soul For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I am not furnish'd with the present money; Besides, I have some
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, business in the town.
Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Good signior, take the stranger to my house,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself; And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof.
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. Perchance I will be there as soon as you.
Enter ANGELO with the chain ANGELO. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?
ANGELO. Master Antipholus! ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. ANGELO.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Ay, that's my name. Well,
ANGELO. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain. sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine; ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have; Or else you may return
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. without your money.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What is your will that I shall do with this? ANGELO. What ANGELO. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain;
please Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
yourself, sir; I have made it for you. And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. ANGELO. Not once nor ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Good Lord! you use this dalliance to excuse Your breach of
twice, but twenty times you have. promise
Go home with it, and please your wife withal; to the Porpentine;
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you, I should have chid you for not bringing it,But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
And then receive my money for the chain. SECOND MERCHANT. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch. ANGELO. You hear how
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, For fear you ne'er see he
chain nor money more.ANGELO. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well. importunes me-the chain!
<Exit ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. ANGELO. Come,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What I should think of this cannot tell: But this I think, come,
there's no man is so vain you know I gave it you even now.
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. Either send the chain or send by me some token.
I see a man here needs not live by shifts, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Fie, now you run this humour out of breath! Come, where's the
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. chain? I pray you let me see it.
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay; SECOND MERCHANT. My business cannot brook this dalliance.
If any ship put out, then straight away. Good sir, say whe'r you'll answer me or no;
<Exit If not, I'll leave him to the officer.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I answer you! What should I answer you? ANGELO. The money
that you
ACT IV. SCENE 1 owe me for the chain.
A public place ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I owe you none till I receive the chain. ANGELO. You know I
Enter SECOND MERCHANT, ANGELO, and an OFFICER gave
SECOND MERCHANT. You know since Pentecost the sum is due, it you half an hour since.
And since I have not much importun'd you; ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You gave me none; you wrong me much to say so. ANGELO.
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound You wrong
To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage. me more, sir, in denying it.
Therefore make present satisfaction, Consider how it stands upon my credit.
Or I'll attach you by this officer. SECOND MERCHANT. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
ANGELO. Even just the sum that I do owe to you OFFICER. I do; and charge you in the Duke's name to obey me. ANGELO. This touches me in
Is growing to me by Antipholus; reputation.
And in the instant that I met with you Either consent to pay this sum for me,
He had of me a chain; at five o'clock Or I attach you by this officer.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Consent to pay thee that I never had! Arrest me, foolish fellow, ADRIANA. Ah, but I think him better than I say,
if thou dar'st. And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.
ANGELO. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer. Far from her nest the lapwing cries away;
I would not spare my brother in this case, My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.
If he should scorn me so apparently. Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
OFFICER. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Here go-the desk, the purse. Sweet
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I do obey thee till I give thee bail. But, sirrah, you shall buy now, make haste.
this sport as dear LUCIANA. How hast thou lost thy breath?
As all the metal in your shop will answer. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. By running fast.
ANGELO. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, ADRIANA. Where is thy master, Dromio? Is he well?
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. A devil in an everlasting
Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, from the bay garment hath him;
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, there's a bark of Epidamnum One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
That stays but till her owner comes aboard, A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff;
I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitx. The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands;
The ship is in her trim; the merry wind A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well;
Blows fair from land; they stay for nought at an One that, before the Judgment, carries poor souls to hell. ADRIANA. Why, man, what is the
But for their owner, master, and yourself. matter?
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. How now! a madman? Why, thou peevish sheep, What ship of DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I do not know the matter; he is rested on the case. ADRIANA.
Epidamnum What, is
stays for me? he arrested? Tell me, at whose suit?
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. ANTIPHOLUS OF DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well; But he's in a suit of
EPHESUS. THOU buff which 'rested him, that can I tell. Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the
drunken slave! I sent the for a rope; And told thee to what purpose and what end. money in his desk? ADRIANA. Go fetch it, sister. [Exit LUCIANA] This I wonder at: Thus he
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. YOU sent me for a rope's end as soonYou unknown to me should be in debt.
sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. Tell me, was he arrested on a band?
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I Will debate this matter at more leisure, And teach your ears to DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. on a band, but on a stronger thing,
list me with more heed. A chain, a chain. Do you not hear it ring?
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight; ADRIANA. What, the chain?
Give her this key, and tell her in the desk DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No, no, the bell; 'tis time that I were gone. It was two ere I left
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry him, and now the clock strikes one. ADRIANA. The hours come back! That did I never hear.
There is a purse of ducats; let her send it. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O yes. If any hour meet a sergeant,
Tell her I am arrested in the street, 'a turns back for very fear.
And that shall bail me; hie thee, slave, be gone. ADRIANA. As if Time were in debt! How fondly dost thou reason! DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
On, officer, to prison till it come. Time
<Exeunt all but DROMIO is a very bankrupt, and owes
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. To Adriana! that is where we din'd, more than he's worth to season.
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband. Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
Thither I must, although against my will, If 'a be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?
<Exit Re-enter LUCIANA with a purse
SCENE 2 ADRIANA. Go, Dromio, there's the money; bear it straight,
The house of ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS And bring thy master home immediately.
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA Come, sister; I am press'd down with conceitConceit,
ADRIANA. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? my comfort and my injury.
Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye <Exeunt
That he did plead in earnest? Yea or no? SCENE 3The mart
Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?What observation mad'st thou in this case Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. There's not a man I meet but doth salute me As if I were their
LUCIANA. First he denied you had in him no right. well-acquainted friend;
ADRIANA. He meant he did me none-the more my spite. And every one doth call me by my name.
LUCIANA. Then swore he that he was a stranger here. Some tender money to me, some invite me,
ADRIANA. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. Some other give me thanks for kindnesses,
LUCIANA. Then pleaded I for you. Some offer me commodities to buy;
ADRIANA. And what said he? Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop,
LUCIANA. That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me. And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
ADRIANA. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? And therewithal took measure of my body.
LUCIANA. With words that in an honest suit might move. Sure, these are but imaginary wiles,
First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.
ADRIANA. Didst speak him fair? Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
LUCIANA. Have patience, I beseech. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, here's the gold you sent me
ADRIANA. I cannot, nor I will not hold me still; for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam new-apparell'd? ANTIPHOLUS OF
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. SYRACUSE.
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not that Adam that
Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; kept
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; the Paradise,
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. but that Adam that keeps the prison; he that goes in the
LUCIANA. Who would be jealous then of such a one? calf's skin that was kill'd for the Prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I understand thee not.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. No? Why, 'tis a plain case: he that For forty ducats is too much to lose.
went, like a bass-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are <Exit
tired, gives them a sob, and rest them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and give SCENE 4
them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a A street
morris-pike. Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS with the OFFICER
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. What, thou mean'st an officer? ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Fear me not, man; I will not break away. I'll give thee, ere I
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; leave thee, so much money,
that brings any man to answer it that breaks his band; on that thinks a man always going To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
to bed, and says 'God give you good rest!' My wife is in a wayward mood to-day,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts And will not lightly trust the messenger.
forth to-night? May we be gone? That I should be attach'd in Ephesus,
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Why, sir, I brought you word an I tell you 'twill sound harshly in her cars.
hour since that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were you hind'red by the Enter DROMIO OF EPHESUS, with a rope's-end
sergeant, to tarry for the Here comes my man; I think he brings the money.
boy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. How now, sir! Have you that I sent you for?
The fellow is distract, and so am I; And here we wander in illusions. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all. ANTIPHOLUS OF
Some blessed power deliver us from hence! EPHESUS.
Enter a COURTEZAN But where's the money?
COURTEZAN. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. ANTIPHOLUS OF
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now. EPHESUS. Five
Is that the chain you promis'd me to-day? hundred ducats, villain, for rope? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not. DROMIO OF at the rate. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? DROMIO
SYRACUSE. OF
Master, is this Mistress Satan? EPHESUS. To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I return'd.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. It is the devil. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. [Beating him]
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's OFFICER. Good sir, be patient.
dam, and here she comes in the habit of a light wench; and thereof comes that the wenches DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in
say 'God damn me!' That's adversity.
as much to say 'God make me a light wench!' It is written they appear to men like angels OFFICER. Good now, hold thy tongue.
of light; light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. ANTIPHOLUS OF
Come not near her. EPHESUS.
COURTEZAN. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. Thou whoreson, senseless villain!
Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I would I were senseless, sir, that I
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, might not feel your blows.
or bespeak a long spoon. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou art sensible in nothing but
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Why, Dromio? blows, and so is an ass.
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Marry, he must have a long spoon DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I am an ass indeed; you may prove it
that must eat with the devil. by my long 'ears. I have served him from the hour of my
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Avoid then, fiend! What tell'st thou me of supping? Thou art, nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for my service but blows. When I
as am cold he heats me with
you are all, a sorceress; beating; when I am warm he cools me with beating. I am
I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. wak'd with it when I sleep; rais'd with it when I sit; driven out of doors with it when I
COURTEZAN. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, go from home; welcom'd home
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd, with it when I return; nay, I bear it on my shoulders as
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. beggar wont her brat; and I think, when he hath lam'd me, I shall beg with it from door
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail, A rush, a hair, a drop to door.
of blood, a pin, Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the COURTEZAN, and a SCHOOLMASTER
A nut, a cherry-stone; call'd PINCH
But she, more covetous, would have a chain. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder. DROMIO OF
Master, be wise; an if you give it her, EPHESUS.
The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or rather, to prophesy like the parrot,
COURTEZAN. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; 'Beware the rope's-end.' ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Wilt thou still talk?
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Avaunt, thou witch! [Beating him]
Come, Dromio, let us go. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. COURTEZAN. How say you now? Is not your husband mad?
'Fly pride' says the peacock. Mistress, that you know. <Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE ADRIANA. His incivility confirms no less.
and Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer:
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE Establish him in his true sense again,And I will please you what you will demand.
COURTEZAN. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, LUCIANA. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!
Else would he never so demean himself. COURTEZAN. Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy.
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, PINCH. Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.
And for the same he promis'd me a chain; ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. [Striking him]
Both one and other he denies me now. PINCH. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man,
The reason that I gather he is mad, To yield possession to my holy prayers,
Besides this present instance of his rage, And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight.
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad. ADRIANA. O, that
Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, thou
On purpose shut the doors against his way. wert not, poor distressed soul!
My way is now to hie home to his house, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. You minion, you, are these your customers? Did this companion
And tell his wife that, being lunatic, with
He rush'd into my house and took perforce the saffron face
My ring away. This course I fittest choose, Revel and feast it at my house to-day,
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, dost thou mad me?
And I denied to enter in my house? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Will you be bound for nothing?
ADRIANA. O husband, God doth know you din'd at home, Be mad, good master; cry 'The devil!'
Where would you had remain'd until this time, LUCIANA. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!
Free from these slanders and this open shame! ADRIANA. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Din'd at home! Thou villain, what sayest thou? DROMIO OF <Exeunt all but ADRIANA, LUCIANA, OFFICERS, and COURTEZAN
EPHESUS. Say now, whose suit is he arrested at?
Sir, Sooth to say, you did not dine at home. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Were not my doors OFFICER. One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you know him?
lock'd up and I shut out? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Perdie, your doors were lock'd and you shut ADRIANA. I know the man. What is the sum he owes?
out. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And did not she herself revile me there? DROMIO OF OFFICER. Two hundred ducats.
EPHESUS. ADRIANA. Say, how grows it due?
Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Did not her OFFICER. Due for a chain your husband had of him.
kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Certes, she did; the ADRIANA. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.
kitchen-vestal scorn'd you. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And did not I in rage depart from COURTEZAN. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day
thence? DROMIO OF EPHESUS. In verity, you did. My bones bear witness, That since have Came to my house, and took away my ringThe
felt the vigour of his rage. ring I saw upon his finger nowStraight
ADRIANA. Is't good to soothe him in these contraries? after did I meet him with a chain.
PINCH. It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein, ADRIANA. It may be so, but I did never see it.
And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is;
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me. ADRIANA. Alas, I long to know the truth hereof at large.
I Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, with his rapier drawn, and
sent you money to redeem you, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE.
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. LUCIANA. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Money by me! Heart and goodwill you might, But surely, master, not ADRIANA. And come with naked swords.
a Let's call more help to have them bound again.
rag of money. OFFICER. Away, they'll kill us!
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Went'st not thou to her for purse of ducats? ADRIANA. He came <Exeunt all but ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and
to DROMIO OF SYRACUSE as fast as may be, frighted
me, and I deliver'd it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I see these witches are afraid of swords. DROMIO OF
LUCIANA. And I am witness with her that she did. SYRACUSE. She
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. God and the rope-maker bear me witness that would be your wife now ran from you. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Come to the
That I was sent for nothing but a rope! Centaur;
PINCH. Mistress, both man and master is possess'd; fetch our stuff from thence. I long that we were safe and sound aboard.
I know it by their pale and deadly looks. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Faith, stay here this night; they will
They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. surely do us no harm; you saw they speak us fair, give us gold; methinks they are such a
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day? And why dost gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me,
thou could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I will
deny the bag of gold? not stay to-night for all the town; Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.
ADRIANA. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold;
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. ACT V. SCENE 1
ADRIANA. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both. A street before a priory
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all, And art confederate Enter SECOND MERCHANT and ANGELO
with a damned pack ANGELO. I am sorry, sir, that I have hind'red you;
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me; But I protest he had the chain of me,
But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.
That would behold in me this shameful sport. SECOND MERCHANT. How is the man esteem'd here in the city?
ADRIANA. O, bind him, bind him; let him not come near me. ANGELO. Of very reverend reputation, sir,
PINCH. More company! The fiend is strong within him. Of credit infinite, highly belov'd,
Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives Second to none that lives here in the city;
LUCIANA. Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks! His word might bear my wealth at any time.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou, I am thy prisoner. SECOND MERCHANT. Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks.
Wilt thou suffer them Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE
To make a rescue? ANGELO. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck
OFFICER. Masters, let him go; Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him.
PINCH. Go bind this man, for he is frantic too. Signior Andpholus, I wonder much
[They bind DROMIO] That you would put me to this shame and trouble;
ADRIANA. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? And, not without some scandal to yourself,
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man With circumstance and oaths so to deny
Do outrage and displeasure to himself? This chain, which now you wear so openly.
OFFICER. He is my prisoner; if I let him go, Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,You have done wrong to this my honest friend;
The debt he owes will be requir'd of me. Who, but for staying on our controversy,
ADRIANA. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee; Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day.
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, This chain you had of me; can you deny it?
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think I had; I never did deny it. SECOND MERCHANT. Yes,
Good Master Doctor, see him safe convey'd that
Home to my house. O most unhappy day!ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. O most unhappy you did, sir, and forswore it too. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Who heard me to deny it or
strumpet! forswear it? SECOND MERCHANT. These ears of mine, thou know'st, did hear thee. Fie on
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Master, I am here ent'red in bond for you. ANTIPHOLUS OF thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou liv'st
EPHESUS. Out To walk where any honest men resort.
on thee, villian! Wherefore
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus; I'll prove mine honour ABBESS. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary,
and And it shall privilege him from your hands
mine honesty Till I have brought him to his wits again,
Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. Or lose my labour in assaying it.
SECOND MERCHANT. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. ADRIANA. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
[They draw] Diet his sickness, for it is my office,
Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the COURTEZAN, and OTHERS And will have no attorney but myself;
ADRIANA. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake! He is mad. And therefore let me have him home with me.
Some get within him, take his sword away; ABBESS. Be patient; for I will not let him stir
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. Till I have us'd the approved means I have,
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Run, master, run; for God's sake take a house. This is some priory. With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers,
In, or we are spoil'd. To make of him a formal man again.
<Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE to the priory It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
Enter the LADY ABBESS A charitable duty of my order;
ABBESS. Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither? Therefore depart, and leave him here with me.
ADRIANA. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. ADRIANA. I will not hence and leave my husband here;
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, And ill it doth beseem your holiness
And bear him home for his recovery. To separate the husband and the wife.
ANGELO. I knew he was not in his perfect wits. ABBESS. Be quiet, and depart; thou shalt not have him.
SECOND MERCHANT. I am sorry now that I did draw on him. <Exit
ABBESS. How long hath this possession held the man? LUCIANA. Complain unto the Duke of this indignity.
ADRIANA. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, ADRIANA. Come, go; I will fall prostrate at his feet,
And much different from the man he was; And never rise until my tears and prayers
But till this afternoon his passion Have won his Grace to come in person hither
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. And take perforce my husband from the Abbess.
ABBESS. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea? SECOND MERCHANT. By this, I think, the dial points at five; Anon, I'm sure, the Duke
Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye himself in person
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love? Comes this way to the melancholy vale,
A sin prevailing much in youthful men The place of death and sorry execution,
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
Which of these sorrows is he subject to? ANGELO. Upon what cause?
ADRIANA. To none of these, except it be the last; SECOND MERCHANT. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,
Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. Who put unluckily into this bay
ABBESS. You should for that have reprehended him. Against the laws and statutes of this town,
ADRIANA. Why, so I did. Beheaded publicly for his offence.
ABBESS. Ay, but not rough enough. ANGELO. See where they come; we will behold his death.
ADRIANA. As roughly as my modesty would let me. LUCIANA. Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey.
ABBESS. Haply in private. Enter the DUKE, attended; AEGEON, bareheaded;
ADRIANA. And in assemblies too. with the HEADSMAN and other OFFICERS
ABBESS. Ay, but not enough. DUKE. Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
ADRIANA. It was the copy of our conference. If any friend will pay the sum for him,
In bed, he slept not for my urging it; He shall not die; so much we tender him.
At board, he fed not for my urging it; ADRIANA. Justice, most sacred Duke, against the Abbess!
Alone, it was the subject of my theme; DUKE. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady;
In company, I often glanced it; It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. ADRIANA. May it please your Grace, Antipholus, my husband,
ABBESS. And thereof came it that the man was mad. Who I made lord of me and all I had
The venom clamours of a jealous woman At your important letters-this ill day
Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. A most outrageous fit of madness took him,
It seems his sleeps were hind'red by thy railing, That desp'rately he hurried through the street,
And thereof comes it that his head is light. With him his bondman all as mad as he,
Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings: Doing displeasure to the citizens
Unquiet meals make ill digestions; By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred; Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like.
And what's a fever but a fit of madness? Once did I get him bound and sent him home,
Thou say'st his sports were hind'red by thy brawls. Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue That here and there his fury had committed.
But moody and dull melancholy, Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, He broke from those that had the guard of him,
And at her heels a huge infectious troop And with his mad attendant and himself,
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life? Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest, Met us again and, madly bent on us,
To be disturb'd would mad or man or beast. Chas'd us away; till, raising of more aid,
The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits We came again to bind them. Then they fled
Hath scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. Into this abbey, whither we pursu'd them;
LUCIANA. She never reprehended him but mildly,When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and And here the Abbess shuts the gates on us,
wildly. And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not? Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.
ADRIANA. She did betray me to my own reproof. Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy command
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help.DUKE. Long since thy husband serv'd me in
ABBESS. No, not a creature enters in my house. my wars,
ADRIANA. Then let your servants bring my husband forth. And I to thee engag'd a prince's word,
When thou didst make him master of thy bed, I did obey, and sent my peasant homeFor certain ducats; he with none return'd.
To do him all the grace and good I could. Then fairly I bespoke the officer
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate, To go in person with me to my house.
And bid the Lady Abbess come to me, By th' way we met my wife, her sister, and a rabble more
I will determine this before I stir. Of vile confederates. Along with them
Enter a MESSENGER They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain,
MESSENGER. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself! A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
My master and his man are both broke loose, A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller,
Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor, A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
Whose beard they have sing'd off with brands of fire; A living dead man. This pernicious slave,
And ever, as it blaz'd, they threw on him Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
My master preaches patience to him, and the while And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
His man with scissors nicks him like a fool; Cries out I was possess'd. Then all together
And sure, unless you send some present help, They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence,
Between them they will kill the conjurer. And in a dark and dankish vault at home
ADRIANA. Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here, There left me and my man, both bound together;
And that is false thou dost report to us. Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
MESSENGER. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
I have not breath'd almost since I did see it. Ran hither to your Grace; whom I beseech
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, To give me ample satisfaction
To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. For these deep shames and great indignities.
[Cry within] ANGELO. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,
Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone! That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.
DUKE. Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds. ADRIANA. Ay me, it is my DUKE. But had he such a chain of thee, or no?
husband! Witness you ANGELO. He had, my lord, and when he ran in here,
That he is borne about invisible. These people saw the chain about his neck.
Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here, SECOND MERCHANT. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine Heard you confess you had
And now he's there, past thought of human reason. the chain of him,
Enter ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS and DROMIO OFEPHESUS After you first forswore it on the mart;
ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. Justice, most gracious Duke; O, grant me justice! Even for the And thereupon I drew my sword on you,
service that long since I did thee, And then you fled into this abbey here,
When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I never came within these abbey walls, Nor ever didst thou draw
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. thy sword on me;
AEGEON. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!
I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. And this is false you burden me withal.
ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. Justice, sweet Prince, against that woman there! She whom thou DUKE. Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
gav'st to me to be my wife, I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
That hath abused and dishonoured me If here you hous'd him, here he would have been;
Even in the strength and height of injury. If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly.
Beyond imagination is the wrong You say he din'd at home: the goldsmith here
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?
DUKE. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Sir, he din'd with her there, at the Porpentine. COURTEZAN. He did;
ANTIPHOLUS OFEPHESUS. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors upon me, While she and from my finger snatch'd that ring.
with ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. 'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her. DUKE. Saw'st thou him
harlots feasted in my house. enter at the abbey here?
DUKE. A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so? COURTEZAN. As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace.
ADRIANA. No, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister, DUKE. Why, this is strange. Go call the Abbess hither.
To-day did dine together. So befall my soul I think you are all mated or stark mad.
As this is false he burdens me withal! <Exit one to the ABBESS
LUCIANA. Ne'er may I look on day nor sleep on night AEGEON. Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:
But she tells to your Highness simple truth! Haply I see a friend will save my life
ANGELO. O peflur'd woman! They are both forsworn. And pay the sum that may deliver me.
In this the madman justly chargeth them. DUKE. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. My liege, I am advised what I say; AEGEON. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?
Neither disturbed with the effect of wine, And is not that your bondman Dromio?
Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir, But he, I thank him, gnaw'd
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. in two my cords
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner; Now am I Dromio and his man unbound.
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, AEGEON. I am sure you both of you remember me.
Could witness it, for he was with me then; DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you;
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, For lately we were bound as you are now.
Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?
Where Balthazar and I did dine together. AEGEON. Why look you strange on me? You know me well.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I never saw you in my life till now. AEGEON. O! grief hath
I went to seek him. In the street I met him, chang'd
And in his company that gentleman. me since you saw me last;
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down And careful hours with time's deformed hand
That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, Have written strange defeatures in my face.
Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
He did arrest me with an officer. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Neither.
AEGEON. Dromio, nor thou? ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I, gentle mistress.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. No, trust me, sir, nor I. ADRIANA. And are not you my husband?
AEGEON. I am sure thou dost. ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. No; I say nay to that.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. And so do I, yet did she call me so; And this fair gentlewoman,
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. AEGEON. Not know my voice! O her sister here,
time's extremity, Did call me brother. [To LUCIANA] What I told you then, I hope I shall have leisure to
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongueIn seven short years that here my only son make good;
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? If this be not a dream I see and hear.
Though now this grained face of mine be hid ANGELO. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. I think it be, sir; I deny it not.
And all the conduits of my blood froze up, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. ANGELO. I think I did,
Yet hath my night of life some memory, sir; I deny it not.
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, ADRIANA. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear; DROMIO OF EPHESUS. No, none by me.
All these old witnesses-I cannot errTell ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you, And Dromio my man
me thou art my son Antipholus. did
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I never saw my father in my life. bring them me.
AEGEON. But seven years since, in Syracuse, boy, I see we still did meet each other's man,
Thou know'st we parted; but perhaps, my son, And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. And thereupon these ERRORS are arose.
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. The Duke and all that know me in ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. These ducats pawn I for my father here. DUKE. It shall not
the city Can witness with me that it is not so: need;
I ne'er saw Syracuse in my life. thy father hath his life.
DUKE. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years COURTEZAN. Sir, I must have that diamond from you.
Have I been patron to Antipholus, ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer.
During which time he ne'er saw Syracuse. ABBESS. Renowned Duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. To go with us into the abbey here,
Re-enter the ABBESS, with ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes;
ABBESS. Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong'd. And all that are assembled in this place
[All gather to see them] That by this sympathized one day's error
ADRIANA. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company,
DUKE. One of these men is genius to the other; And we shall make full satisfaction.
And so of these. Which is the natural man, Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? Of you, my sons; and till this present hour
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. My heavy burden ne'er delivered.
DROMIO OF EPHESUS. I, Sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay. The Duke, my husband, and my children both,
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Aegeon, art thou not? or else his And you the calendars of their nativity,
DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. O, my old master! who hath bound Go to a gossips' feast, and go with me;
ABBESS. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, After so long grief, such nativity!
And gain a husband by his liberty. DUKE. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.
Speak, old Aegeon, if thou be'st the man <Exeunt all but ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, ANTIPHOLUS OF
That hadst a wife once call'd Aemilia, EPHESUS, DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, and DROMIO OF EPHESUS
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? ANTIPHOLUS OF
O, if thou be'st the same Aegeon, speak, EPHESUS. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd? DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Your
And speak unto the same Aemilia! goods
AEGEON. If I dream not, thou art Aemilia. that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. He speaks to me. I am your
If thou art she, tell me where is that son master, Dromio. Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon.
That floated with thee on the fatal raft? Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.
ABBESS. By men of Epidamnum he and I <Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE and ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up; DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. There is a fat friend at your master's house, That kitchen'd me for
But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth you to-day at dinner;
By force took Dromio and my son from them, She now shall be my sister, not my wife.
And me they left with those of Epidamnum. DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother; I see by you I am a
What then became of them I cannot tell; sweet-fac'd youth.
I to this fortune that you see me in. Will you walk in to see their gossiping?
DUKE. Why, here begins his morning story right. DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Not I, sir; you are my elder.
These two Antipholus', these two so like, DROMIO OF EPHESUS. That's a question; how shall we try it?
And these two Dromios, one in semblanceBesides DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. We'll draw cuts for the senior; till then,
her urging of her wreck at seaThese lead thou first.
are the parents to these children, DROMIO OF EPHESUS. Nay, then, thus:
Which accidentally are met together. We came into the world like brother and brother,
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first? And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.
ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. DUKE. Stay, stand apart;
I
know not which is which. 1608
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. DROMIO OF
EPHESUS. And THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS
I with him. by William Shakespeare
ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. Brought to this town by that most famous warrior, Duke
Menaphon, Dramatis Personae
your most renowned uncle. CAIUS MARCIUS, afterwards CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS
ADRIANA. Which of you two did dine with me to-day? Generals against the Volscians
TITUS LARTIUS FIRST CITIZEN. Our business is not unknown to th' Senate; they have had inkling this
COMINIUS fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors
MENENIUS AGRIPPA, friend to Coriolanus have strong breaths; they shall know we have strong arms too.
Tribunes of the People MENENIUS. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, Will you undo
SICINIUS VELUTUSJUNIUS BRUTUS yourselves?FIRST CITIZEN. We cannot, sir; we are undone already.
YOUNG MARCIUS, son to Coriolanus MENENIUS. I tell you, friends, most charitable care
A ROMAN HERALD Have the patricians of you. For your wants,
NICANOR, a Roman Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them
LIEUTENANT, to Aufidius Against the Roman state; whose course will on
CONSPIRATORS, With Aufidius The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
ADRIAN, a Volscian Of more strong link asunder than can ever
A CITIZEN of Antium Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,
TWO VOLSCIAN GUARDS The gods, not the patricians, make it, and
VOLUMNIA, mother to Coriolanus Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,
VIRGILIA, wife to Coriolanus You are transported by calamity
VALERIA, friend to Virgilia Thither where more attends you; and you slander
GENTLEWOMAN attending on Virgilia The helms o' th' state, who care for you like fathers,
Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Aediles, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, When you curse them as enemies.
Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants FIRST CITIZEN. Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er car'd for us yet. Suffer us to
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM famish, and their storehouses cramm'd with grain; make edicts for usury, to support
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more
BY PROJECT piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up,
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. they will; and there's all the love they bear us.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE MENENIUS. Either you must
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,
YOUR OR OTHERS Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED A pretty tale. It may be you have heard it;
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR To stale't a little more.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> FIRST CITIZEN. Well, I'll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to fob off our disgrace
SCENE: with a tale. But, an't please you, deliver. MENENIUS. There was a time when all the
Rome and the neighbourhood; Corioli and the neighbourhood; Antium body's members
ACT I. SCENE I. Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it:
Rome. A street That only like a gulf it did remain
Enter a company of mutinous citizens, with staves, clubs, and other weapons I' th' midst o' th' body, idle and unactive,
FIRST CITIZEN. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. ALL. Speak, speak. Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
FIRST CITIZEN. YOU are all resolv'd rather to die than to famish? ALL. Resolv'd, Like labour with the rest; where th' other instruments
resolv'd. Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,
FIRST CITIZEN. First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people. And, mutually participate, did minister
ALL. We know't, we know't. Unto the appetite and affection common
FIRST CITIZEN. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price. Is't a verdict? Of the whole body. The belly answer'dFIRST
ALL. No more talking on't; let it be done. Away, away! CITIZEN. Well, sir, what answer made the belly?
SECOND CITIZEN. One word, good citizens. MENENIUS. Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile,
FIRST CITIZEN. We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good. What authority Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thusFor
surfeits on would relieve us; if they would yield us but the superfluity while it were look you, I may make the belly smile
wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear. The As well as speak- it tauntingly replied
leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an inventory to particularize To th' discontented members, the mutinous parts
their abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes ere That envied his receipt; even so most fitly
we become rakes; for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for As you malign our senators for that
revenge. They are not such as you.
SECOND CITIZEN. Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius? FIRST CITIZEN. FIRST CITIZEN. Your belly's answer- What?
Against him first; he's a very dog to the The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye,
commonalty. The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
SECOND CITIZEN. Consider you what services he has done for his country? Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,
FIRST CITIZEN. Very well, and could be content to give him good report for't but that he With other muniments and petty helps
pays himself with being proud. SECOND CITIZEN. Nay, but speak not maliciously. Is this our fabric, if that theyMENENIUS.
FIRST CITIZEN. I say unto you, what he hath done famously he did it to that end; though What then?
soft-conscienc'd men can be content to say it was for his country, he did it to please Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? What then?
his mother and to be partly proud, which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. FIRST CITIZEN. Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, Who is the sink o' th'
SECOND CITIZEN. What he cannot help in his nature you account a vice in him. You must in bodyMENENIUS.
no way say he is covetous. Well, what then?
FIRST CITIZEN. If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations; he hath faults, with FIRST CITIZEN. The former agents, if they did complain,
surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts within] What shouts are these? The other side o' What could the belly answer?
th' city is risen. Why stay we prating here? To th' Capitol! MENENIUS. I will tell you;
ALL. Come, come. If you'll bestow a small- of what you have littlePatience
FIRST CITIZEN. Soft! who comes here? awhile, you'st hear the belly's answer.
Enter MENENIUS AGRIPPA FIRST CITIZEN. Y'are long about it.
SECOND CITIZEN. Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always lov'd the people. MENENIUS. Note me this, good friend:
FIRST CITIZEN. He's one honest enough; would all the rest were so! MENENIUS. What Your most grave belly was deliberate,
work's, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered.
my countrymen, in hand? Where go you With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you. 'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he
'That I receive the general food at first And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry
Which you do live upon; and fit it is, With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
Because I am the storehouse and the shop As I could pick my lance.
Of the whole body. But, if you do remember, MENENIUS. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;
I send it through the rivers of your blood, For though abundantly they lack discretion,
Even to the court, the heart, to th' seat o' th' brain; And, through the cranks and Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,
offices of man, What says the other troop?
The strongest nerves and small inferior veins MARCIUS. They are dissolv'd. Hang 'em!
From me receive that natural competency They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbsThat
Whereby they live. And though that all at onceYou, my good friends'- this says the belly; mark hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat,
me. That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not
FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, sir; well, well. Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds
MENENIUS. 'Though all at once cannot They vented their complainings; which being answer'd,
See what I do deliver out to each, And a petition granted them- a strange one,To break the heart of generosity
Yet I can make my audit up, that all And make bold power look pale- they threw their caps
From me do back receive the flour of all, As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon,
And leave me but the bran.' What say you to' t? Shouting their emulation.
FIRST CITIZEN. It was an answer. How apply you this? MENENIUS. What is granted them?
MENENIUS. The senators of Rome are this good belly, MARCIUS. Five tribunes, to defend their vulgar wisdoms,
And you the mutinous members; for, examine Of their own choice. One's Junius BrutusSicinius
Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly Velutus, and I know not. 'Sdeath!
Touching the weal o' th' common, you shall find The rabble should have first unroof'd the city
No public benefit which you receive Ere so prevail'd with me; it will in time
But it proceeds or comes from them to you, Win upon power and throw forth greater themes
And no way from yourselves. What do you think, For insurrection's arguing.
You, the great toe of this assembly? MENENIUS. This is strange.
FIRST CITIZEN. I the great toe? Why the great toe? MARCIUS. Go get you home, you fragments.
MENENIUS. For that, being one o' th' lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise Enter a MESSENGER, hastily
rebellion, thou goest foremost. MESSENGER. Where's Caius Marcius?
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, MARCIUS. Here. What's the matter?
Lead'st first to win some vantage. MESSENGER. The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs. MARCIUS. I am glad on't; then we shall ha' means to vent
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders.
The one side must have bale. Enter COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with other SENATORS;
Enter CAIUS MARCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS and SICINIUS VELUTUS
Hail, noble Marcius! FIRST SENATOR. Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us: The Volsces are in arms.
MARCIUS. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues That, rubbing the poor itch of MARCIUS. They have a leader,
your opinion, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
Make yourselves scabs? I sin in envying his nobility;
FIRST CITIZEN. We have ever your good word. And were I anything but what I am,
MARCIUS. He that will give good words to thee will flatter Beneath abhorring. What would I would wish me only he.
you have, you curs, COMINIUS. You have fought together?
That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you, MARCIUS. Were half to half the world by th' ears, and he
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; Only my wars with him. He is a lion
Where foxes, geese; you are no surer, no, That I am proud to hunt.
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice FIRST SENATOR. Then, worthy Marcius,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is Attend upon Cominius to these wars.
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him, COMINIUS. It is your former promise.
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness MARCIUS. Sir, it is;
Deserves your hate; and your affections are And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face.
Which would increase his evil. He that depends What, art thou stiff? Stand'st out?
Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, LARTIUS. No, Caius Marcius;
And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other
With every minute you do change a mind Ere stay behind this business.
And call him noble that was now your hate, MENENIUS. O, true bred!
Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter FIRST SENATOR. Your company to th' Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend
That in these several places of the city us.
You cry against the noble Senate, who, LARTIUS. [To COMINIUS] Lead you on.
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else [To MARCIUS] Follow Cominius; we must follow you;
Would feed on one another? What's their seeking? Right worthy you priority.
MENENIUS. For corn at their own rates, whereof they say COMINIUS. Noble Marcius!
The city is well stor'd. FIRST SENATOR. [To the Citizens] Hence to your homes; be gone. MARCIUS. Nay, let them
MARCIUS. Hang 'em! They say! follow.
They'll sit by th' fire and presume to know The Volsces have much corn: take these rats thither
What's done i' th' Capitol, who's like to rise, To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers,
Who thrives and who declines; side factions, and give out Conjectural marriages, making Your valour puts well forth; pray follow.
parties strong, Ciitzens steal away. Exeunt all but SICINIUS and BRUTUS SICINIUS. Was ever man so proud
And feebling such as stand not in their liking as is this Marcius?
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough! Would the nobility lay aside BRUTUS. He has no equal.
their ruth SICINIUS. When we were chosen tribunes for the peopleBRUTUS.
Mark'd you his lip and eyes? If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,
SICINIUS. Nay, but his taunts! 'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike
BRUTUS. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the gods. Till one can do no more.
SICINIUS. Bemock the modest moon. ALL. The gods assist you!
BRUTUS. The present wars devour him! He is grown AUFIDIUS. And keep your honours safe!
Too proud to be so valiant. FIRST SENATOR. Farewell.
SICINIUS. Such a nature, SECOND SENATOR. Farewell.
Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow ALL. Farewell. Exeunt
Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder SCENE III.
His insolence can brook to be commanded Rome. MARCIUS' house
Under Cominius. Enter VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, mother and wife to MARCIUS;
BRUTUS. Fame, at the which he aimsIn they set them down on two low stools and sewVOLUMNIA. I pray you, daughter, sing, or
whom already he is well grac'd- cannotBetter be held nor more attain'd than by express yourself in a more comfortable sort. If
A place below the first; for what miscarries my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform than in the embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet he was but
To th' utmost of a man, and giddy censure tender-bodied, and the only son of my womb; when youth with comeliness pluck'd all gaze
Will then cry out of Marcius 'O, if he his way; when, for a day of kings' entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour from
Had borne the business!' her beholding; I, considering how honour would become such a personthat it was no better
SICINIUS. Besides, if things go well, than picture-like to hang by th' wall, if renown made it not stir- was pleas'd to let him
Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall seek danger where he was to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he return'd
Of his demerits rob Cominius. his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first
BRUTUS. Come. hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.
Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius, VIRGILIA. But had he died in the business, madam, how then? VOLUMNIA. Then his good
Though Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults report should have been my son; I therein would have found issue. Hear me profess
To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and
In aught he merit not. my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country than one
SICINIUS. Let's hence and hear voluptuously surfeit out of action.
How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, Enter a GENTLEWOMAN
More than his singularity, he goes GENTLEWOMAN. Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. VIRGILIA. Beseech you give
Upon this present action. me
BRUTUS. Let's along. Exeunt leave to retire myself.
SCENE II. VOLUMNIA. Indeed you shall not.
Corioli. The Senate House. Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum;
Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with SENATORS of Corioli See him pluck Aufidius down by th' hair;
FIRST SENATOR. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him.
That they of Rome are ent'red in our counsels Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:
And know how we proceed. 'Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear,
AUFIDIUS. Is it not yours? Though you were born in Rome.' His bloody brow
What ever have been thought on in this state With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes,
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow
Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone Or all or lose his hire.
Since I heard thence; these are the words- I think VIRGILIA. His bloody brow? O Jupiter, no blood!
I have the letter here;.yes, here it is: VOLUMNIA. Away, you fool! It more becomes a man
[Reads] 'They have press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west. The Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba,
dearth is great; When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood
Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria
Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, We are fit to bid her welcome. Exit GENTLEWOMAN VIRGILIA. Heavens bless my lord from
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, fell
These three lead on this preparation Aufidius!
Whither 'tis bent. Most likely 'tis for you; VOLUMNIA. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee
Consider of it.' And tread upon his neck.
FIRST SENATOR. Our army's in the field; Re-enter GENTLEWOMAN, With VALERIA and an usher
We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready VALERIA. My ladies both, good day to you.
To answer us. VOLUMNIA. Sweet madam!
AUFIDIUS. Nor did you think it folly VIRGILIA. I am glad to see your ladyship.
To keep your great pretences veil'd till when VALERIA. How do you both? You are manifest housekeepers. What are you sewing here? A
They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By fine
the discovery spot, in good faith. How does your little son?
We shall be short'ned in our aim, which was VIRGILIA. I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.
To take in many towns ere almost Rome VOLUMNIA. He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look upon his schoolmaster.
Should know we were afoot. VALERIA. O' my word, the father's son! I'll swear 'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I
SECOND SENATOR. Noble Aufidius, look'd upon him a Wednesday half an hour together; has such a confirm'd countenance! I
Take your commission; hie you to your bands; saw him run after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it he let it go again, and after
Let us alone to guard Corioli. it again, and over and over he comes, and up again, catch'd it again; or whether his fall
If they set down before's, for the remove enrag'd him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it. O, I warrant, how he
Bring up your army; but I think you'll find mammock'd it!
Th' have not prepar'd for us. VOLUMNIA. One on's father's moods.
AUFIDIUS. O, doubt not that! VALERIA. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child.
I speak from certainties. Nay more, VIRGILIA. A crack, madam.
Some parcels of their power are forth already, VALERIA. Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle huswife with me
And only hitherward. I leave your honours. this afternoon.
VIRGILIA. No, good madam; I will not out of doors. MARCIUS. All the contagion of the south light on you,
VALERIA. Not out of doors! You shames of Rome! you herd of- Boils and plagues
VOLUMNIA. She shall, she shall. Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd
VIRGILIA. Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold till my lord return Farther than seen, and one infect another
from the wars. Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese
VALERIA. Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably; come, you must go visit the good That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
lady that lies in. From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell!
VIRGILIA. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go All hurt behind! Backs red, and faces pale
thither. With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home,
VOLUMNIA. Why, I pray you? Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe
VIRGILIA. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. And make my wars on you. Look to't. Come on;
VALERIA. You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' If you'll stand fast we'll beat them to their wives,As they us to our trenches. Follow me.
absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come, I would your cambric were sensible as Another alarum. The Volsces fly, and MARCIUS follows
your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. them to the gates
VIRGILIA. No, good madam, pardon me; indeed I will not forth. VALERIA. In truth, la, go So, now the gates are ope; now prove good seconds;
with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband. 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
VIRGILIA. O, good madam, there can be none yet.VALERIA. Verily, I do not jest with you; Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the like.
there came news from him last night. [MARCIUS enters the gates]
VIRGILIA. Indeed, madam? FIRST SOLDIER. Fool-hardiness; not I.
VALERIA. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is: the Volsces have SECOND SOLDIER. Not I. [MARCIUS is shut in] FIRST SOLDIER. See, they have shut him in.
an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman ALL. To th' pot, I warrant him. [Alarum continues]
power. Your lord and Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing Re-enter TITUS LARTIUS
doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, LARTIUS. What is become of Marcius?
go with us. ALL. Slain, sir, doubtless.
VIRGILIA. Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in everything hereafter. FIRST SOLDIER. Following the fliers at the very heels,
VOLUMNIA. Let her alone, lady; as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth. With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,
VALERIA. In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then. Come, good sweet lady. Clapp'd to their gates. He is himself alone,
Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' door and go along with us. To answer all the city.
VIRGILIA. No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much mirth. LARTIUS. O noble fellow!
VALERIA. Well then, farewell. Exeunt Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword,
SCENE IV. And when it bows stand'st up. Thou art left, Marcius;
Before Corioli A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,
Enter MARCIUS, TITUS LARTIUS, with drum and colours, Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
with CAPTAINS and soldiers. To them a MESSENGER Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
MARCIUS. Yonder comes news; a wager- they have met. Only in strokes; but with thy grim looks and
LARTIUS. My horse to yours- no. The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds
MARCIUS. 'Tis done. Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
LARTIUS. Agreed. Were feverous and did tremble.
MARCIUS. Say, has our general met the enemy? Re-enter MARCIUS, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy
MESSENGER. They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet. FIRST SOLDIER. Look, sir.
LARTIUS. So, the good horse is mine. LARTIUS. O, 'tis Marcius!
MARCIUS. I'll buy him of you. Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.
LARTIUS. No, I'll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will For half a hundred years. [They fight, and all enter the city]
Summon the town. SCENE V.
MARCIUS. How far off lie these armies? Within Corioli. A street
MESSENGER. Within this mile and half. Enter certain Romans, with spoils
MARCIUS. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. FIRST ROMAN. This will I carry to Rome.
Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, SECOND ROMAN. And I this.
That we with smoking swords may march from hence THIRD ROMAN. A murrain on 't! I took this for silver.
To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. [Alarum continues still afar off]
They sound a parley. Enter two SENATORS with others, Enter MARCIUS and TITUS LARTIUS With a trumpeter
on the walls of Corioli MARCIUS. See here these movers that do prize their hours
Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? At a crack'd drachma! Cushions, leaden spoons,
FIRST SENATOR. No, nor a man that fears you less than he: That's lesser than a little. Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
[Drum afar off] Hark, our drums Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,
Rather than they shall pound us up; our gates, Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them!
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; Exeunt pillagers And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!
They'll open of themselves. [Alarum far off] Hark you far off! There is Aufidius. List There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
what work he makes Piercing our Romans; then, valiant Titus, take
Amongst your cloven army. Convenient numbers to make good the city;
MARCIUS. O, they are at it! Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
LARTIUS. Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! To help Cominius.
Enter the army of the Volsces LARTIUS. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;
MARCIUS. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. Thy exercise hath been too violent
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight For a second course of fight.
With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus. They do disdain us much beyond MARCIUS. Sir, praise me not;
our thoughts, My work hath yet not warm'd me. Fare you well;
Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows. The blood I drop is rather physical
He that retires, I'll take him for a Volsce, Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus
And he shall feel mine edge. I will appear, and fight.
Alarum. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. LARTIUS. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Re-enter MARCIUS, cursing
Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charmsMisguide thy opposers' swords! Bold Retire to win our purpose.
gentleman, MARCIUS. How lies their battle? Know you on which side
Prosperity be thy page! They have plac'd their men of trust?
MARCIUS. Thy friend no less COMINIUS. As I guess, Marcius,
Than those she placeth highest! So farewell. Their bands i' th' vaward are the Antiates,
LARTIUS. Thou worthiest Marcius! Exit MARCIUS Go sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius,
Call thither all the officers o' th' town, Their very heart of hope.
Where they shall know our mind. Away! Exeunt MARCIUS. I do beseech you,
SCENE VI. By all the battles wherein we have fought,
Near the camp of COMINIUS By th' blood we have shed together, by th' vows
Enter COMINIUS, as it were in retire, with soldiers We have made to endure friends, that you directly
COMINIUS. Breathe you, my friends. Well fought; we are come off Like Romans, neither Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates;
foolish in our stands And that you not delay the present, but,
Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs, Filling the air with swords advanc'd and darts,
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck, We prove this very hour.
By interims and conveying gusts we have heard COMINIUS. Though I could wish
The charges of our friends. The Roman gods, You were conducted to a gentle bath
Lead their successes as we wish our own, And balms applied to you, yet dare I never
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount'ring, May give you thankful sacrifice! Deny your asking: take your choice of those
Enter A MESSENGER That best can aid your action.
Thy news? MARCIUS. Those are they
MESSENGER. The citizens of Corioli have issued That most are willing. If any such be hereAs
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle; it were sin to doubt- that love this painting
I saw our party to their trenches driven, Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear
And then I came away. Lesser his person than an ill report;
COMINIUS. Though thou speak'st truth, If any think brave death outweighs bad life
Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since? And that his country's dearer than himself;
MESSENGER. Above an hour, my lord. Let him alone, or so many so minded,
COMINIUS. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums. Wave thus to express his disposition,
How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, And follow Marcius. [They all shout and wave their
And bring thy news so late? swords, take him up in their arms and cast up their caps] O, me alone! Make you a sword
MESSENGER. Spies of the Volsces of me?
Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel If these shows be not outward, which of you
Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, But is four Volsces? None of you but is
Half an hour since brought my report. Able to bear against the great Aufidius
Enter MARCIUS A shield as hard as his. A certain number,
COMINIUS. Who's yonder Though thanks to all, must I select from all; the rest
That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods! Shall bear the business in some other fight,
He has the stamp of Marcius, and I have As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march;
Before-time seen him thus. And four shall quickly draw out my command,
MARCIUS. Come I too late? Which men are best inclin'd.
COMINIUS. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor COMINIUS. March on, my fellows;
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue Make good this ostentation, and you shall
From every meaner man. Divide in all with us. Exeunt
MARCIUS. Come I too late? SCENE VII.
COMINIUS. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, The gates of Corioli
But mantled in your own. TITUS LARTIUS, having set a guard upon Corioli, going with drum and trumpet toward
MARCIUS. O! let me clip ye COMINIUS and CAIUS MARCIUS, enters with a LIEUTENANT, other soldiers, and a scout
In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart LARTIUS. So, let the ports be guarded; keep your duties
As merry as when our nuptial day was done, As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch
And tapers burn'd to bedward. Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve
COMINIUS. Flower of warriors, For a short holding. If we lose the field
How is't with Titus Lartius? We cannot keep the town.
MARCIUS. As with a man busied about decrees: LIEUTENANT. Fear not our care, sir.
Condemning some to death and some to exile; LARTIUS. Hence, and shut your gates upon's.
Ransoming him or pitying, threat'ning th' other; Our guider, come; to th' Roman camp conduct us. Exeunt
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome SCENE VIII.
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps
To let him slip at will. Alarum, as in battle. Enter MARCIUS and AUFIDIUS at several doors
COMINIUS. Where is that slave MARCIUS. I'll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker.
Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? AUFIDIUS. We hate alike:
Where is he? Call him hither. Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor
MARCIUS. Let him alone; More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.
He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen, MARCIUS. Let the first budger die the other's slave,
The common file- a plague! tribunes for them! And the gods doom him after!
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge AUFIDIUS. If I fly, Marcius,
From rascals worse than they. Halloa me like a hare.
COMINIUS. But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS. Within these three hours, Tullus,
MARCIUS. Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
Where is the enemy? Are you lords o' th' field? And made what work I pleas'd. 'Tis not my bloodWherein thou seest me mask'd. For thy
If not, why cease you till you are so? revenge
COMINIUS. Marcius,We have at disadvantage fought, and did Wrench up thy power to th' highest.
AUFIDIUS. Wert thou the Hector More cruel to your good report than grateful
That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, To us that give you truly. By your patience,
Thou shouldst not scape me here. If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put youLike
Here they fight, and certain Volsces come in the aid of AUFIDIUS. MARCIUS fights till one that means his proper harm- in manacles,
they be driven in Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it known,
breathless As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Officious, and not valiant, you have sham'd me Wears this war's garland; in token of the which,
In your condemned seconds. Exeunt My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
SCENE IX. With all his trim belonging; and from this time,
The Roman camp For what he did before Corioli, can him
Flourish. Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Enter, at one door, COMINIUS with the Romans; at With all th' applause-and clamour of the host,
another door, MARCIUS, with his arm in a scarf Caius Marcius Coriolanus.
COMINIUS. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou't not believe thy deeds; Bear th' addition nobly ever!
but I'll report it [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums] ALL. Caius Marcius Coriolanus!
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; CORIOLANUS. I will go wash;
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, And when my face is fair you shall perceive
I' th' end admire; where ladies shall be frighted Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you;
And, gladly quak'd, hear more; where the dull tribunes, That with the fusty plebeians I mean to stride your steed, and at all times
hate thine honours, To undercrest your good addition
Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods To th' fairness of my power.
Our Rome hath such a soldier.' COMINIUS. So, to our tent;
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
Having fully din'd before. To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,
Enter TITUS LARTIUS, with his power, from the pursuit Must to Corioli back. Send us to Rome
LARTIUS. O General, The best, with whom we may articulate
Here is the steed, we the caparison. For their own good and ours.
Hadst thou beheldMARCIUS. LARTIUS. I shall, my lord.
Pray now, no more; my mother, CORIOLANUS. The gods begin to mock me. I, that now
Who has a charter to extol her blood, Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
When she does praise me grieves me. I have done Of my Lord General.
As you have done- that's what I can; induc'd COMINIUS. Take't- 'tis yours; what is't?
As you have been- that's for my country. CORIOLANUS. I sometime lay here in Corioli
He that has but effected his good will At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly.
Hath overta'en mine act. He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
COMINIUS. You shall not be But then Aufidius was within my view,
The grave of your deserving; Rome must know And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity. I request you
The value of her own. 'Twere a concealment To give my poor host freedom.
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, COMINIUS. O, well begg'd!
To hide your doings and to silence that Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you, LARTIUS. Marcius, his name?
In sign of what you are, not to reward CORIOLANUS. By Jupiter, forgot!
What you have done, before our army hear me. I am weary; yea, my memory is tir'd.
MARCIUS. I have some wounds upon me, and they smart Have we no wine here?
To hear themselves rememb'red. COMINIUS. Go we to our tent.
COMINIUS. Should they not, The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time
Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude It should be look'd to. Come. Exeunt
And tent themselves with death. Of all the horsesWhereof SCENE X.
we have ta'en good, and good store- of all The camp of the Volsces
The treasure in this field achiev'd and city, A flourish. Cornets. Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS bloody, with two or three soldiers
We render you the tenth; to be ta'en forth AUFIDIUS. The town is ta'en.
Before the common distribution at FIRST SOLDIER. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. AUFIDIUS. Condition!
Your only choice. I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,
MARCIUS. I thank you, General, Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition?
But cannot make my heart consent to take What good condition can a treaty find
A bribe to pay my sword. I do refuse it, I' th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,
And stand upon my common part with those I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me;
That have beheld the doing. And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter
A long flourish. They all cry 'Marcius, Marcius!' cast up their caps and lances. COMINIUS As often as we eat. By th' elements,
and LARTIUS stand bare If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,
May these same instruments which you profane He's mine or I am his. Mine emulation
Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall Hath not that honour in't it had; for where
I' th' field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-fac'd soothing. I thought to crush him in an equal force,
When steel grows True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way,
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made Or wrath or craft may get him.
An overture for th' wars. No more, I say.For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled, FIRST SOLDIER. He's the devil.
Or foil'd some debile wretch, which without note AUFIDIUS. Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suff'ring stain byhim;
Here's many else have done, you shout me forth for him
In acclamations hyperbolical, Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary,
As if I lov'd my little should be dieted Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,
In praises sauc'd with lies. The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,
COMINIUS. Too modest are you; Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to th' city;
Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must
Be hostages for Rome.
FIRST SOLDIER. Will not you go?
AUFIDIUS. I am attended at the cypress grove; I pray you- 'Tis south the city mills-
bring me word thither
How the world goes, that to the pace of it
I may spur on my journey.
FIRST SOLDIER. I shall, sir. Exeunt
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ACT II. SCENE I.
Rome. A public place
Enter MENENIUS, with the two Tribunes of the people, SICINIUS and BRUTUS
MENENIUS. The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight. BRUTUS. Good or bad?
MENENIUS. Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.
SICINIUS. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
MENENIUS. Pray you, who does the wolf love?
SICINIUS. The lamb.
MENENIUS. Ay, to devour him, as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.
BRUTUS. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.
MENENIUS. He's a bear indeed, that lives fike a lamb. You two are old men; tell me one
thing that I shall ask you.
BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, sir.
MENENIUS. In what enormity is Marcius poor in that you two have not in abundance?
BRUTUS. He's poor in no one fault, but stor'd with all.
SICINIUS. Especially in pride.
BRUTUS. And topping all others in boasting.
MENENIUS. This is strange now. Do you two know how you are censured here in the city- I
mean of us o' th' right-hand file? Do you? BOTH TRIBUNES. Why, how are we censur'd?
MENENIUS. Because you talk of pride now- will you not be angry? BOTH TRIBUNES. Well,
well, sir, well.
MENENIUS. Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of
a great deal of patience. Give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your
pleasures- at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame
Marcius for being proud?
BRUTUS. We do it not alone, sir.
MENENIUS. I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your
actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much
alone. You talk of pride. O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks,
and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could!
BOTH TRIBUNES. What then, sir?
MENENIUS. Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy
magistrates-alias fools- as any in Rome. SICINIUS. Menenius, you are known well enough
too.
MENENIUS. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine
with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be something imperfect in favouring the
first complaint, hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more
with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning. What I think I
utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are- I cannot
call you Lycurguses- if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked
face at it. I cannot say your worships have deliver'd the matter well, when I find the
ass in compound with the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to
bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you
you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am
known well enough too? What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this
character, if I be known well enough too?
BRUTUS. Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.
MENENIUS. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor
knaves' caps and legs; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause
betweenan orange-wife and a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the controversy of threepence to
a
second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you
chance to be pinch'd with the colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag
against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy
bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing. All the peace you make in their cause is
calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.
BRUTUS. Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table than a
necessary bencher in the Capitol.
MENENIUS. Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous
subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of
your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's
cushion or to be entomb'd in an ass's pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying Marcius is
proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion; though
peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships.
More of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly
plebeians. I will be bold to take my leave of you.
[BRUTUS and SICINIUS go aside]
Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and VALERIA
How now, my as fair as noble ladies- and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler- whither
do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius
approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go.
MENENIUS. Ha! Marcius coming home?
VOLUMNIA. Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous
approbation.
MENENIUS. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo!
Marcius coming home!
VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA. Nay, 'tis true.
VOLUMNIA. Look, here's a letter from him; the state hath another, his wife another; and I
think there's one at home for you. MENENIUS. I will make my very house reel to-night. A
letter for me? VIRGILIA. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS. A
letter for me! It gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a
lip at the physician. The most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic and, to
this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? He was
wont to come home wounded.
VIRGILIA. O, no, no, no.
VOLUMNIA. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't.
MENENIUS. So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a victory in his pocket? The wounds
become him.
VOLUMNIA. On's brows, Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.
MENENIUS. Has he disciplin'd Aufidius soundly?
VOLUMNIA. Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius got off.
MENENIUS. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that; an he had stay'd by him, I
would not have been so fidius'd for all the chests in Corioli and the gold that's in
them. Is the Senate possess'd of this?
VOLUMNIA. Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes: the Senate has letters from the general,
wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war; he hath in this action outdone his
former deeds doubly.
VALERIA. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.
MENENIUS. Wondrous! Ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing.
VIRGILIA. The gods grant them true!
VOLUMNIA. True! pow, waw.
MENENIUS. True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? [To the TRIBUNES] God
save your good worships! Marcius is coming home; he has more cause to be proud. Where is
he wounded? VOLUMNIA. I' th' shoulder and i' th' left arm; there will be large cicatrices
to show the people when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of
Tarquin seven hurts i' th' body. MENENIUS. One i' th' neck and two i' th' thigh- there's
nine that I know.
VOLUMNIA. He had before this last expedition twenty-five wounds upon him.
MENENIUS. Now it's twenty-seven; every gash was an enemy's grave. [A shout and flourish]
Hark! the trumpets.
VOLUMNIA. These are the ushers of Marcius. Before him he carries
noise, and behind him he leaves tears;
Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie,
Which, being advanc'd, declines, and then men die.
A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the
GENERAL, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them,
CORIOLANUS, crown'd with an oaken garland; with
CAPTAINS and soldiers and a HERALD
HERALD. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
Within Corioli gates, where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these During his power go sleep.
In honour follows Coriolanus.Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! [Flourish] ALL. SICINIUS. He cannot temp'rately transport his honours
Welcome to Rome, renowned From where he should begin and end, but will
Coriolanus! Lose those he hath won.
CORIOLANUS. No more of this, it does offend my heart. BRUTUS. In that there's comfort.SICINIUS. Doubt not
Pray now, no more. The commoners, for whom we stand, but they
COMINIUS. Look, sir, your mother! Upon their ancient malice will forget
CORIOLANUS. O, With the least cause these his new honours; which
You have, I know, petition'd all the gods That he will give them make I as little question
For my prosperity! [Kneels] VOLUMNIA. Nay, my good soldier, up; As he is proud to do't.
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and BRUTUS. I heard him swear,
By deed-achieving honour newly nam'dWhat Were he to stand for consul, never would he
is it? Coriolanus must I can thee? Appear i' th' market-place, nor on him put
But, O, thy wife! The napless vesture of humility;
CORIOLANUS. My gracious silence, hail! Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds
Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, To th' people, beg their stinking breaths.
That weep'st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, SICINIUS. 'Tis right.
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, BRUTUS. It was his word. O, he would miss it rather
And mothers that lack sons. Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him
MENENIUS. Now the gods crown thee! And the desire of the nobles.
CORIOLANUS. And live you yet? [To VALERIA] O my sweet lady, pardon. SICINIUS. I wish no better
VOLUMNIA. I know not where to turn. Than have him hold that purpose, and to put it
O, welcome home! And welcome, General. In execution.
And y'are welcome all. BRUTUS. 'Tis most like he will.
MENENIUS. A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep SICINIUS. It shall be to him then as our good wills:
And I could laugh; I am light and heavy. Welcome! A sure destruction.
A curse begin at very root on's heart BRUTUS. So it must fall out
That is not glad to see thee! You are three To him or our authorities. For an end,
That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of men, We must suggest the people in what hatred
We have some old crab trees here at home that will not He still hath held them; that to's power he would
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors. Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and
We call a nettle but a nettle, and Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them
The faults of fools but folly. In human action and capacity
COMINIUS. Ever right. Of no more soul nor fitness for the world
CORIOLANUS. Menenius ever, ever. Than camels in their war, who have their provand
HERALD. Give way there, and go on. Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows
CORIOLANUS. [To his wife and mother] Your hand, and yours. Ere in our own house I do For sinking under them.
shade my head, SICINIUS. This, as you say, suggested
The good patricians must be visited; At some time when his soaring insolence
From whom I have receiv'd not only greetings, Shall touch the people- which time shall not want,
But with them change of honours. If he be put upon't, and that's as easy
VOLUMNIA. I have lived As to set dogs on sheep- will be his fire
To see inherited my very wishes, To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze
And the buildings of my fancy; only Shall darken him for ever.
There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but Enter A MESSENGER
Our Rome will cast upon thee. BRUTUS. What's the matter?
CORIOLANUS. Know, good mother, MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought
I had rather be their servant in my way That Marcius shall be consul.
Than sway with them in theirs. I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and
COMINIUS. On, to the Capitol. The blind to hear him speak; matrons flung gloves,
[Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before] Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers,
BRUTUS and SICINIUS come forward Upon him as he pass'd; the nobles bended
BRUTUS. All tongues speak of him and the bleared sights As to Jove's statue, and the commons made
Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts.
Into a rapture lets her baby cry I never saw the like.
While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol,
Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, And carry with us ears and eyes for th' time,
Clamb'ring the walls to eye him; stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd But hearts for the event.
and ridges hors'd SICINIUS. Have with you. Exeunt
With variable complexions, all agreeing SCENE II.
In earnestness to see him. Seld-shown flamens Rome. The Capitol
Do press among the popular throngs and puff Enter two OFFICERS, to lay cushions, as it were in the Capitol
To win a vulgar station; our veil'd dames FIRST OFFICER. Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships?
Commit the war of white and damask in SECOND OFFICER. Three, they say; but 'tis thought of every one Coriolanus will carry it.
Their nicely gawded cheeks to th' wanton spoil FIRST OFFICER. That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud and loves not the common
Of Phoebus' burning kisses. Such a pother, people.
As if that whatsoever god who leads him SECOND OFFICER. Faith, there have been many great men that have flatter'd the people,
Were slily crept into his human powers, who
And gave him graceful posture. ne'er loved them; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore; so
SICINIUS. On the sudden that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground. Therefore, for
I warrant him consul. Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he
BRUTUS. Then our office may has in their
disposition, and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly see't. He had rather venture all his limbs for honour
FIRST OFFICER. If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved indifferently Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius.
'twixt doing them neither good nor harm; but he seeks their hate with greater devotion COMINIUS. I shall lack voice; the deeds of Coriolanus
than they can render it him, and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held
opposite. Now to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as That valour is the chiefest virtue and
that which he dislikes- to flatter them for their love.SECOND OFFICER. He hath deserved Most dignifies the haver. If it be,
worthily of his country; and his ascent is not by such The man I speak of cannot in the world
easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years,When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
without any further deed to have them at all, into their estimation and report; but he Beyond the mark of others; our then Dictator,
hath so planted his honours in their eyes and his actions in their hearts that for their Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight
tongues to be silent and not confess so much were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report When with his Amazonian chin he drove
otherwise were a malice that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from The bristled lips before him; he bestrid
every car that heard it. An o'erpress'd Roman and i' th' consul's view
FIRST OFFICER. No more of him; he's a worthy man. Make way, they are coming. Slew three opposers; Tarquin's self he met,
A sennet. Enter the PATRICIANS and the TRIBUNES And struck him on his knee. In that day's feats,
OF THE PEOPLE, LICTORS before them; CORIOLANUS, When he might act the woman in the scene,
MENENIUS, COMINIUS the Consul. SICINIUS and He prov'd best man i' th' field, and for his meed
BRUTUS take their places by themselves. Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
CORIOLANUS stands Man-ent'red thus, he waxed like a sea,
MENENIUS. Having determin'd of the Volsces, and And in the brunt of seventeen battles since
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last,
As the main point of this our after-meeting, Before and in Corioli, let me say
To gratify his noble service that I cannot speak him home. He stopp'd the fliers,
Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore please you, And by his rare example made the coward
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire Turn terror into sport; as weeds before
The present consul and last general A vessel under sail, so men obey'd
In our well-found successes to report And fell below his stem. His sword, death's stamp,
A little of that worthy work perform'd Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus; whom He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
We met here both to thank and to remember Was tim'd with dying cries. Alone he ent'red
With honours like himself. [CORIOLANUS sits] FIRST SENATOR. Speak, good Cominius. The mortal gate of th' city, which he painted
Leave nothing out for length, and make us think With shunless destiny; aidless came off,
Rather our state's defective for requital And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' th' people, Corioli like a planet. Now all's his.
We do request your kindest ears; and, after, When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
Your loving motion toward the common body, His ready sense, then straight his doubled spirit
To yield what passes here. Re-quick'ned what in flesh was fatigate,
SICINIUS. We are convented And to the battle came he; where he did
Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
Inclinable to honour and advance 'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd
The theme of our assembly. Both field and city ours he never stood
BRUTUS. Which the rather To ease his breast with panting.
We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember MENENIUS. Worthy man!
A kinder value of the people than FIRST SENATOR. He cannot but with measure fit the honours Which we devise him.
He hath hereto priz'd them at. COMINIUS. Our spoils he kick'd at,
MENENIUS. That's off, that's off; And look'd upon things precious as they were
I would you rather had been silent. Please you The common muck of the world. He covets less
To hear Cominius speak? Than misery itself would give, rewards
BRUTUS. Most willingly. His deeds with doing them, and is content
But yet my caution was more pertinent To spend the time to end it.
Than the rebuke you give it. MENENIUS. He's right noble;
MENENIUS. He loves your people; Let him be call'd for.
But tie him not to be their bedfellow. FIRST SENATOR. Call Coriolanus.
Worthy Cominius, speak. OFFICER. He doth appear.
[CORIOLANUS rises, and offers to go away] Nay, keep your place. Re-enter CORIOLANUS
FIRST SENATOR. Sit, Coriolanus, never shame to hear MENENIUS. The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd
What you have nobly done. To make thee consul.
CORIOLANUS. Your Honours' pardon. CORIOLANUS. I do owe them still
I had rather have my wounds to heal again My life and services.
Than hear say how I got them. MENENIUS. It then remains
BRUTUS. Sir, I hope That you do speak to the people.
My words disbench'd you not. CORIOLANUS. I do beseech you
CORIOLANUS. No, sir; yet oft, Let me o'erleap that custom; for I cannot
When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them
You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not. But your people, For my wounds' sake to give their suffrage. Please you
I love them as they weighMENENIUS. That I may pass this doing.
Pray now, sit down. SICINIUS. Sir, the people
CORIOLANUS. I had rather have one scratch my head i' th' sun When the alarum were struck Must have their voices; neither will they bate
than idly sit One jot of ceremony.
To hear my nothings monster'd. Exit MENENIUS. Masters of the people, MENENIUS. Put them not to't.
Your multiplying spawn how can he flatterThat' Pray you go fit you to the custom, and
s thousand to one good one- when you now see Take to you, as your predecessors have,
Your honour with your form. I'll leave you. Pray you speak to 'em, I pray you,
CORIOLANUS. It is a part In wholesome manner. Exit
That I shall blush in acting, and might well Re-enter three of the citizens
Be taken from the people. CORIOLANUS. Bid them wash their faces
BRUTUS. Mark you that? And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace.
CORIOLANUS. To brag unto them 'Thus I did, and thus!' You know the cause, sir, of my standing here.THIRD CITIZEN. We do, sir; tell us what hath
Show them th' unaching scars which I should hide, brought you to't. CORIOLANUS. Mine own
As if I had receiv'd them for the hire desert.
Of their breath only! SECOND CITIZEN. Your own desert?
MENENIUS. Do not stand upon't. CORIOLANUS. Ay, not mine own desire.
We recommend to you, Tribunes of the People,Our purpose to them; and to our noble consul THIRD CITIZEN. How, not your own desire?
Wish we all joy and honour. CORIOLANUS. No, sir, 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor with begging.
SENATORS. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! THIRD CITIZEN. YOU MUST think, if we give you anything, we hope to gain by you.
[Flourish. Cornets. Then exeunt all CORIOLANUS. Well then, I pray, your price o' th' consulship? FIRST CITIZEN. The price is
but SICINIUS and BRUTUS] to ask it kindly.
BRUTUS. You see how he intends to use the people. CORIOLANUS. Kindly, sir, I pray let me ha't. I have wounds to show you, which shall be
SICINIUS. May they perceive's intent! He will require them As if he did contemn what he yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what say you?
requested SECOND CITIZEN. You shall ha' it, worthy sir.
Should be in them to give. CORIOLANUS. A match, sir. There's in all two worthy voices begg'd. I have your alms.
BRUTUS. Come, we'll inform them Adieu.
Of our proceedings here. On th' market-place THIRD CITIZEN. But this is something odd.
I know they do attend us. Exeunt SECOND CITIZEN. An 'twere to give again- but 'tis no matter.
SCENE III. Exeunt the three citizens
Rome. The Forum Re-enter two other citizens
Enter seven or eight citizens CORIOLANUS. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may be
FIRST CITIZEN. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him. consul, I have here the customary gown. FOURTH CITIZEN. You have deserved nobly of your
SECOND CITIZEN. We may, sir, if we will. country, and you have not deserved nobly.
THIRD CITIZEN. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no CORIOLANUS. Your enigma?
power to do; for if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our FOURTH CITIZEN. You have been a scourge to her enemies; you have been a rod to her
tongues into those wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must friends. You have not indeed loved the common people.
also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the CORIOLANUS. You should account me the more virtuous, that I have not been common in my
multitude to be ingrateful were to make a monster of the multitude; of the which we being love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of
members should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. them; 'tis a condition they account gentle; and since the wisdom of their choice is
FIRST CITIZEN. And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve; for once we rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating nod and be off to
stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude. them most counterfeitly. That is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular
THIRD CITIZEN. We have been call'd so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some man and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you I may be consul.
black, some abram, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely colour'd; and truly I FIFTH CITIZEN. We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give you our voices
think if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, heartily.
south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o' th' FOURTH CITIZEN. You have received many wounds for your country. CORIOLANUS. I will
compass. not
SECOND CITIZEN. Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would fly? seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of your voices, and so trouble
THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will- 'tis strongly you no farther. BOTH CITIZENS. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily!
wedg'd up in a block-head; but if it were at liberty 'twould sure southward. Exeunt citizens CORIOLANUS. Most sweet voices!
SECOND CITIZEN. Why that way? Better it is to die, better to starve,
THIRD CITIZEN. To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts melted away with rotten Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
dews, the fourth would return for conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wife. Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here
SECOND CITIZEN. YOU are never without your tricks; you may, you may. To beg of Hob and Dick that do appear
THIRD CITIZEN. Are you all resolv'd to give your voices? But that's no matter, the Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't.
greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a What custom wills, in all things should we do't,
worthier man. The dust on antique time would lie unswept,
Enter CORIOLANUS, in a gown of humility, And mountainous error be too highly heap'd
with MENENIUS For truth to o'erpeer. Rather than fool it so,
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility. Mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all Let the high office and the honour go
together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to To one that would do thus. I am half through:
make his requests by particulars, wherein every one of us has a single honour, in giving The one part suffered, the other will I do.
him our own voices with our own tongues; therefore follow me, and I'll direct you how you Re-enter three citizens more
shall go by him. ALL. Content, content. Exeunt citizens MENENIUS. O sir, you are not Here come moe voices.
right; have you not known Your voices. For your voices I have fought;
The worthiest men have done't? Watch'd for your voices; for your voices bear
CORIOLANUS. What must I say? Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six
'I pray, sir'- Plague upon't! I cannot bring I have seen and heard of; for your voices have
My tongue to such a pace. 'Look, sir, my wounds Done many things, some less, some more. Your voices?
I got them in my country's service, when Indeed, I would be consul.
Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran SIXTH CITIZEN. He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man's voice.
From th' noise of our own drums.' SEVENTH CITIZEN. Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him joy, and make him good
MENENIUS. O me, the gods! friend to the people!
You must not speak of that. You must desire them ALL. Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul!
To think upon you. Exeunt citizens CORIOLANUS. Worthy voices!
CORIOLANUS. Think upon me? Hang 'em! Re-enter MENENIUS with BRUTUS and SICINIUS
I would they would forget me, like the virtues MENENIUS. You have stood your limitation, and the tribunes Endue you with the people's
Which our divines lose by 'em. voice. Remains
MENENIUS. You'll mar all. That, in th' official marks invested, you
Anon do meet the Senate. Against the rectorship of judgment?
CORIOLANUS. Is this done? SICINIUS. Have you
SICINIUS. The custom of request you have discharg'd. Ere now denied the asker, and now again,
The people do admit you, and are summon'dTo meet anon, upon your approbation. Of him that did not ask but mock, bestow
CORIOLANUS. Where? At the Senate House? Your su'd-for tongues?THIRD CITIZEN. He's not confirm'd: we may deny him yet.
SICINIUS. There, Coriolanus. SECOND CITIZENS. And will deny him;
CORIOLANUS. May I change these garments? I'll have five hundred voices of that sound.
SICINIUS. You may, sir. FIRST CITIZEN. I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece 'em.
CORIOLANUS. That I'll straight do, and, knowing myself again, Repair to th' Senate House. BRUTUS. Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends
MENENIUS. I'll keep you company. Will you along? They have chose a consul that will from them take
BRUTUS. We stay here for the people. Their liberties, make them of no more voice
SICINIUS. Fare you well. Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking
Exeunt CORIOLANUS and MENENIUS He has it now; and by his looks methinks As therefore kept to do so.
'Tis warm at's heart. SICINIUS. Let them assemble;
BRUTUS. With a proud heart he wore And, on a safer judgment, all revoke
His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people? Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride
Re-enter citizens And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not
SICINIUS. How now, my masters! Have you chose this man? With what contempt he wore the humble weed;
FIRST CITIZEN. He has our voices, sir. How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves,
BRUTUS. We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. Thinking upon his services, took from you
SECOND CITIZEN. Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice, Th' apprehension of his present portance,
He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. Which, most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion
THIRD CITIZEN. Certainly; After the inveterate hate he bears you.
He flouted us downright. BRUTUS. Lay
FIRST CITIZEN. No, 'tis his kind of speech- he did not mock us. SECOND CITIZEN. Not one A fault on us, your tribunes, that we labour'd,
amongst us, save yourself, but says He us'd us scornfully. He should have show'd us No impediment between, but that you must
His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for's country. Cast your election on him.
SICINIUS. Why, so he did, I am sure. SICINIUS. Say you chose him
ALL. No, no; no man saw 'em. More after our commandment than as guided
THIRD CITIZEN. He said he had wounds which he could show in By your own true affections; and that your minds,
private, Pre-occupied with what you rather must do
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, Than what you should, made you against the grain
'I would be consul,' says he; 'aged custom To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us.
But by your voices will not so permit me; BRUTUS. Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you,
Your voices therefore.' When we granted that, How youngly he began to serve his country,
Here was 'I thank you for your voices. Thank you, How long continued; and what stock he springs ofThe
Your most sweet voices. Now you have left your voices, noble house o' th' Marcians; from whence came
I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery? That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son,
SICINIUS. Why either were you ignorant to see't, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king;
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,
To yield your voices? That our best water brought by conduits hither;
BRUTUS. Could you not have told himAs And Censorinus, nobly named so,
you were lesson'd- when he had no power Twice being by the people chosen censor,
But was a petty servant to the state, Was his great ancestor.
He was your enemy; ever spake against SICINIUS. One thus descended,
Your liberties and the charters that you bear That hath beside well in his person wrought
I' th' body of the weal; and now, arriving To be set high in place, we did commend
A place of potency and sway o' th' state, To your remembrances; but you have found,
If he should still malignantly remain Scaling his present bearing with his past,
Fast foe to th' plebeii, your voices might That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke
Be curses to yourselves? You should have said Your sudden approbation.
That as his worthy deeds did claim no less BRUTUS. Say you ne'er had done'tHarp
Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature on that still- but by our putting on;
Would think upon you for your voices, and And presently, when you have drawn your number,
Translate his malice towards you into love, Repair to th' Capitol.
Standing your friendly lord. CITIZENS. will will so; almost all
SICINIUS. Thus to have said, Repent in their election. Exeunt plebeians BRUTUS. Let them go on;
As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit This mutiny were better put in hazard
And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Than stay, past doubt, for greater.
Either his gracious promise, which you might, If, as his nature is, he fall in rage
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to; With their refusal, both observe and answer
Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, The vantage of his anger.
Which easily endures not article SICINIUS. To th' Capitol, come.
Tying him to aught. So, putting him to rage, We will be there before the stream o' th' people;
You should have ta'en th' advantage of his choler And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own,
And pass'd him unelected. Which we have goaded onward. Exeunt
BRUTUS. Did you perceive ACT III. SCENE I.
He did solicit you in free contempt Rome. A street
When he did need your loves; and do you think Cornets. Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS, all the GENTRY, COMINIUS, TITUS LARTIUS,
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you and other
When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies SENATORS
No heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry CORIOLANUS. Tullus Aufidius, then, had made new head?
LARTIUS. He had, my lord; and that it was which caus'd COMINIUS. The people are abus'd; set on. This palt'ring
Our swifter composition. Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus
CORIOLANUS. So then the Volsces stand but as at first, Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely
Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road I' th' plain way of his merit.
Upon's again. CORIOLANUS. Tell me of corn!
COMINIUS. They are worn, Lord Consul, so This was my speech, and I will speak't againMENENIUS.
That we shall hardly in our ages see Not now, not now.
Their banners wave again.CORIOLANUS. Saw you Aufidius? FIRST SENATOR. Not in this heat, sir, now.
LARTIUS. On safeguard he came to me, and did curse CORIOLANUS. Now, as I live, I will.
Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely My nobler friends, I crave their pardons.
Yielded the town. He is retir'd to Antium. For the mutable, rank-scented meiny, let themRegard me as I do not flatter, and
CORIOLANUS. Spoke he of me? Therein behold themselves. I say again,
LARTIUS. He did, my lord. In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our Senate
CORIOLANUS. How? What? The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition,
LARTIUS. How often he had met you, sword to sword; Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the
That of all things upon the earth he hated honour'd number,
Your person most; that he would pawn his fortunes Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that
To hopeless restitution, so he might Which they have given to beggars.
Be call'd your vanquisher. MENENIUS. Well, no more.
CORIOLANUS. At Antium lives he? FIRST SENATOR. No more words, we beseech you.
LARTIUS. At Antium. CORIOLANUS. How? no more!
CORIOLANUS. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, As for my country I have shed my blood,
To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs
Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS Coin words till their decay against those measles
Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought
The tongues o' th' common mouth. I do despise them, The very way to catch them.
For they do prank them in authority, BRUTUS. You speak o' th' people
Against all noble sufferance. As if you were a god, to punish; not
SICINIUS. Pass no further. A man of their infirmity.
CORIOLANUS. Ha! What is that? SICINIUS. 'Twere well
BRUTUS. It will be dangerous to go on- no further. We let the people know't.
CORIOLANUS. What makes this change? MENENIUS. What, what? his choler?
MENENIUS. The matter? CORIOLANUS. Choler!
COMINIUS. Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common? Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,
BRUTUS. Cominius, no. By Jove, 'twould be my mind!
CORIOLANUS. Have I had children's voices? SICINIUS. It is a mind
FIRST SENATOR. Tribunes, give way: he shall to th' market-place. BRUTUS. The people are That shall remain a poison where it is,
incens'd against him. Not poison any further.
SICINIUS. Stop, CORIOLANUS. Shall remain!
Or all will fall in broil. Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you
CORIOLANUS. Are these your herd? His absolute 'shall'?
Must these have voices, that can yield them now COMINIUS. 'Twas from the canon.
And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices? You being their mouths, why CORIOLANUS. 'Shall'!
rule you not their teeth? O good but most unwise patricians! Why,
Have you not set them on? You grave but reckless senators, have you thus
MENENIUS. Be calm, be calm. Given Hydra here to choose an officer
CORIOLANUS. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but
To curb the will of the nobility; The horn and noise o' th' monster's, wants not spirit
Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule To say he'll turn your current in a ditch,
Nor ever will be rul'd. And make your channel his? If he have power,
BRUTUS. Call't not a plot. Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake
The people cry you mock'd them; and of late, Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd,
When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd; Be not as common fools; if you are not,
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians,
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. If they be senators; and they are no less,
CORIOLANUS. Why, this was known before. When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste
BRUTUS. Not to them all. Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate;
CORIOLANUS. Have you inform'd them sithence? And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,'
BRUTUS. How? I inform them! His popular 'shall,' against a graver bench
COMINIUS. You are like to do such business. Than ever frown'd in Greece. By Jove himself,
BRUTUS. Not unlike It makes the consuls base; and my soul aches
Each way to better yours. To know, when two authorities are up,
CORIOLANUS. Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds, Neither supreme, how soon confusion
Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take
Your fellow tribune. The one by th' other.
SICINIUS. You show too much of that COMINIUS. Well, on to th' market-place.
For which the people stir; if you will pass CORIOLANUS. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth
To where you are bound, you must enquire your way, The corn o' th' storehouse gratis, as 'twas us'd
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, Sometime in GreeceMENENIUS.
Or never be so noble as a consul, Well, well, no more of that.
Nor yoke with him for tribune. CORIOLANUS. Though there the people had more absolute pow'rI say they nourish'd
MENENIUS. Let's be calm. disobedience, fed
The ruin of the state. Enter a rabble of plebeians, with the AEDILES
BRUTUS. Why shall the people give MENENIUS. On both sides more respect.
One that speaks thus their voice? SICINIUS. Here's he that would take from you all your power. BRUTUS. Seize him, aediles.
CORIOLANUS. I'll give my reasons, PLEBEIANS. Down with him! down with him!
More worthier than their voices. They know the corn SECOND SENATOR. Weapons, weapons, weapons!
Was not our recompense, resting well assur'd [They all bustle about CORIOLANUS] ALL. Tribunes! patricians! citizens! What, ho!
They ne'er did service for't; being press'd to th' war Sicinius!
Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, Brutus! Coriolanus! Citizens!
They would not thread the gates. This kind of service PATRICIANS. Peace, peace, peace; stay, hold, peace!
Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' th' war, MENENIUS. What is about to be? I am out of breath;
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Confusion's near; I cannot speak. You tribunes
Most valour, spoke not for them. Th' accusation To th' people- Coriolanus, patience!
Which they have often made against the Senate, Speak, good Sicinius.
All cause unborn, could never be the native SICINIUS. Hear me, people; peace!
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? PLEBEIANS. Let's hear our tribune. Peace! Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS. You are at point
How shall this bosom multiplied digestThe Senate's courtesy? Let deeds express to lose your liberties.Marcius would have all from you; Marcius,
What's like to be their words: 'We did request it; Whom late you have nam'd for consul.
We are the greater poll, and in true fear MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie!
They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase This is the way to kindle, not to quench.
The nature of our seats, and make the rabble FIRST SENATOR. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat.
Call our cares fears; which will in time SICINIUS. What is the city but the people?
Break ope the locks o' th' Senate and bring in PLEBEIANS. True,
The crows to peck the eagles. The people are the city.
MENENIUS. Come, enough. BRUTUS. By the consent of all we were establish'd
BRUTUS. Enough, with over measure. The people's magistrates.
CORIOLANUS. No, take more. PLEBEIANS. You so remain.
What may be sworn by, both divine and human, MENENIUS. And so are like to do.
Seal what I end withal! This double worship, COMINIUS. That is the way to lay the city flat,
Where one part does disdain with cause, the other To bring the roof to the foundation,
Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom, Cannot conclude but by the yea And bury all which yet distinctly ranges
and no In heaps and piles of ruin.
Of general ignorance- it must omit SICINIUS. This deserves death.
Real necessities, and give way the while BRUTUS. Or let us stand to our authority
To unstable slightness. Purpose so barr'd, it follows Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce,
Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech youYou Upon the part o' th' people, in whose power
that will be less fearful than discreet; We were elected theirs: Marcius is worthy
That love the fundamental part of state Of present death.
More than you doubt the change on't; that prefer SICINIUS. Therefore lay hold of him;
A noble life before a long, and wish Bear him to th' rock Tarpeian, and from thence
To jump a body with a dangerous physic Into destruction cast him.
That's sure of death without it- at once pluck out BRUTUS. AEdiles, seize him.
The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick PLEBEIANS. Yield, Marcius, yield.
The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour MENENIUS. Hear me one word; beseech you, Tribunes,
Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state Hear me but a word.
Of that integrity which should become't, AEDILES. Peace, peace!
Not having the power to do the good it would, MENENIUS. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend,
For th' ill which doth control't. And temp'rately proceed to what you would
BRUTUS. Has said enough. Thus violently redress.
SICINIUS. Has spoken like a traitor and shall answer BRUTUS. Sir, those cold ways,
As traitors do. That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous
CORIOLANUS. Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee! Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him
What should the people do with these bald tribunes, And bear him to the rock.
On whom depending, their obedience fails [CORIOLANUS draws his sword] CORIOLANUS. No: I'll die here.
To the greater bench? In a rebellion, There's some among you have beheld me fighting;
When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.
Then were they chosen; in a better hour MENENIUS. Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile. BRUTUS. Lay hands upon him.
Let what is meet be said it must be meet, MENENIUS. Help Marcius, help,
And throw their power i' th' dust. You that be noble; help him, young and old.
BRUTUS. Manifest treason! PLEBEIANS. Down with him, down with him!
SICINIUS. This a consul? No. [In this mutiny the TRIBUNES, the AEDILES,
BRUTUS. The aediles, ho! and the people are beat in]
Enter an AEDILE MENENIUS. Go, get you to your house; be gone, away.
Let him be apprehended. All will be nought else.
SICINIUS. Go call the people, [Exit AEDILE] in whose name myself Attach thee as a SECOND SENATOR. Get you gone.
traitorous innovator, CORIOLANUS. Stand fast;
A foe to th' public weal. Obey, I charge thee, We have as many friends as enemies.
And follow to thine answer. MENENIUS. Shall it be put to that?
CORIOLANUS. Hence, old goat! FIRST SENATOR. The gods forbid!
PATRICIANS. We'll surety him. I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house;
COMINIUS. Ag'd sir, hands off. Leave us to cure this cause.
CORIOLANUS. Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. MENENIUS. For 'tis a sore upon us
SICINIUS. Help, ye citizens! You cannot tent yourself; be gone, beseech you.
COMINIUS. Come, sir, along with us. In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
CORIOLANUS. I would they were barbarians, as they are, Should now eat up her own!
Though in Rome litter'd; not Romans, as they are not, SICINIUS. He's a disease that must be cut away.
Though calved i' th' porch o' th' Capitol. MENENIUS. O, he's a limb that has but a diseaseMortal,
MENENIUS. Be gone. to cut it off: to cure it, easy.
Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; What has he done to Rome that's worthy death?
One time will owe another. Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lostWhich
CORIOLANUS. On fair ground I dare vouch is more than that he hath
I could beat forty of them. By many an ounce- he dropt it for his country;
MENENIUS. I could myself And what is left, to lose it by his country
Take up a brace o' th' best of them; yea, the two tribunes. COMINIUS. But now 'tis odds Were to us all that do't and suffer it
beyond arithmetic, A brand to th' end o' th' world.
And manhood is call'd foolery when it stands SICINIUS. This is clean kam.
Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, BRUTUS. Merely awry. When he did love his country,
Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend It honour'd him.
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear SICINIUS. The service of the foot,
What they are us'd to bear.MENENIUS. Pray you be gone. Being once gangren'd, is not then respected
I'll try whether my old wit be in request For what before it was.
With those that have but little; this must be patch'd BRUTUS. We'll hear no more.
With cloth of any colour. Pursue him to his house and pluck him thence,Lest his infection, being of catching nature,
COMINIUS. Nay, come away. Spread further.
Exeunt CORIOLANUS and COMINIUS, with others PATRICIANS. This man has marr'd his MENENIUS. One word more, one word
fortune. This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find
MENENIUS. His nature is too noble for the world: The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late,
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by process,
Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth; Lest parties- as he is belov'd- break out,
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And sack great Rome with Romans.
And, being angry, does forget that ever BRUTUS. If it were soSICINIUS.
He heard the name of death. [A noise within] Here's goodly work! What do ye talk?
PATRICIANS. I would they were a-bed. Have we not had a taste of his obedienceOur
MENENIUS. I would they were in Tiber. aediles smote, ourselves resisted? Come!
What the vengeance, could he not speak 'em fair? MENENIUS. Consider this: he has been bred i' th' wars
Re-enter BRUTUS and SICINIUS, the rabble again Since 'a could draw a sword, and is ill school'd
SICINIUS. Where is this viper In bolted language; meal and bran together
That would depopulate the city and He throws without distinction. Give me leave,
Be every man himself? I'll go to him and undertake to bring him
MENENIUS. You worthy TribunesSICINIUS. Where he shall answer by a lawful form,
He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock In peace, to his utmost peril.
With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, FIRST SENATOR. Noble Tribunes,
And therefore law shall scorn him further trial It is the humane way; the other course
Than the severity of the public power, Will prove too bloody, and the end of it
Which he so sets at nought. Unknown to the beginning.
FIRST CITIZEN. He shall well know SICINIUS. Noble Menenius,
The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, Be you then as the people's officer.
And we their hands. Masters, lay down your weapons.
PLEBEIANS. He shall, sure on't. BRUTUS. Go not home.
MENENIUS. Sir, sirSICINIUS. SICINIUS. Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there; Where, if you bring not
Peace! Marcius, we'll proceed
MENENIUS. Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt In our first way.
With modest warrant. MENENIUS. I'll bring him to you.
SICINIUS. Sir, how comes't that you [To the SENATORS] Let me desire your company; he must come, Or what is worst will follow.
Have holp to make this rescue? FIRST SENATOR. Pray you let's to him. Exeunt
MENENIUS. Hear me speak. SCENE II.
As I do know the consul's worthiness, Rome. The house of CORIOLANUS
So can I name his faults. Enter CORIOLANUS with NOBLES
SICINIUS. Consul! What consul? CORIOLANUS. Let them pull all about mine ears, present me Death on the wheel or at wild
MENENIUS. The consul Coriolanus. horses' heels;
BRUTUS. He consul! Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,
PLEBEIANS. No, no, no, no, no. That the precipitation might down stretch
MENENIUS. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I would Below the beam of sight; yet will I still
crave a word or two; Be thus to them.
The which shall turn you to no further harm FIRST PATRICIAN. You do the nobler.
Than so much loss of time. CORIOLANUS. I muse my mother
SICINIUS. Speak briefly, then, Does not approve me further, who was wont
For we are peremptory to dispatch To call them woollen vassals, things created
This viperous traitor; to eject him hence To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads
Were but one danger, and to keep him here In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder,
Our certain death; therefore it is decreed When one but of my ordinance stood up
He dies to-night. To speak of peace or war.
MENENIUS. Now the good gods forbid Enter VOLUMNIA
That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude I talk of you:
Towards her deserved children is enroll'd Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me
False to my nature? Rather say I play VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, My son,
The man I am. Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand;
VOLUMNIA. O, sir, sir, sir, And thus far having stretch'd it- here be with themThy
I would have had you put your power well on knee bussing the stones- for in such busines
Before you had worn it out. Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th' ignorant
CORIOLANUS. Let go. More learned than the ears- waving thy head,
VOLUMNIA. You might have been enough the man you are Which often thus correcting thy-stout heart,
With striving less to be so; lesser had been Now humble as the ripest mulberry
The thwartings of your dispositions, if That will not hold the handling. Or say to them
You had not show'd them how ye were dispos'd, Thou art their soldier and, being bred in broils,
Ere they lack'd power to cross you. Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess,
CORIOLANUS. Let them hang. Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim,
VOLUMNIA. Ay, and burn too. In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame
Enter MENENIUS with the SENATORS Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
MENENIUS. Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; You must return As thou hast power and person.
and MENENIUS. This but done
mend it. Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours;
FIRST SENATOR. There's no remedy, For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
Unless, by not so doing, our good cityCleave in the midst and perish. As words to little purpose.
VOLUMNIA. Pray be counsell'd; VOLUMNIA. Prithee now,
I have a heart as little apt as yours, Go, and be rul'd; although I know thou hadst rather
But yet a brain that leads my use of anger Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf
To better vantage. Than flatter him in a bower.Enter COMINIUS
MENENIUS. Well said, noble woman! Here is Cominius.
Before he should thus stoop to th' herd, but that COMINIUS. I have been i' th' market-place; and, sir, 'tis fit You make strong party, or
The violent fit o' th' time craves it as physic defend yourself
For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, By calmness or by absence; all's in anger.
Which I can scarcely bear. MENENIUS. Only fair speech.
CORIOLANUS. What must I do? COMINIUS. I think 'twill serve, if he
MENENIUS. Return to th' tribunes. Can thereto frame his spirit.
CORIOLANUS. Well, what then, what then? VOLUMNIA. He must and will.
MENENIUS. Repent what you have spoke. Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.
CORIOLANUS. For them! I cannot do it to the gods; CORIOLANUS. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? Must I With my base tongue give to
Must I then do't to them? my
VOLUMNIA. You are too absolute; noble heart
Though therein you can never be too noble A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't;
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say Yet, were there but this single plot to lose,
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it,
I' th' war do grow together; grant that, and tell me And throw't against the wind. To th' market-place!
In peace what each of them by th' other lose You have put me now to such a part which never
That they combine not there. I shall discharge to th' life.
CORIOLANUS. Tush, tush! COMINIUS. Come, come, we'll prompt you.
MENENIUS. A good demand. VOLUMNIA. I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said
VOLUMNIA. If it be honour in your wars to seem My praises made thee first a soldier, so,
The same you are not, which for your best ends To have my praise for this, perform a part
You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse Thou hast not done before.
That it shall hold companionship in peace CORIOLANUS. Well, I must do't.
With honour as in war; since that to both Away, my disposition, and possess me
It stands in like request? Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'd,
CORIOLANUS. Why force you this? Which quier'd with my drum, into a pipe
VOLUMNIA. Because that now it lies you on to speak Small as an eunuch or the virgin voice
To th' people, not by your own instruction, That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves
Nor by th' matter which your heart prompts you, Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up
But with such words that are but roted in The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue
Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees,
Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his
Now, this no more dishonours you at all That hath receiv'd an alms! I will not do't,
Than to take in a town with gentle words, Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth,
Which else would put you to your fortune and And by my body's action teach my mind
The hazard of much blood. A most inherent baseness.
I would dissemble with my nature where VOLUMNIA. At thy choice, then.
My fortunes and my friends at stake requir'd To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour
I should do so in honour. I am in this Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear
And you will rather show our general louts Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death
How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon 'em With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list.
For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me;
Of what that want might ruin. But owe thy pride thyself.
MENENIUS. Noble lady! CORIOLANUS. Pray be content.
Come, go with us, speak fair; you may salve so, Mother, I am going to the market-place;
Not what is dangerous present, but the los Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves,
Of what is past. Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd
Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going. Allow their officers, and are content
Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul, To suffer lawful censure for such faults
Or never trust to what my tongue can do As shall be prov'd upon you.
I' th' way of flattery further. CORIOLANUS. I am content.
VOLUMNIA. Do your will. Exit COMINIUS. Away! The tribunes do attend you. Arm yourself MENENIUS. Lo, citizens, he says he is content.
To answer mildly; for they are prepar'd The warlike service he has done, consider; think
With accusations, as I hear, more strong Upon the wounds his body bears, which show
Than are upon you yet. Like graves i' th' holy churchyard.
CORIOLANUS. The word is 'mildly.' Pray you let us go. CORIOLANUS. Scratches with briers,
Let them accuse me by invention; I Scars to move laughter only.
Will answer in mine honour. MENENIUS. Consider further,
MENENIUS. Ay, but mildly. That when he speaks not like a citizen,
CORIOLANUS. Well, mildly be it then- mildly. Exeunt You find him like a soldier; do not take
SCENE III. His rougher accents for malicious sounds,
Rome. The Forum But, as I say, such as become a soldier
Enter SICINIUS and BRUTUS Rather than envy you.
BRUTUS. In this point charge him home, that he affects COMINIUS. Well, well! No more.
Tyrannical power. If he evade us there, CORIOLANUS. What is the matter,
Enforce him with his envy to the people, That being pass'd for consul with full voice,
And that the spoil got on the Antiates I am so dishonour'd that the very hour
Was ne'er distributed. You take it off again?
Enter an AEDILEWhat, will he come? SICINIUS. Answer to us.
AEDILE. He's coming. CORIOLANUS. Say then; 'tis true, I ought so.SICINIUS. We charge you that you have contriv'd
BRUTUS. How accompanied? to take
AEDILE. With old Menenius, and those senators From Rome all season'd office, and to wind
That always favour'd him. Yourself into a power tyrannical;
SICINIUS. Have you a catalogue For which you are a traitor to the people.
Of all the voices that we have procur'd, CORIOLANUS. How- traitor?
Set down by th' poll? MENENIUS. Nay, temperately! Your promise.
AEDILE. I have; 'tis ready. CORIOLANUS. The fires i' th' lowest hell fold in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou
SICINIUS. Have you corrected them by tribes? injurious tribune!
AEDILE. I have. Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,
SICINIUS. Assemble presently the people hither; In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in
And when they hear me say 'It shall be so Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say
I' th' right and strength o' th' commons' be it either 'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them, As I do pray the gods.
If I say fine, cry 'Fine!'- if death, cry 'Death!' SICINIUS. Mark you this, people?
Insisting on the old prerogative PLEBEIANS. To th' rock, to th' rock, with him!
And power i' th' truth o' th' cause. SICINIUS. Peace!
AEDILE. I shall inform them. We need not put new matter to his charge.
BRUTUS. And when such time they have begun to cry, What you have seen him do and heard him speak,
Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd Beating your officers, cursing yourselves,
Enforce the present execution Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying
Of what we chance to sentence. Those whose great power must try him- even this,
AEDILE. Very well. So criminal and in such capital kind,
SICINIUS. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, Deserves th' extremest death.
When we shall hap to give't them. BRUTUS. But since he hath
BRUTUS. Go about it. Exit AEDILE Put him to choler straight. He hath been us'd Serv'd well for RomeCORIOLANUS.
Ever to conquer, and to have his worth What do you prate of service?
Of contradiction; being once chaf'd, he cannot BRUTUS. I talk of that that know it.
Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks CORIOLANUS. You!
What's in his heart, and that is there which looks MENENIUS. Is this the promise that you made your mother?
With us to break his neck. COMINIUS. Know, I pray youCORIOLANUS.
Enter CORIOLANUS, MENENIUS and COMINIUS, with others I'll know no further.
SICINIUS. Well, here he comes. Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,
MENENIUS. Calmly, I do beseech you. Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger
CORIOLANUS. Ay, as an ostler, that for th' poorest piece But with a grain a day, I would not buy
Will bear the knave by th' volume. Th' honour'd gods Their mercy at the price of one fair word,
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice Nor check my courage for what they can give,
Supplied with worthy men! plant love among's! To have't with saying 'Good morrow.'
Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, SICINIUS. For that he hasAs
And not our streets with war! much as in him lies- from time to time
FIRST SENATOR. Amen, amen! Envied against the people, seeking means
MENENIUS. A noble wish. To pluck away their power; as now at last
Re-enter the.AEDILE,with the plebeians Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence
SICINIUS. Draw near, ye people. Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers
AEDILE. List to your tribunes. Audience! peace, I say! That do distribute it- in the name o' th' people,
CORIOLANUS. First, hear me speak. And in the power of us the tribunes, we,
BOTH TRIBUNES. Well, say. Peace, ho! Ev'n from this instant, banish him our city,
CORIOLANUS. Shall I be charg'd no further than this present? Must all determine here? In peril of precipitation
SICINIUS. I do demand, From off the rock Tarpeian, never more
If you submit you to the people's voices, To enter our Rome gates. I' th' people's name,
I say it shall be so. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,
PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away! And occupations perish!
He's banish'd, and it shall be so. CORIOLANUS. What, what, what!
COMINIUS. Hear me, my masters and my common friendsSICINIUS. I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd. Nay, mother,
He's sentenc'd; no more hearing. Resume that spirit when you were wont to say,
COMINIUS. Let me speak. If you had been the wife of Hercules,
I have been consul, and can show for Rome Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,
My country's good with a respect more tender, Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother.
More holy and profound, than mine own life, I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,
My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase Thy tears are salter than a younger man's
And treasure of my loins. Then if I would And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime General,
Speak thatSICINIUS. I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld
We know your drift. Speak what? Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women
BRUTUS. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd, 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes,
As enemy to the people and his country. As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well
It shall be so. My hazards still have been your solace; and
PLEBEIANS. It shall be so, it shall be so. Believe't not lightly- though I go alone,
CORIOLANUS. YOU common cry of curs, whose breath I hate Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen
As reek o' th' rotten fens, whose loves I prize Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen- your son
As the dead carcasses of unburied men Will or exceed the common or be caught
That do corrupt my air- I banish you. With cautelous baits and practice.
And here remain with your uncertainty! VOLUMNIA. My first son,
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts; Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, With thee awhile; determine on some course
Fan you into despair! Have the power still More than a wild exposture to each chance
To banish your defenders, till at length That starts i' th' way before thee.
Your ignorance- which finds not till it feels, VIRGILIA. O the gods!
Making but reservation of yourselvesStill your own foes- deliver you COMINIUS. I'll follow thee a month, devise with the
As most abated captives to some nation Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us,
That won you without blows! Despising And we of thee; so, if the time thrust forth
For you the city, thus I turn my back; A cause for thy repeal, we shall not sendO'er the vast world to seek a single man,
There is a world elsewhere. And lose advantage, which doth ever cool
Exeunt CORIOLANUS, I' th' absence of the needer.
COMINIUS, MENENIUS, with the other PATRICIANS CORIOLANUS. Fare ye well;
AEDILE. The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Thou hast years upon thee, and thou art too full
[They all shout and throw up their caps] Of the wars' surfeits to go rove with one
PLEBEIANS. Our enemy is banish'd, he is gone! Hoo-oo! That's yet unbruis'd; bring me but out at gate.
SICINIUS. Go see him out at gates, and follow him, Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and
As he hath follow'd you, with all despite; My friends of noble touch; when I am forth,
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you come.
Attend us through the city. While I remain above the ground you shall
PLEBEIANS. Come, come, let's see him out at gates; come! Hear from me still, and never of me aught
The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. Exeunt But what is like me formerly.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM MENENIUS. That's worthily
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep.
BY PROJECT If I could shake off but one seven years
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. From these old arms and legs, by the good gods,
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE I'd with thee every foot.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR CORIOLANUS. Give me thy hand.
YOUR OR OTHERS Come. Exeunt
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED SCENE II.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Rome. A street near the gate
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS with the AEDILE
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> SICINIUS. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd,
ACT IV. SCENE I. whom we see have sided
Rome. Before a gate of the city In his behalf.
Enter CORIOLANUS, VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, MENENIUS, COMINIUS, BRUTUS. Now we have shown our power,
with the young NOBILITY of Rome Let us seem humbler after it is done
CORIOLANUS. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell. The beast With many heads butts me Than when it was a-doing.
away. Nay, mother, SICINIUS. Bid them home.
Where is your ancient courage? You were us'd Say their great enemy is gone, and they
To say extremities was the trier of spirits; Stand in their ancient strength.
That common chances common men could bear; BRUTUS. Dismiss them home. Exit AEDILE Here comes his mother.
That when the sea was calm all boats alike Enter VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, and MENENIUS
Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows, SICINIUS. Let's not meet her.
When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves BRUTUS. Why?
A noble cunning. You were us'd to load me SICINIUS. They say she's mad.
With precepts that would make invincible BRUTUS. They have ta'en note of us; keep on your way.
The heart that conn'd them. VOLUMNIA. O, Y'are well met; th' hoarded plague o' th' gods Requite your love!
VIRGILIA. O heavens! O heavens! MENENIUS. Peace, peace, be not so loud.
CORIOLANUS. Nay, I prithee, womanVOLUMNIA. VOLUMNIA. If that I could for weeping, you should hearNay,
and you shall hear some. [To BRUTUS] Will you be gone? VIRGILIA. [To SICINIUS] You shall VOLSCE. You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. ROMAN. The day serves well
stay too. I would I had the for them now. I have heard it said the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's
power fall'n out with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars,
To say so to my husband. his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country.
SICINIUS. Are you mankind? VOLSCE. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to encounter you; you
VOLUMNIA. Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this, fool: Was not a man my father? Hadst have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home.
thou foxship ROMAN. I shall between this and supper tell you most strange things from Rome, all
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, say you?
Than thou hast spoken words? VOLSCE. A most royal one: the centurions and their charges, distinctly billeted, already
SICINIUS. O blessed heavens! in th' entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning.
VOLUMNIA. Moe noble blows than ever thou wise words; ROMAN. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I think, that shall set
And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what- yet go! them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of your company.
Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son VOLSCE. You take my part from me, sir. I have the most cause to be glad of yours.
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, ROMAN. Well, let us go together.
His good sword in his hand. SCENE IV.
SICINIUS. What then? Antium. Before AUFIDIUS' house
VIRGILIA. What then! Enter CORIOLANUS, in mean apparel, disguis'd and muffled
He'd make an end of thy posterity. CORIOLANUS. A goodly city is this Antium. City,
VOLUMNIA. Bastards and all. 'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir
Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! Of these fair edifices fore my wars
MENENIUS. Come, come, peace. Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not.
SICINIUS. I would he had continued to his country Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones,
As he began, and not unknit himself In puny battle slay me.
The noble knot he made. Enter A CITIZEN
BRUTUS. I would he had. Save you, sir.
VOLUMNIA. 'I would he had!' 'Twas you incens'd the rabbleCats that can judge as fitly of CITIZEN. And you.
his worth CORIOLANUS. Direct me, if it be your will,Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium?
As I can of those mysteries which heaven CITIZEN. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state
Will not have earth to know. At his house this night.
BRUTUS. Pray, let's go. CORIOLANUS. Which is his house, beseech you?
VOLUMNIA. Now, pray, sir, get you gone;You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this: CITIZEN. This here before you.
As far as doth the Capitol exceed CORIOLANUS. Thank you, sir; farewell. Exit CITIZEN O world, thy slippery turns! Friends
The meanest house in Rome, so far my sonThis now fast sworn,
lady's husband here, this, do you see?- Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart,
Whom you have banish'd does exceed you an. Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise
BRUTUS. Well, well, we'll leave you. Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love,
SICINIUS. Why stay we to be baited Unseparable, shall within this hour,
With one that wants her wits? Exeunt TRIBUNES VOLUMNIA. Take my prayers with you. On a dissension of a doit, break out
I would the gods had nothing else to do To bitterest enmity; so fellest foes,
But to confirm my curses. Could I meet 'em Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep
But once a day, it would unclog my heart To take the one the other, by some chance,
Of what lies heavy to't. Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends
MENENIUS. You have told them home, And interjoin their issues. So with me:
And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me? My birthplace hate I, and my love's upon
VOLUMNIA. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, This enemy town. I'll enter. If he slay me,
And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go. He does fair justice: if he give me way,
Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, I'll do his country service.
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. SCENE V.
Exeunt VOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA Antium. AUFIDIUS' house
MENENIUS. Fie, fie, fie! Exit Music plays. Enter A SERVINGMAN
SCENE III. FIRST SERVANT. Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep.
A highway between Rome and Antium Exit
Enter a ROMAN and a VOLSCE, meeting Enter another SERVINGMAN
ROMAN. I know you well, sir, and you know me; your name, I think, is Adrian. SECOND SERVANT.Where's Cotus? My master calls for him.
VOLSCE. It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you. Cotus! Exit
ROMAN. I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against 'em. Know you me yet? Enter CORIOLANUS
VOLSCE. Nicanor? No! CORIOLANUS. A goodly house. The feast smells well, but I
ROMAN. The same, sir. Appear not like a guest.
VOLSCE. YOU had more beard when I last saw you, but your favour is well appear'd by your Re-enter the first SERVINGMAN
tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a note from the Volscian state, to find you out FIRST SERVANT. What would you have, friend?
there. You have well saved me a day's journey. Whence are you? Here's no place for you: pray go to the door. Exit
ROMAN. There hath been in Rome strange insurrections: the people against the senators, CORIOLANUS. I have deserv'd no better entertainment
patricians, and nobles. In being Coriolanus.
VOLSCE. Hath been! Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so; they are in a most warlike Re-enter second SERVINGMAN
preparation, and hope to come upon them in the heat of their division. SECOND SERVANT. Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his head that he gives
ROMAN. The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make it flame again; for the entrance to such companions? Pray get you out. CORIOLANUS. Away!
nobles receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy Coriolanus that they are in a SECOND SERVANT. Away? Get you away.
ripe aptness to take all power from the people, and to pluck from them their tribunes for CORIOLANUS. Now th' art troublesome.
ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking SECOND SERVANT. Are you so brave? I'll have you talk'd with anon.
out. Enter a third SERVINGMAN. The first meets him
VOLSCE. Coriolanus banish'd! THIRD SERVANT. What fellow's this?
ROMAN. Banish'd, sir. FIRST SERVANT. A strange one as ever I look'd on. I cannot get him out o' th' house.
Prithee call my master to him. Longer to live most weary, and present
THIRD SERVANT. What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you avoid the house. My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice;
CORIOLANUS. Let me but stand- I will not hurt your hearth. THIRD SERVANT. What are you? Which not to cut would show thee but a fool,
CORIOLANUS. A gentleman. Since I have ever followed thee with hate,
THIRD SERVANT. A marv'llous poor one. Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast,
CORIOLANUS. True, so I am. And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
THIRD SERVANT. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station; here's no place for It be to do thee service.
you. Pray you avoid. Come. CORIOLANUS. Follow your function, go and batten on cold bits. AUFIDIUS. O Marcius, Marcius!
[Pushes him away from him] THIRD SERVANT. What, you will not? Prithee tell my master Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart
what A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
a strange guest he has here. Should from yond cloud speak divine things,
SECOND SERVANT. And I shall. Exit THIRD SERVANT. Where dwell'st thou? And say ''Tis true,' I'd not believe them more
CORIOLANUS. Under the canopy. Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine
THIRD SERVANT. Under the canopy? Mine arms about that body, where against
CORIOLANUS. Ay. My grained ash an hundred times hath broke
THIRD SERVANT. Where's that? And scarr'd the moon with splinters; here I clip
CORIOLANUS. I' th' city of kites and crows. The anvil of my sword, and do contest
THIRD SERVANT. I' th' city of kites and crows! As hotly and as nobly with thy love
What an ass it is! Then thou dwell'st with daws too?CORIOLANUS. No, I serve not thy master. As ever in ambitious strength I did
THIRD SERVANT. How, sir! Do you meddle with my master? Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,
CORIOLANUS. Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress. Thou prat'st I lov'd the maid I married; never man
and prat'st; serve with thy trencher; hence! [Beats him away] Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here,
Enter AUFIDIUS with the second SERVINGMAN Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heartThan when I first my wedded mistress saw
AUFIDIUS. Where is this fellow? Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell the
SECOND SERVANT. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords We have a power on foot, and I had purpose
within. Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,
AUFIDIUS. Whence com'st thou? What wouldst thou? Thy name? Why speak'st not? Speak, Or lose mine arm for't. Thou hast beat me out
man. Twelve several times, and I have nightly since
What's thy name? Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and meWe
CORIOLANUS. [Unmuffling] If, Tullus, have been down together in my sleep,
Not yet thou know'st me, and, seeing me, dost not Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throatAnd
Think me for the man I am, necessity wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius,
Commands me name myself. Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that
AUFIDIUS. What is thy name? Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all
CORIOLANUS. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, From twelve to seventy, and, pouring war
And harsh in sound to thine. Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
AUFIDIUS. Say, what's thy name? Like a bold flood o'erbeat. O, come, go in,
Thou has a grim appearance, and thy face And take our friendly senators by th' hands,
Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn, Who now are here, taking their leaves of me
Thou show'st a noble vessel. What's thy name? Who am prepar'd against your territories,
CORIOLANUS. Prepare thy brow to frown- know'st thou me yet? AUFIDIUS. I know thee not. Though not for Rome itself.
Thy name? CORIOLANUS. You bless me, gods!
CORIOLANUS. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done AUFIDIUS. Therefore, most. absolute sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own
To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, revenges, take
Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may Th' one half of my commission, and set downAs
My surname, Coriolanus. The painful service, best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood Thy country's strength and weakness- thine own ways,
Shed for my thankless country, are requited Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,
But with that surname- a good memory Or rudely visit them in parts remote
And witness of the malice and displeasure To fright them ere destroy. But come in;
Which thou shouldst bear me. Only that name remains; Let me commend thee first to those that shall
The cruelty and envy of the people, Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes!
Permitted by our dastard nobles, who And more a friend than e'er an enemy;
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest, Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand; most welcome!
An suffer'd me by th' voice of slaves to be Exeunt CORIOLANUS and AUFIDIUS
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity The two SERVINGMEN come forward
Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope, FIRST SERVANT. Here's a strange alteration!
Mistake me not, to save my life; for if SECOND SERVANT. By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel; and yet
I had fear'd death, of all the men i' th' world my
I would have 'voided thee; but in mere spite, mind gave me his clothes made a false report of him.
To be full quit of those my banishers, FIRST SERVANT. What an arm he has! He turn'd me about with his finger and his thumb, as
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast one would set up a top.
A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge SECOND SERVANT. Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him; he had, sir, a
Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims kind of face, methought- I cannot tell how to term it.
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight FIRST SERVANT. He had so, looking as it were- Would I were hang'd, but I thought there
And make my misery serve thy turn. So use it was more in him than I could think. SECOND SERVANT. So did I, I'll be sworn. He is simply
That my revengeful services may prove the rarest man i' th' world.
As benefits to thee; for I will fight FIRST SERVANT. I think he is; but a greater soldier than he you wot on.
Against my cank'red country with the spleen SECOND SERVANT. Who, my master?
Of all the under fiends. But if so be FIRST SERVANT. Nay, it's no matter for that.
Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes SECOND SERVANT. Worth six on him.
Th'art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am FIRST SERVANT. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the greater soldier.
SECOND SERVANT. Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that; for the defence of a MENENIUS. All's well, and might have been much better
town our general is excellent. He could have temporiz'd.
FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and for an assault too. SICINIUS. Where is he, hear you?
Re-enter the third SERVINGMAN MENENIUS. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife
THIRD SERVANT. O slaves, I can tell you news- news, you rascals! BOTH. What, what, what? Hear nothing from him.
Let's partake. Enter three or four citizens
THIRD SERVANT. I would not be a Roman, of all nations; CITIZENS. The gods preserve you both!
I had as lief be a condemn'd man. SICINIUS. God-den, our neighbours.
BOTH. Wherefore? wherefore? BRUTUS. God-den to you all, god-den to you an.
THIRD SERVANT. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our generalCaius Marcius. FIRST CITIZEN. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees Are bound to pray for you
FIRST SERVANT. Why do you say 'thwack our general'? both.
THIRD SERVANT. I do not say 'thwack our general,' but he was always good enough for him. SICINIUS. Live and thrive!
SECOND SERVANT. Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too hard for him, I have BRUTUS. Farewell, kind neighbours; we wish'd Coriolanus
heard him say so himself. Had lov'd you as we did.
FIRST SERVANT. He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on't; before Corioli he CITIZENS. Now the gods keep you!
scotch'd him and notch'd him like a carbonado. BOTH TRIBUNES. Farewell, farewell. Exeunt citizens SICINIUS. This is a happier and more
SECOND SERVANT. An he had been cannibally given, he might have broil'd and eaten him comely time
too. Than when these fellows ran about the streets
FIRST SERVANT. But more of thy news! Crying confusion.
THIRD SERVANT. Why, he is so made on here within as if he were son and heir to Mars; set BRUTUS. Caius Marcius was
at upper end o' th' table; no question asked him by any of the senators but they stand A worthy officer i' the war, but insolent,
bald before him. Our general himself makes a mistress of him, sanctifies himself with's O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking,
hand, and turns up the white o' th' eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, Self-lovingSICINIUS.
our general is cut i' th' middle and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the other And affecting one sole throne,
has half by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and sowl theporter of Without assistance.
Rome gates by th' ears; he will mow all down before him, and leave his passage MENENIUS. I think not so.SICINIUS. We should by this, to all our lamentation,
poll'd. If he had gone forth consul, found it so.
SECOND SERVANT. And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine. THIRD SERVANT. BRUTUS. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome
Do't! Sits safe and still without him.
He will do't; for look you, sir, he has as many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, Enter an AEDILE
as it were, durst not- look you, sir- show themselves, as we term it, his friends, whilst AEDILE. Worthy tribunes,
he's in directitude. There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,
FIRST SERVANT. Directitude? What's that? Reports the Volsces with several powers
THIRD SERVANT. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again and the man in blood, Are ent'red in the Roman territories,
they will out of their burrows, like conies after rain, and revel an with him. And with the deepest malice of the war
FIRST SERVANT. But when goes this forward? Destroy what lies before 'em.
THIRD SERVANT. To-morrow, to-day, presently. You shall have the drum struck up this MENENIUS. 'Tis Aufidius,
afternoon; 'tis as it were parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment,
lips. Thrusts forth his horns again into the world,
SECOND SERVANT. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing but Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome,
to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. And durst not once peep out.
FIRST SERVANT. Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's SICINIUS. Come, what talk you of Marcius?
spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mull'd, BRUTUS. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be
deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of The Volsces dare break with us.
men. MENENIUS. Cannot be!
SECOND SERVANT. 'Tis so; and as war in some sort may be said to be a ravisher, so it We have record that very well it can;
cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. And three examples of the like hath been
FIRST SERVANT. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. Within my age. But reason with the fellow
THIRD SERVANT. Reason: because they then less need one another. The wars for my Before you punish him, where he heard this,
money. I Lest you shall chance to whip your information
hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising. And beat the messenger who bids beware
BOTH. In, in, in, in! Exeunt Of what is to be dreaded.
SCENE VI. SICINIUS. Tell not me.
Rome. A public place I know this cannot be.
Enter the two Tribunes, SICINIUS and BRUTUS BRUTUS. Not Possible.
SICINIUS. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him. Enter A MESSENGER
His remedies are tame. The present peace MESSENGER. The nobles in great earnestness are going
And quietness of the people, which before All to the Senate House; some news is come
Were in wild hurry, here do make his friends That turns their countenances.
Blush that the world goes well; who rather had, SICINIUS. 'Tis this slaveGo
Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold whip him fore the people's eyes- his raising,
Dissentious numbers pest'ring streets than see Nothing but his report.
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going MESSENGER. Yes, worthy sir,
About their functions friendly. The slave's report is seconded, and more,
Enter MENENIUS More fearful, is deliver'd.
BRUTUS. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius? SICINIUS. What more fearful?
SICINIUS. 'Tis he, 'tis he. O, he is grown most kind MESSENGER. It is spoke freely out of many mouthsHow
Of late. Hail, sir! probable I do not know- that Marcius,
MENENIUS. Hail to you both! Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome,
SICINIUS. Your Coriolanus is not much miss'd And vows revenge as spacious as between
But with his friends. The commonwealth doth stand, The young'st and oldest thing.
And so would do, were he more angry at it. SICINIUS. This is most likely!
BRUTUS. Rais'd only that the weaker sort may wish
Good Marcius home again.
SICINIUS. The very trick on 't.
MENENIUS. This is unlikely.
He and Aufidius can no more atone
Than violent'st contrariety.
Enter a second MESSENGER
SECOND MESSENGER. You are sent for to the Senate.
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius
Associated with Aufidius, rages
Upon our territories, and have already
O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire and took
What lay before them.
Enter COMINIUS
COMINIUS. O, you have made good work!
MENENIUS. What news? what news?
COMINIUS. You have holp to ravish your own daughters and
To melt the city leads upon your pates,
To see your wives dishonour'd to your nosesMENENIUS.
What's the news? What's the news?
COMINIUS. Your temples burned in their cement, and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd
Into an auger's bore.MENENIUS. Pray now, your news?
You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news.
If Marcius should be join'd wi' th' VolsciansCOMINIUS.
If!
He is their god; he leads them like a thing
Made by some other deity than Nature,
That shapes man better; and they follow him
Against us brats with no less confidence
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,
Or butchers killing flies.
MENENIUS. You have made good work,
You and your apron men; you that stood so much
Upon the voice of occupation and
The breath of garlic-eaters!
COMINIUS. He'll shake
Your Rome about your ears.
MENENIUS. As Hercules
Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work!
BRUTUS. But is this true, sir?
COMINIUS. Ay; and you'll look pale
Before you find it other. All the regions
Do smilingly revolt, and who resists
Are mock'd for valiant ignorance,
And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him?
Your enemies and his find something in him.
MENENIUS. We are all undone unless
The noble man have mercy.
COMINIUS. Who shall ask it?
The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people
Deserve such pity of him as the wolf
Does of the shepherds; for his best friends, if they
Should say 'Be good to Rome'- they charg'd him even
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate,
And therein show'd fike enemies.
MENENIUS. 'Tis true;
If he were putting to my house the brand
That should consume it, I have not the face
To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair hands,
You and your crafts! You have crafted fair!
COMINIUS. You have brought
A trembling upon Rome, such as was never
S' incapable of help.
BOTH TRIBUNES. Say not we brought it.
MENENIUS. How! Was't we? We lov'd him, but, like beasts
And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters,
Who did hoot him out o' th' city.
COMINIUS. But I fear
They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius,
The second name of men, obeys his points
As if he were his officer. Desperation
Is all the policy, strength, and defence,
That Rome can make against them.
Enter a troop of citizens
MENENIUS. Here comes the clusters.
And is Aufidius with him? You are they
That made the air unwholesome when you cast
Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at
Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming,
And not a hair upon a soldier's head
Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcombs
As you threw caps up will he tumble down,
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter;
If he could burn us all into one coal
We have deserv'd it.
PLEBEIANS. Faith, we hear fearful news.
FIRST CITIZEN. For mine own part,
When I said banish him, I said 'twas pity.
SECOND CITIZEN. And so did I.
THIRD CITIZEN. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very many of us. That we did,
we did for the best; and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was
against our will.
COMINIUS. Y'are goodly things, you voices!
MENENIUS. You have made
Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol?
COMINIUS. O, ay, what else?Exeunt COMINIUS and MENENIUS SICINIUS. Go, masters, get
you be not dismay'd;
These are a side that would be glad to have
This true which they so seem to fear. Go home,
And show no sign of fear.
FIRST CITIZEN. The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i'
th' wrong when we banish'd him.
SECOND CITIZEN. So did we all. But come, let's home.
Exeunt citizens BRUTUS. I do not like this news.
SICINIUS. Nor I.
BRUTUS. Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth
Would buy this for a lie!
SICINIUS. Pray let's go. Exeunt
SCENE VII.
A camp at a short distance from Rome
Enter AUFIDIUS with his LIEUTENANT
AUFIDIUS. Do they still fly to th' Roman?
LIEUTENANT. I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but
Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat,
Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;
And you are dark'ned in this action, sir,
Even by your own.
AUFIDIUS. I cannot help it now,
Unless by using means I lame the foot
Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,
Even to my person, than I thought he would
When first I did embrace him; yet his nature
In that's no changeling, and I must excuse
What cannot be amended.
LIEUTENANT. Yet I wish, sirI
mean, for your particular- you had not
Join'd in commission with him, but either
Had borne the action of yourself, or else
To him had left it solely.
AUFIDIUS. I understand thee well; and be thou sure,
When he shall come to his account, he knows not
What I can urge against him. Although it seems,
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent
To th' vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,
Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon
As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone
That which shall break his neck or hazard mine
Whene'er we come to our account.
LIEUTENANT. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS. All places yield to
him ere he sits down,
And the nobility of Rome are his;
The senators and patricians love him too.
The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people MENENIUS. For one poor grain or two!
Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child,
To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome And this brave fellow too- we are the grains:
As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt
By sovereignty of nature. First he was Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.
A noble servant to them, but he could not SICINIUS. Nay, pray be patient; if you refuse your aid
Carry his honours even. Whether 'twas pride, In this so never-needed help, yet do not
Which out of daily fortune ever taints Upbraid's with our distress. But sure, if you
The happy man; whether defect of judgment, Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue,
To fail in the disposing of those chances More than the instant army we can make,
Which he was lord of; or whether nature, Might stop our countryman.
Not to be other than one thing, not moving MENENIUS. No; I'll not meddle.
From th' casque to th' cushion, but commanding peace SICINIUS. Pray you go to him.
Even with the same austerity and garb MENENIUS. What should I do?
As he controll'd the war; but one of theseAs BRUTUS. Only make trial what your love can do
he hath spices of them all- not all, For Rome, towards Marcius.
For I dare so far free him- made him fear'd, MENENIUS. Well, and say that Marcius
So hated, and so banish'd. But he has a merit Return me, as Cominius is return'd,
To choke it in the utt'rance. So our virtues Unheard- what then?
Lie in th' interpretation of the time; But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
And power, unto itself most commendable, With his unkindness? Say't be so?
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair SICINIUS. Yet your good will
T' extol what it hath done. Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure
One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; As you intended well.
Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail. Come, let's away. When, Caius, MENENIUS. I'll undertake't;
Rome is thine, I think he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip
Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine.Exeunt And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM He was not taken well: he had not din'd;
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then
BY PROJECT We pout upon the morning, are unapt
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE These pipes and these conveyances of our bloodWith wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR Than in our priest-like fasts. Therefore I'll watch him Till he be dieted to my request,
YOUR OR OTHERS And then I'll set upon him.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED BRUTUS. You know the very road into his kindness
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY And cannot lose your way.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR MENENIUS. Good faith, I'll prove him,
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge
ACT V. SCENE I. Of my success. Exit COMINIUS. He'll never hear him.
Rome. A public place SICINIUS. Not?
Enter MENENIUS, COMINIUS, SICINIUS and BRUTUS, the two Tribunes, with others COMINIUS. I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye
MENENIUS. No, I'll not go. You hear what he hath said Red as 'twould burn Rome, and his injury
Which was sometime his general, who lov'd him The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him;
In a most dear particular. He call'd me father; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise'; dismiss'd me
But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him: Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do,
A mile before his tent fall down, and knee He sent in writing after me; what he would not,
The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy'd Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions;
To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. So that all hope is vain,
COMINIUS. He would not seem to know me. Unless his noble mother and his wife,
MENENIUS. Do you hear? Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him
COMINIUS. Yet one time he did call me by my name. For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence,
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops And with our fair entreaties haste them on. Exeunt
That we have bled together. 'Coriolanus' SCENE II.
He would not answer to; forbid all names; The Volscian camp before Rome
He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Enter MENENIUS to the WATCH on guard
Till he had forg'd himself a name i' th' fire FIRST WATCH. Stay. Whence are you?
Of burning Rome. SECOND WATCH. Stand, and go back.
MENENIUS. Why, so! You have made good work. MENENIUS. You guard like men, 'tis well; but, by your leave, I am an officer of state and
A pair of tribunes that have wrack'd for Rome come
To make coals cheap- a noble memory! To speak with Coriolanus.
COMINIUS. I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon FIRST WATCH. From whence?
When it was less expected; he replied, MENENIUS. From Rome.
It was a bare petition of a state FIRST WATCH. YOU may not pass; you must return. Our general Will no more hear from
To one whom they had punish'd. thence.
MENENIUS. Very well. SECOND WATCH. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire before You'll speak with
Could he say less? Coriolanus.
COMINIUS. I offer'd to awaken his regard MENENIUS. Good my friends,
For's private friends; his answer to me was, If you have heard your general talk of Rome
He could not stay to pick them in a pile And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks
Of noisome musty chaff. He said 'twas folly, My name hath touch'd your ears: it is Menenius.
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt FIRST WATCH. Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name
And still to nose th' offence. Is not here passable.
MENENIUS. I tell thee, fellow, noble fellow, I warrant him.
Thy general is my lover. I have been SECOND WATCH. The worthy fellow is our general; he's the rock, the oak not to be
The book of his good acts whence men have read wind-shaken. Exeunt
His fame unparallel'd haply amplified; SCENE III.
For I have ever verified my friendsOf The tent of CORIOLANUS
whom he's chief- with all the size that verity Enter CORIOLANUS, AUFIDIUS, and others
Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes, CORIOLANUS. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow
Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, Set down our host. My partner in this action,
I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise You must report to th' Volscian lords how plainly
Have almost stamp'd the leasing; therefore, fellow, I have borne this business.
I must have leave to pass. AUFIDIUS. Only their ends
FIRST WATCH. Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered You have respected; stopp'd your ears against
words in your own, you should not pass here; no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to The general suit of Rome; never admitted
live chastely. Therefore go back. A private whisper- no, not with such friends
MENENIUS. Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party That thought them sure of you.
of your general. CORIOLANUS. This last old man,
SECOND WATCH. Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that, Whom with crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
telling true under him, must say you cannot pass. Therefore go back. Lov'd me above the measure of a father;
MENENIUS. Has he din'd, canst thou tell? For I would not speak with him till after Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge
dinner. Was to send him; for whose old love I haveThough
FIRST WATCH. You are a Roman, are you? I show'd sourly to him- once more offer'd
MENENIUS. I am as thy general is. The first conditions, which they did refuse
FIRST WATCH. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have push'd out And cannot now accept. To grace him only,
your gates the very defender of them, and in a violent popular ignorance given your enemy That thought he could do more, a very little
your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal I have yielded to; fresh embassies and suits,
palms of your daughters, or with the palsied Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter
intercession of such a decay'd dotant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the Will I lend ear to. [Shout within] Ha! what shout is this? Shall I be tempted to infringe
intended fire your city is ready to flame in with such weak breath as this? No, you are my vow
deceiv'd; therefore back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You are condemn'd; our In the same time 'tis made? I will not.
general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, VALERIA,
MENENIUS. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation. YOUNG MARCIUS, with attendantsMy wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould
FIRST WATCH. Come, my captain knows you not. Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
MENENIUS. I mean thy general. The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection!
FIRST WATCH. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; go, lest I let forth your halfpint of All bond and privilege of nature, break!
blood. Back- that's the utmost of your having. Back. Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.
MENENIUS. Nay, but fellow, fellow- What is that curtsy worth? or those doves' eyes,
Enter CORIOLANUS with AUFIDIUS Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not
CORIOLANUS. What's the matter? Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows,
MENENIUS. Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you; you shall know now that I am in As if Olympus to a molehill should
estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant cannot office me from my son In supplication nod; and my young boy
Coriolanus. Guess but by my entertainment with him if thou stand'st not i' th' state of Hath an aspect of intercession which
hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship and crueller in suffering; behold Great nature cries 'Deny not.' Let the Volsces
now presently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I'll never
synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand
Menenius does! O my son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here's water As if a man were author of himself
to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured none but myself could And knew no other kin.
move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs, and conjure thee to pardon VIRGILIA. My lord and husband!
Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs CORIOLANUS. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.
of it upon this varlet here; this, who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee. VIRGILIA. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd
CORIOLANUS. Away! Makes you think so.
MENENIUS. How! away! CORIOLANUS. Like a dull actor now
CORIOLANUS. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs I have forgot my part and I am out,
Are servanted to others. Though I owe Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
My revenge properly, my remission lies Forgive my tyranny; but do not say,
In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, For that, 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!
Than pity note how much. Therefore be gone. Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee, Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate,
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake [Gives a letter] And would have sent it. Another And the most noble mother of the world
word, Menenius, Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' th' earth; [Kneels] Of thy deep duty more impression
I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius, show
Was my belov'd in Rome; yet thou behold'st. Than that of common sons.
AUFIDIUS. You keep a constant temper. VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest!
Exeunt CORIOLANUS and Aufidius FIRST WATCH. Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint
SECOND WATCH. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power! You know the way home again. I kneel before thee, and unproperly
FIRST WATCH. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Show duty, as mistaken all this while
SECOND WATCH. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? Between the child and parent. [Kneels] CORIOLANUS. What's this?
MENENIUS. I neither care for th' world nor your general; for such things as you, I can Your knees to me, to your corrected son?
scarce think there's any, y'are so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself fears it Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach
not from another. Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds
misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to: Away! Exit FIRST WATCH. A Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun,
Murd'ring impossibility, to make Living to time.
What cannot be slight work. BOY. 'A shall not tread on me!
VOLUMNIA. Thou art my warrior; I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.
I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? CORIOLANUS. Not of a woman's tenderness to be
CORIOLANUS. The noble sister of Publicola, Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle I have sat too long. [Rising] VOLUMNIA. Nay, go not from us thus.
That's curdied by the frost from purest snow, If it were so that our request did tend
And hangs on Dian's temple- dear Valeria! To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
VOLUMNIA. This is a poor epitome of yours, The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us
Which by th' interpretation of full time As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit
May show like all yourself. Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces
CORIOLANUS. The god of soldiers, May say 'This mercy we have show'd,' the Romans
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 'This we receiv'd,' and each in either side
Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son,
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, The end of war's uncertain; but this certain,
And saving those that eye thee! That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
VOLUMNIA. Your knee, sirrah. Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name
CORIOLANUS. That's my brave boy. Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses;
VOLUMNIA. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,
Are suitors to you. But with his last attempt he wip'd it out,
CORIOLANUS. I beseech you, peace! Destroy'd his country, and his name remains
Or, if you'd ask, remember this before: To th' ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son.
The thing I have forsworn to grant may never Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me To imitate the graces of the gods,
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,
Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?
T'allay my rages and revenges with Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Your colder reasons. Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you:
VOLUMNIA. O, no more, no more! He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy;
You have said you will not grant us any thingFor Perhaps thy childishness will move him more
we have nothing else to ask but that Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world
Which you deny already; yet we will ask, More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate
That, if you fail in our request, the blame Like one i' th' stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.CORIOLANUS. Aufidius, and you Volsces, Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy,
mark; for we'll When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,
Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request? Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home
VOLUMNIA. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust,
And state of bodies would bewray what life And spurn me back; but if it he not so,
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee,
How more unfortunate than all living women That thou restrain'st from me the duty whichTo a mother's part belongs. He turns away.
Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, Constrains them weep and shake To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride
with fear and sorrow, Than pity to our prayers. Down. An end;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see This is the last. So we will home to Rome,
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold's!
His country's bowels out. And to poor we This boy, that cannot tell what he would have
Thine enmity's most capital: thou bar'st us But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship,
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort Does reason our petition with more strength
That all but we enjoy. For how can we, Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go.
Alas, how can we for our country pray, This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;
Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch.
The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, I am hush'd until our city be afire,
Our comfort in the country. We must find And then I'll speak a little.
An evident calamity, though we had [He holds her by the hand, silent] CORIOLANUS. O mother, mother!
Our wish, which side should win; for either thou What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,
Must as a foreign recreant be led The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
With manacles through our streets, or else They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!
Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, You have won a happy victory to Rome;
And bear the palm for having bravely shed But for your son- believe it, O, believe it!-
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd,
I purpose not to wait on fortune till If not most mortal to him. But let it come.
These wars determine; if I can not persuade thee Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner Were you in my stead, would you have heard
March to assault thy country than to treadTrust A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius?
to't, thou shalt not- on thy mother's womb AUFIDIUS. I was mov'd withal.
That brought thee to this world. CORIOLANUS. I dare be sworn you were!
VIRGILIA. Ay, and mine, And, sir, it is no little thing to make
That brought you forth this boy to keep your name Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,
What peace you'fl make, advise me. For my part, Great cause to give great thanks.
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you SICINIUS. They are near the city?
Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife! MESSENGER. Almost at point to enter.
AUFIDIUS. [Aside] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy SICINIUS. We'll meet them,
honour And help the joy. Exeunt
At difference in thee. Out of that I'll work SCENE V.
Myself a former fortune. Rome. A street near the gate
CORIOLANUS. [To the ladies] Ay, by and by; Enter two SENATORS With VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA, VALERIA, passing over the stage, 'With
But we will drink together; and you shall bear other
A better witness back than words, which we, LORDS
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. FIRST SENATOR. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome!
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,
To have a temple built you. All the swords And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them.
In Italy, and her confederate arms, Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius,
Could not have made this peace. Exeunt Repeal him with the welcome of his mother;
SCENE IV. ALL. Welcome, ladies, welcome!
Rome. A public place [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt]
Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS SCENE VI.
MENENIUS. See you yond coign o' th' Capitol, yond cornerstone? SICINIUS. Why, what of Corioli. A public place
that? Enter TULLUS AUFIDIUS with attendents
MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some AUFIDIUS. Go tell the lords o' th' city I am here;
hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is Deliver them this paper' having read it,
no hope in't; our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution. Bid them repair to th' market-place, where I,
SICINIUS. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man? Even in theirs and in the commons' ears,
MENENIUS. There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse
grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon; he has wings, he's more than a creeping The city ports by this hath enter'd and
thing. Intends t' appear before the people, hoping
SICINIUS. He lov'd his mother dearly. To purge himself with words. Dispatch.
MENENIUS. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old Exeunt attendants
horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes; when he walks, he moves like an engine Enter three or four CONSPIRATORS of AUFIDIUS' faction
and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye, Most welcome!
talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state as a thing made for FIRST CONSPIRATOR. How is it with our general?
Alexander. What he bids be done is finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god AUFIDIUS. Even soAs with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
but eternity, and a heaven to throne in. And with his charity slain.
SICINIUS. Yes- mercy, if you report him truly. SECOND CONSPIRATOR. Most noble sir,
MENENIUS. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him. If you do hold the same intent wherein
There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
city find. And all this is 'long of you. Of your great danger.
SICINIUS. The gods be good unto us! AUFIDIUS. Sir, I cannot tell;
MENENIUS. No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banish'd him we We must proceed as we do find the people.
respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.Enter a THIRD CONSPIRATOR. The people will remain uncertain whilst 'Twixt you there's difference;
MESSENGER but the fall of either
MESSENGER. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house. The plebeians have got your Makes the survivor heir of all.
fellow tribune AUFIDIUS. I know it;
And hale him up and down; all swearing if And my pretext to strike at him admits
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
They'll give him death by inches. Mine honour for his truth; who being so heighten'd,
Enter another MESSENGER He watered his new plants with dews of flattery,
SICINIUS. What's the news? Seducing so my friends; and to this end
SECOND MESSENGER. Good news, good news! The ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are He bow'd his nature, never known before
dislodg'd, and Marcius gone. But to be rough, unswayable, and free.
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Sir, his stoutness
No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins. When he did stand for consul, which he lost
SICINIUS. Friend, By lack of stoopingAUFIDIUS.
Art thou certain this is true? Is't most certain? That I would have spoken of.
SECOND MESSENGER. As certain as I know the sun is fire. Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth,
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Presented to my knife his throat. I took him;
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way
As the recomforted through th' gates. Why, hark you! In all his own desires; nay, let him choose
[Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together] The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,
fifes, My best and freshest men; serv'd his designments
Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, In mine own person; holp to reap the fame
Make the sun dance. Hark you! [A shout within] MENENIUS. This is good news. Which he did end all his, and took some pride
I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia To do myself this wrong. Till, at the last,
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, I seem'd his follower, not partner; and
A city full; of tribunes such as you, He wag'd me with his countenance as if
A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day: I had been mercenary.
This morning for ten thousand of your throats FIRST CONSPIRATOR. So he did, my lord.
I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! The army marvell'd at it; and, in the last,
[Sound still with the shouts] SICINIUS. First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd
Accept my thankfulness. For no less spoil than gloryAUFIDIUS.
SECOND MESSENGER. Sir, we have all There was it;
For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. AUFIDIUS. -no more.
At a few drops of women's rheum, which are CORIOLANUS. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Too great for what contains it. 'Boy'! O slave!
Of our great action; therefore shall he die, Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever
And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,
[Drums and Must give this cur the lie; and his own notionWho
trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people] wears my stripes impress'd upon him, that
FIRST CONSPIRATOR. Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home; Must bear my beating to his grave- shall join
but he returns To thrust the lie unto him.
Splitting the air with noise. FIRST LORD. Peace, both, and hear me speak.
SECOND CONSPIRATOR. And patient fools, CORIOLANUS. Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear Stain all your edges on me. 'Boy'! False hound!
With giving him glory. If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there
THIRD CONSPIRATOR. Therefore, at your vantage, That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
Ere he express himself or move the people Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli.
With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Alone I did it. 'Boy'!
Which we will second. When he lies along, AUFIDIUS. Why, noble lords,
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,
His reasons with his body. Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
AUFIDIUS. Say no more: Fore your own eyes and ears?
Here come the lords. CONSPIRATORS. Let him die for't.
Enter the LORDS of the city ALL THE PEOPLE. Tear him to pieces. Do it presently. He kill'd my son. My daughter. He
LORDS. You are most welcome home. kill'd my cousin Marcus. He kill'd my father.
AUFIDIUS. I have not deserv'd it. SECOND LORD. Peace, ho! No outrage- peace!
But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused The man is noble, and his fame folds in
What I have written to you? This orb o' th' earth. His last offences to us
LORDS. We have. Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,
FIRST LORD. And grieve to hear't. And trouble not the peace.
What faults he made before the last, I think CORIOLANUS. O that I had him,
Might have found easy fines; but there to end With six Aufidiuses, or more- his tribe,
Where he was to begin, and give away To use my lawful sword!
The benefit of our levies, answering us AUFIDIUS. Insolent villain!
With our own charge, making a treaty whereThere was a yielding- this admits no excuse. CONSPIRATORS. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!
AUFIDIUS. He approaches; you shall hear him. [The CONSPIRATORS draw and kill CORIOLANUS,who falls.AUFIDIUS stands on him]
Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; LORDS. Hold, hold, hold, hold!
the commoners being with him AUFIDIUS. My noble masters, hear me speak.
CORIOLANUS. Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier; FIRST LORD. O Tullus!
No more infected with my country's love SECOND LORD. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. THIRD LORD. Tread not
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting upon
Under your great command. You are to know him. Masters all, be quiet;
That prosperously I have attempted, and Put up your swords.
With bloody passage led your wars even to AUFIDIUS. My lords, when you shall know- as in this rage, Provok'd by him, you cannot-
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home the great danger
Doth more than counterpoise a full third part Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
The charges of the action. We have made peace That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
With no less honour to the Antiates To call me to your Senate, I'll deliver
Than shame to th' Romans; and we here deliver, Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Subscrib'd by th' consuls and patricians, Your heaviest censure.
Together with the seal o' th' Senate, what FIRST LORD. Bear from hence his body,
We have compounded on. And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded
AUFIDIUS. Read it not, noble lords; As the most noble corse that ever herald
But tell the traitor in the highest degree Did follow to his um.
He hath abus'd your powers. SECOND LORD. His own impatience
CORIOLANUS. Traitor! How now? Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
AUFIDIUS. Ay, traitor, Marcius. Let's make the best of it.
CORIOLANUS. Marcius! AUFIDIUS. My rage is gone,
AUFIDIUS. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius! Dost thou think And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up.
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.
Coriolanus, in Corioli? Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully;
You lords and heads o' th' state, perfidiously Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
He has betray'd your business and given up, Hath widowed and unchilded many a one,
For certain drops of salt, your city RomeI Which to this hour bewail the injury,
say your city- to his wife and mother; Yet he shall have a noble memory.
Breaking his oath and resolution like Assist. Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS
A twist of rotten silk; never admitting [A dead march sounded]
Counsel o' th' war; but at his nurse's tears THE END
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
Look'd wond'ring each at others. BY PROJECT
CORIOLANUS. Hear'st thou, Mars? GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
AUFIDIUS. Name not the god, thou boy of tearsCORIOLANUS. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
Ha!
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR For one his like, there would be something failing
YOUR OR OTHERS In him that should compare. I do not think
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED So fair an outward and such stuff within
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Endows a man but he.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR SECOND GENTLEMAN. You speak him far.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> FIRST GENTLEMAN. I do extend him, sir, within himself;
1609 Crush him together rather than unfold
CYMBELINE His measure duly.
by William Shakespeare SECOND GENTLEMAN. What's his name and birth?
Dramatis Personae FIRST GENTLEMAN. I cannot delve him to the root; his father Was call'd Sicilius, who did
CYMBELINE, King of Britain join his honour
CLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
BELARIUS, a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan He serv'd with glory and admir'd success,
GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
names of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius PHILARIO, Italian, friend to And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Posthumus Two other sons, who, in the wars o' th' time,
IACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario Died with their swords in hand; for which their father, Then old and fond of issue, took
A FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario such sorrow
CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman Forces That he quit being; and his gentle lady,
A ROMAN CAPTAIN Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
TWO BRITISH CAPTAINS As he was born. The King he takes the babe
PISANIO, servant to Posthumus To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
CORNELIUS, a physician Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
TWO LORDS of Cymbeline's court Puts to him all the learnings that his time
TWO GENTLEMEN of the same Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
TWO GAOLERS As we do air, fast as 'twas minist'red,
QUEEN, wife to Cymbeline And in's spring became a harvest, liv'd in courtWhich
IMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen rare it is to do- most prais'd, most lov'd,
HELEN, a lady attending on Imogen A sample to the youngest; to th' more mature
APPARITIONSLords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Soothsayer, a A glass that feated them; and to the graver
Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, A child that guided dotards. To his mistress,
Messengers, and Attendants For whom he now is banish'd- her own price
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED By her election may be truly read
BY PROJECT What kind of man he is.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I honour himEven out of your report. But pray you tell me,
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Is she sole child to th' King?
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR FIRST GENTLEMAN. His only child.
YOUR OR OTHERS He had two sons- if this be worth your hearing,
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Mark it- the eldest of them at three years old,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY I' th' swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Were stol'n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Which way they went.
SCENE: SECOND GENTLEMAN. How long is this ago?
Britain; Italy FIRST GENTLEMAN. Some twenty years.
ACT I. SCENE I. SECOND GENTLEMAN. That a king's children should be so convey'd, So slackly guarded, and
Britain. The garden of CYMBELINE'S palace the search so slow
FIRST GENTLEMAN. You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods No more obey the That could not trace them!
heavens FIRST GENTLEMAN. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
than our courtiers Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Still seem as does the King's. Yet is it true, sir.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what's the matter? SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do well believe you.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom He purpos'd to his wife's FIRST GENTLEMAN. We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, The Queen, and Princess.
sole son- a widow Exeunt
That late he married- hath referr'd herself Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded; QUEEN. No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter,
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd. All After the slander of most stepmothers,
Is outward sorrow, though I think the King Evil-ey'd unto you. You're my prisoner, but
Be touch'd at very heart. Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
SECOND GENTLEMAN. None but the King? That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen, That most desir'd the match. So soon as I can win th' offended King,
But not a courtier, I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet
Although they wear their faces to the bent The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
Glad at the thing they scowl at. Your wisdom may inform you.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. And why so? POSTHUMUS. Please your Highness,
FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath miss'd the Princess is a thing Too bad for bad report; and I will from hence to-day.
he that hath herI QUEEN. You know the peril.
mean that married her, alack, good man! I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
And therefore banish'd- is a creature such The pangs of barr'd affections, though the King
As, to seek through the regions of the earth Hath charg'd you should not speak together. Exit IMOGEN. O dissembling courtesy! How fine
this tyrant IMOGEN. Sir,
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus.
I something fear my father's wrath, but nothingAlways You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
reserv'd my holy duty- what A man worth any woman; overbuys me
His rage can do on me. You must be gone; Almost the sum he pays.
And I shall here abide the hourly shot CYMBELINE. What, art thou mad?
Of angry eyes, not comforted to live IMOGEN. Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were
But that there is this jewel in the world A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
That I may see again. Our neighbour shepherd's son!
POSTHUMUS. My queen! my mistress! Re-enter QUEEN
O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause CYMBELINE. Thou foolish thing!
To be suspected of more tenderness [To the QUEEN] They were again together. You have done
Than doth become a man. I will remain Not after our command. Away with her,
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth; And pen her up.
My residence in Rome at one Philario's, QUEEN. Beseech your patience.- Peace,
Who to my father was a friend, to me Dear lady daughter, peace!- Sweet sovereign,
Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, Out of your best advice.
Though ink be made of gall. CYMBELINE. Nay, let her languish
Re-enter QUEEN A drop of blood a day and, being aged,
QUEEN. Be brief, I pray you. Die of this folly. Exit, with LORDS
If the King come, I shall incur I know not Enter PISANIO
How much of his displeasure. [Aside] Yet I'll move him QUEEN. Fie! you must give way.
To walk this way. I never do him wrong Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; PISANIO. My lord your son drew on my master.
Pays dear for my offences. Exit POSTHUMUS. Should we be taking leave QUEEN. Ha!
As long a term as yet we have to live, No harm, I trust, is done?
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu! PISANIO. There might have been,
IMOGEN. Nay, stay a little. But that my master rather play'd than fought,
Were you but riding forth to air yourself, And had no help of anger; they were parted
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love: By gentlemen at hand.
This diamond was my mother's; take it, heart; QUEEN. I am very glad on't.
But keep it till you woo another wife, IMOGEN. Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part
When Imogen is dead. To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
POSTHUMUS. How, how? Another? I would they were in Afric both together;
You gentle gods, give me but this I have, Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
And sear up my embracements from a next The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here[Puts on the ring] While sense can keep it on. PISANIO. On his command. He would not suffer me
And, sweetest, fairest, To bring him to the haven; left these notesOf what commands I should be subject to,
As I my poor self did exchange for you, When't pleas'd you to employ me.
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles QUEEN. This hath been
I still win of you. For my sake wear this; Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour
It is a manacle of love; I'll place it He will remain so.
Upon this fairest prisoner. [Puts a bracelet on her arm] IMOGEN. O the gods! PISANIO. I humbly thank your Highness.
When shall we see again? QUEEN. Pray walk awhile.
Enter CYMBELINE and LORDS IMOGEN. About some half-hour hence,
POSTHUMUS. Alack, the King! Pray you speak with me. You shall at least
CYMBELINE. Thou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me. Exeunt
If after this command thou fraught the court SCENE II.
With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! Britain. A public place
Thou'rt poison to my blood. Enter CLOTEN and two LORDS
POSTHUMUS. The gods protect you, FIRST LORD. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath made
And bless the good remainders of the court! you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; there's none abroad so
I am gone. Exit IMOGEN. There cannot be a pinch in death wholesome as that you vent. CLOTEN. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I
More sharp than this is. hurt him? SECOND LORD. [Aside] No, faith; not so much as his patience. FIRST LORD. Hurt
CYMBELINE. O disloyal thing, him! His body's a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a throughfare for steel if it
That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st be not hurt.
A year's age on me! SECOND LORD. [Aside] His steel was in debt; it went o' th' back side the town.
IMOGEN. I beseech you, sir, CLOTEN. The villain would not stand me.
Harm not yourself with your vexation. SECOND LORD. [Aside] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.
I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare FIRST LORD. Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your having,
Subdues all pangs, all fears. gave you some ground.
CYMBELINE. Past grace? obedience? SECOND LORD. [Aside] As many inches as you have oceans.
IMOGEN. Past hope, and in despair; that way past grace. Puppies!
CYMBELINE. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! IMOGEN. O blessed that I CLOTEN. I would they had not come between us.
might SECOND LORD. [Aside] So would I, till you had measur'd how long a fool you were upon the
not! I chose an eagle, ground.
And did avoid a puttock. CLOTEN. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me! SECOND LORD. [Aside] If it
CYMBELINE. Thou took'st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne A seat for baseness. be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd.
IMOGEN. No; I rather added FIRST LORD. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; she's a
A lustre to it. good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.
CYMBELINE. O thou vile one! 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! FRENCHMAN. And then his banishment.
SECOND LORD. [Aside] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no IACHIMO. Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce under her
great hurt. colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortify her judgment, which else an
CLOTEN. You'll go with us? easy battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar, without less quality. But how comes it
FIRST LORD. I'll attend your lordship. he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?
CLOTEN. Nay, come, let's go together. PHILARIO. His father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have been often bound for no
SECOND LORD. Well, my lord. Exeunt less than my life.
SCENE III. Enter POSTHUMUS
Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as suits with gentlemen of
Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO your knowing to a stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better known to this
IMOGEN. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' th' haven, And questioned'st every sail; gentleman, whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. How worthy he is I will leave
if he should write, to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost, FRENCHMAN. Sir, we have known together in Orleans.
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last POSTHUMUS. Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to
That he spake to thee? pay and yet pay still.
PISANIO. It was: his queen, his queen! FRENCHMAN. Sir, you o'errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my countryman and
IMOGEN. Then wav'd his handkerchief? you; it had been pity you should have been put together with so mortal a purpose as then
PISANIO. And kiss'd it, madam. each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature.
IMOGEN. Senseless linen, happier therein than I! POSTHUMUS. By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; rather shunn'd to go even
And that was all? with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others' experiences; but upon
PISANIO. No, madam; for so long my mended judgment- if I offend not to say it is mended- my quarrel was not altogether
As he could make me with his eye, or care slight.
Distinguish him from others, he did keep FRENCHMAN. Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two that would
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, by all likelihood have confounded one the other or have fall'n both.
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind IACHIMO. Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference? FRENCHMAN. Safely, I think.
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, 'Twas a contention in public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was
How swift his ship. much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our
IMOGEN. Thou shouldst have made him country mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching- and upon warrant of bloody
As little as a crow, or less, ere left affirmation- his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less
To after-eye him. attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France. IACHIMO. That lady is not now
PISANIO. Madam, so I did. living, or this gentleman's opinion, by this, worn out.
IMOGEN. I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack'd them but To look upon him, till the POSTHUMUS. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.
diminution IACHIMO. You must not so far prefer her fore ours of Italy. POSTHUMUS. Being so far
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; provok'd as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, though I profess myself her
Nay, followed him till he had melted from adorer, not her friend. IACHIMO. As fair and as good- a kind of hand-in-hand
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then comparisonhad been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went
Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio, before others I have seen as that diamond of yours outlustres many I have beheld, I couldnot
When shall we hear from him?PISANIO. Be assur'd, madam, but believe she excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is,
With his next vantage. nor you the lady.
IMOGEN. I did not take my leave of him, but had POSTHUMUS. I prais'd her as I rated her. So do I my stone. IACHIMO. What do you esteem it
Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him at?
How I would think on him at certain hours POSTHUMUS. More than the world enjoys.
Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear IACHIMO. Either your unparagon'd mistress is dead, or she's outpriz'd by a trifle.
The shes of Italy should not betray POSTHUMUS. You are mistaken: the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth enough
Mine interest and his honour; or have charg'd him, for the purchase or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing for sale, and only the
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, gift of the gods. IACHIMO. Which the gods have given you?
T' encounter me with orisons, for then POSTHUMUS. Which by their graces I will keep.
I am in heaven for him; or ere I could IACHIMO. You may wear her in title yours; but you know strange fowl light upon
Give him that parting kiss which I had set neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol'n too. So your brace of unprizable estimations,
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, the one is but frail and the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish'd
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last. POSTHUMUS. Your Italy contains
Shakes all our buds from growing. none so accomplish'd a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress, if in the holding
Enter a LADY or loss of that you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
LADY. The Queen, madam, notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.
Desires your Highness' company. PHILARIO. Let us leave here, gentlemen.
IMOGEN. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd. POSTHUMUS. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of
I will attend the Queen. me; we are familiar at first. IACHIMO. With five times so much conversation I should get
PISANIO. Madam, I shall. Exeunt ground of your fair mistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had I admittance and
SCENE IV. opportunity to friend.
Rome. PHILARIO'S house POSTHUMUS. No, no.
Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a FRENCHMAN, a DUTCHMAN, and a SPANIARD IACHIMO. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in my
IACHIMO. Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then of a crescent note, opinion, o'ervalues it something. But I make my wager rather against your confidence than
expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of. But I could then her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any lady
have look'd on him without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments in the world.
had been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by items. POSTHUMUS. You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a persuasion, and I doubt not you
PHILARIO. You speak of him when he was less furnish'd than now he is with that which sustain what y'are worthy of by your attempt. IACHIMO. What's that?
makes him both without and within. POSTHUMUS. A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more- a punishment
FRENCHMAN. I have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun with too.
as PHILARIO. Gentlemen, enough of this. It came in too suddenly; let it die as it was born,
firm eyes as he. and I pray you be better acquainted. IACHIMO. Would I had put my estate and my
IACHIMO. This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather neighbour's on th' approbation of what I have spoke!
by her value than his own, words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter. POSTHUMUS. What lady would you choose to assail?
IACHIMO. Yours, whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand QUEEN. [To PISANIO] Hark thee, a word.
ducats to your ring that, commend me to the court where your lady is, with no more CORNELIUS. [Aside] I do not like her. She doth think she has Strange ling'ring poisons. I
advantage than the opportunity of a second conference, and I will bring from thence that do know her spirit,
honour of hers which you imagine so reserv'd. And will not trust one of her malice with
POSTHUMUS. I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I hold dear as my finger; A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
'tis part of it. Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile,
IACHIMO. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a Which first perchance she'll prove on cats and dogs,
dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you have some religion in you, that Then afterward up higher; but there is
you fear. POSTHUMUS. This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I No danger in what show of death it makes,
hope. More than the locking up the spirits a time,
IACHIMO. I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what's spoken, I swear. To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
POSTHUMUS. Will you? I Shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be covenants With a most false effect; and I the truer
drawn between's. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking. So to be false with her.
I dare you to this match: here's my ring. QUEEN. No further service, Doctor,
PHILARIO. I will have it no lay. Until I send for thee.
IACHIMO. By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I have CORNELIUS. I humbly take my leave. Exit QUEEN. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou
enjoy'd the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are yours; so is think in time She will not quench, and let instructions enter
your diamond too. If I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she Where folly now possesses? Do thou work.
your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yoursprovided I have your commendation for When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
my more free entertainment. POSTHUMUS. I embrace these conditions; let us have articles I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her, and give As great as is thy master; greater, for
me directly to understand you have prevail'd, I am no further your enemy- she is not His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
worth our debate; if she remain unseduc'd, you not making it appear otherwise, for your Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor
ill opinion and th' assault you have made to her chastity you shall answer me with your Continue where he is. To shift his being
sword. Is to exchange one misery with another,
IACHIMO. Your hand- a covenant! We will have these things set down by lawful counsel, and And every day that comes comes comes to
straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and starve. I will fetch my A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect
gold and have our two wagers recorded. To be depender on a thing that leans,
POSTHUMUS. Agreed. Exeunt POSTHUMUS and IACHIMO FRENCHMAN. Will this hold, Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends
think you? So much as but to prop him?
PHILARIO. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow 'em. [The QUEEN drops the box. PISANIO takes it up] Thou tak'st up
Exeunt Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour.
SCENE V. It is a thing I made, which hath the King
Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace Five times redeem'd from death. I do not know
Enter QUEEN, LADIES, and CORNELIUS What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it;
QUEEN. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers; Make haste; who has the note It is an earnest of a further good
of them? That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
LADY. I, madam. The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
QUEEN. Dispatch. Exeunt LADIES Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs? Think what a chance thou changest on; but think
CORNELIUS. Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.[Presenting a box] But I Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son,
beseech your Grace, without offenceMy Who shall take notice of thee. I'll move the King
conscience bids me ask- wherefore you have To any shape of thy preferment, such
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,That set thee on to this desert, am bound
Which are the movers of a languishing death, To load thy merit richly. Call my women.
But, though slow, deadly? Think on my words. Exit PISANIO A sly and constant knave,
QUEEN. I wonder, Doctor, Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master,
Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been And the remembrancer of her to hold
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
That our great king himself doth woo me oft Of leigers for her sweet; and which she after,
For my confections? Having thus far proceededUnless Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd
thou think'st me devilish- is't not meet To taste of too.
That I did amplify my judgment in Re-enter PISANIO and LADIES
Other conclusions? I will try the forces So, so. Well done, well done.
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
We count not worth the hanging- but none humanTo Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
try the vigour of them, and apply Think on my words. Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES PISANIO. And shall do.
Allayments to their act, and by them gather But when to my good lord I prove untrue
Their several virtues and effects. I'll choke myself- there's all I'll do for you. Exit
CORNELIUS. Your Highness SCENE VI.
Shall from this practice but make hard your heart; Britain. The palace
Besides, the seeing these effects will be Enter IMOGEN alone
Both noisome and infectious. IMOGEN. A father cruel and a step-dame false;
QUEEN. O, content thee. A foolish suitor to a wedded lady
Enter PISANIO That hath her husband banish'd. O, that husband!
[Aside] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
Will I first work. He's for his master, Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
An enemy to my son.- How now, Pisanio! As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
Doctor, your service for this time is ended; Is the desire that's glorious. Blessed be those,
Take your own way. How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
CORNELIUS. [Aside] I do suspect you, madam; Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!
But you shall do no harm. Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO
PISANIO. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome Some men are much to blame.
Comes from my lord with letters. IMOGEN. Not he, I hope.
IACHIMO. Change you, madam? IACHIMO. Not he; but yet heaven's bounty towards him might Be us'd more thankfully. In
The worthy Leonatus is in safety, himself, 'tis much;
And greets your Highness dearly. [Presents a letter] IMOGEN. Thanks, good sir. In you, which I account his, beyond all talents.
You're kindly welcome. Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
IACHIMO. [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich! If she be furnish'd with a To pity too.
mind so rare, IMOGEN. What do you pity, sir?
She is alone th' Arabian bird, and I IACHIMO. Two creatures heartily.
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! IMOGEN. Am I one, sir?
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; Deserves your pity?
Rather, directly fly. IACHIMO. Lamentable! What,
IMOGEN. [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him I' th' dungeon by a snuff?
accordingly, as you value your trust. LEONATUS.' IMOGEN. I pray you, sir,
So far I read aloud; Deliver with more openness your answers
But even the very middle of my heart To my demands. Why do you pity me?
Is warm'd by th' rest and takes it thankfully. IACHIMO. That others do,
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I I was about to say, enjoy your- But
Have words to bid you; and shall find it so It is an office of the gods to venge it,
In all that I can do. Not mine to speak on't.
IACHIMO. Thanks, fairest lady. IMOGEN. You do seem to know
What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes Something of me, or what concerns me; pray youSince
To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop doubting things go ill often hurts more
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt Than to be sure they do; for certainties
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
Upon the number'd beach, and can we not The remedy then born- discover to me
Partition make with spectacles so precious What both you spur and stop.
'Twixt fair and foul? IACHIMO. Had I this cheek
IMOGEN. What makes your admiration? To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
IACHIMO. It cannot be i' th' eye, for apes and monkeys, Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Contemn with mows the other; nor i' th' judgment, Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
For idiots in this case of favour would Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
Be wisely definite; nor i' th' appetite; Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Should make desire vomit emptiness, Made hard with hourly falsehood- falsehood as
Not so allur'd to feed. With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
IMOGEN. What is the matter, trow?IACHIMO. The cloyed willThat Base and illustrious as the smoky light
satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub That's fed with stinking tallow- it were fit
Both fill'd and running- ravening first the lamb, That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Longs after for the garbage. Encounter such revolt.
IMOGEN. What, dear sir, IMOGEN. My lord, I fear,
Thus raps you? Are you well? Has forgot Britain.IACHIMO. And himself. Not I
IACHIMO. Thanks, madam; well.- Beseech you, sir, Inclin'd to this intelligence pronounce
Desire my man's abode where I did leave him. The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
He's strange and peevish. That from my mutest conscience to my tongue
PISANIO. I was going, sir, Charms this report out.
To give him welcome. Exit IMOGEN. Continues well my lord? His health beseech you? IMOGEN. Let me hear no more.
IACHIMO. Well, madam. IACHIMO. O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
IMOGEN. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is. With pity that doth make me sick! A lady
IACHIMO. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
So merry and so gamesome. He is call'd Would make the great'st king double, to be partner'd
The Britain reveller. With tomboys hir'd with that self exhibition
IMOGEN. When he was here Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ventures
He did incline to sadness, and oft-times That play with all infirmities for gold
Not knowing why. Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
IACHIMO. I never saw him sad. As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd;
There is a Frenchman his companion, one Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves Recoil from your great stock.
A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces IMOGEN. Reveng'd?
The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly BritonYour How should I be reveng'd? If this be trueAs
lord, I mean- laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O, I have such a heart that both mine ears
Can my sides hold, to think that man- who knows Must not in haste abuse- if it be true,
By history, report, or his own proof, How should I be reveng'd?
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose IACHIMO. Should he make me
But must be- will's free hours languish for Live like Diana's priest betwixt cold sheets,
Assured bondage?' Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
IMOGEN. Will my lord say so? In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
IACHIMO. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know More noble than that runagate to your bed,
And will continue fast to your affection, But not away to-morrow!
Still close as sure. IACHIMO. O, I must, madam.
IMOGEN. What ho, Pisanio! Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
IACHIMO. Let me my service tender on your lips. To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night.
IMOGEN. Away! I do condemn mine ears that have I have outstood my time, which is material
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, 'To th' tender of our present.
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not IMOGEN. I will write.
For such an end thou seek'st, as base as strange. Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept
Thou wrong'st a gentleman who is as far And truly yielded you. You're very welcome. Exeunt
From thy report as thou from honour; and <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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The credit that thy lady hath of thee ACT II. SCENE I.
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness Britain. Before CYMBELINE'S palace
Her assur'd credit. Blessed live you long, Enter CLOTEN and the two LORDS
A lady to the worthiest sir that ever CLOTEN. Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss'd the jack, upon an up-cast to be
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only hit away! I had a hundred pound on't; and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure.
I have spoke this to know if your affiance FIRST LORD. What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.
Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord SECOND LORD. [Aside] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all
That which he is new o'er; and he is one out.
The truest manner'd, such a holy witch CLOTEN. When a gentleman is dispos'd to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail
That he enchants societies into him, his oaths. Ha?
Half all men's hearts are his. SECOND LORD. No, my lord; [Aside] nor crop the ears of them. CLOTEN. Whoreson dog! I
IMOGEN. You make amends. give
IACHIMO. He sits 'mongst men like a descended god: him satisfaction? Would he had been one of my rank!
He hath a kind of honour sets him of SECOND LORD. [Aside] To have smell'd like a fool.
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, CLOTEN. I am not vex'd more at anything in th' earth. A pox on't! I had rather not be so
Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the Queen my mother. Every
To try your taking of a false report, which hath jackslave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment nobody can match.
In the election of a sir so rare, SECOND LORD. [Aside] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on.
Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him CLOTEN. Sayest thou?
Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you, SECOND LORD. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray your pardon. offence to.
IMOGEN. All's well, sir; take my pow'r i' th' court for yours. IACHIMO. My humble thanks. CLOTEN. No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.
I had almost forgot SECOND LORD. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
T' entreat your Grace but in a small request, CLOTEN. Why, so I say.
And yet of moment too, for it concerns FIRST LORD. Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?
Your lord; myself and other noble friends CLOTEN. A stranger, and I not known on't?
Are partners in the business. SECOND LORD. [Aside] He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.
IMOGEN. Pray what is't?IACHIMO. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lordThe FIRST LORD. There's an Italian come, and, 'tis thought, one of Leonatus' friends.
best feather of our wing- have mingled sums CLOTEN. Leonatus? A banish'd rascal; and he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of
To buy a present for the Emperor; this stranger?
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done FIRST LORD. One of your lordship's pages.
In France. 'Tis plate of rare device, and jewels CLOTEN. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in't?
Of rich and exquisite form, their values great; SECOND LORD. You cannot derogate, my lord.
And I am something curious, being strange, CLOTEN. Not easily, I think.SECOND LORD. [Aside] You are a fool granted; therefore your
To have them in safe stowage. May it please you issues, being foolish, do not
To take them in protection? derogate.
IMOGEN. Willingly; CLOTEN. Come, I'll go see this Italian. What I have lost to-day at bowls I'll win
And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since to-night of him. Come, go.
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them SECOND LORD. I'll attend your lordship.
In my bedchamber. Exeunt CLOTEN and FIRST LORD That such a crafty devil as is his mother
IACHIMO. They are in a trunk, Should yield the world this ass! A woman that
Attended by my men. I will make bold Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
To send them to you only for this night; Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
I must aboard to-morrow. And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
IMOGEN. O, no, no. Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
IACHIMO. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
By length'ning my return. From Gallia A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise More hateful than the foul expulsion is
To see your Grace. Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
IMOGEN. I thank you for your pains. Of the divorce he'd make! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak'd too. If none will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it- and
T' enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land! Exit then let her consider.
SCENE II. SONG
Britain. IMOGEN'S bedchamber in CYMBELINE'S palace; a trunk in one corner Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
Enter IMOGEN in her bed, and a LADY attending And Phoebus 'gins arise,
IMOGEN. Who's there? My woman? Helen? His steeds to water at those springs
LADY. Please you, madam. On chalic'd flow'rs that lies;
IMOGEN. What hour is it? And winking Mary-buds begin
LADY. Almost midnight, madam. To ope their golden eyes.
IMOGEN. I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak; Fold down the leaf where I have With everything that pretty bin,
left. To bed. My lady sweet, arise;
Take not away the taper, leave it burning; Arise, arise!
And if thou canst awake by four o' th' clock, So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if it do not,
I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly. Exit LADY To your protection I commend it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and calves' guts, nor the voice of unpaved
me, gods. eunuch to boot, can never amend. Exeunt musicians
From fairies and the tempters of the night Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN
Guard me, beseech ye! SECOND LORD. Here comes the King.
[Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk] IACHIMO. The crickets sing, and man's CLOTEN. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early. He cannot
o'er-labour'd sense Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus choose but take this service I have done fatherly.- Good morrow to your Majesty and to my
Did softly press the rushes ere he waken'd gracious mother. CYMBELINE. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will she not
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, forth?
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily, CLOTEN. I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! CYMBELINE. The exile of her minion is too new;
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd, She hath not yet forgot him; some more time
How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o' th' taper And then she's yours.
Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids QUEEN. You are most bound to th' King,
To see th' enclosed lights, now canopied Who lets go by no vantages that may
Under these windows white and azure, lac'd Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design To orderly soliciting, and be friended
To note the chamber. I will write all down: With aptness of the season; make denials
Such and such pictures; there the window; such Increase your services; so seem as if
Th' adornment of her bed; the arras, figuresWhy, You were inspir'd to do those duties which
such and such; and the contents o' th' story. You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Ah, but some natural notes about her body Save when command to your dismission tends,
Above ten thousand meaner movables And therein you are senseless.
Would testify, t' enrich mine inventory. CLOTEN. Senseless? Not so.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! Enter a MESSENGER
And be her sense but as a monument, MESSENGER. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off; The one is Caius Lucius.
[Taking off her bracelet] As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! CYMBELINE. A worthy fellow,
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
As strongly as the conscience does within, But that's no fault of his. We must receive him
To th' madding of her lord. On her left breast According to the honour of his sender;
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
I' th' bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
Stronger than ever law could make; this secret When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en Attend the Queen and us; we shall have needT' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? queen.
Why should I write this down that's riveted, Exeunt all but CLOTEN CLOTEN. If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho! [Knocks] I know her women are about her;
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down what
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough. If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
To th' trunk again, and shut the spring of it. Which buys admittance; oft it doth-yea, and makes
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawningMay bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear; Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes] One, two, three. Time, time! Their deer to th' stand o' th' stealer; and 'tis gold
Exit into the trunk Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
SCENE III. Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What
CYMBELINE'S palace. An ante-chamber adjoining IMOGEN'S apartments Can it not do and undo? I will make
Enter CLOTEN and LORDS One of her women lawyer to me, for
FIRST LORD. Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever I yet not understand the case myself.
turn'd up ace. By your leave. [Knocks]
CLOTEN. It would make any man cold to lose. Enter a LADY
FIRST LORD. But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are LADY. Who's there that knocks?
most hot and furious when you win. CLOTEN. Winning will put any man into courage. If I CLOTEN. A gentleman.
could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning, is't not? LADY. No more?
FIRST LORD. Day, my lord. CLOTEN. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
CLOTEN. I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a mornings; they LADY. That's more
say it will penetrate. Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
Enter musicians Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?
Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. We'll try with tongue CLOTEN. Your lady's person; is she ready?
LADY. Ay, I saw't this morning; confident I am
To keep her chamber. Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it.
CLOTEN. There is gold for you; sell me your good report. I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
LADY. How? My good name? or to report of you That I kiss aught but he.
What I shall think is good? The Princess! PISANIO. 'Twill not be lost.
Enter IMOGEN IMOGEN. I hope so. Go and search. Exit PISANIO CLOTEN. You have abus'd me.
CLOTEN. Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand. 'His meanest garment'!
Exit LADY IMOGEN. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains IMOGEN. Ay, I said so, sir.
For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't.
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, CLOTEN. I will inform your father.
And scarce can spare them. IMOGEN. Your mother too.
CLOTEN. Still I swear I love you. She's my good lady and will conceive, I hope,
IMOGEN. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me. But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
If you swear still, your recompense is still To th' worst of discontent. Exit CLOTEN. I'll be reveng'd.
That I regard it not. 'His mean'st garment'! Well. Exit
CLOTEN. This is no answer. SCENE IV.
IMOGEN. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, I would not speak. I pray you Rome. PHILARIO'S house
spare me. Faith, Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO
I shall unfold equal discourtesy POSTHUMUS. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure
To your best kindness; one of your great knowing To win the King as I am bold her honour
Should learn, being taught, forbearance. Will remain hers.
CLOTEN. To leave you in your madness 'twere my sin; PHILARIO. What means do you make to him?
I will not. POSTHUMUS. Not any; but abide the change of time,
IMOGEN. Fools are not mad folks. Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
CLOTEN. Do you call me fool? That warmer days would come. In these fear'd hopes
IMOGEN. As I am mad, I do; I barely gratify your love; they failing,
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; I must die much your debtor.
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, PHILARIO. Your very goodness and your company
You put me to forget a lady's manners O'erpays all I can do. By this your king
By being so verbal; and learn now, for all, Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, Will do's commission throughly; and I think
By th' very truth of it, I care not for you, He'll grant the tribute, send th' arrearages,
And am so near the lack of charity Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather Is yet fresh in their grief.
You felt than make't my boast. POSTHUMUS. I do believe
CLOTEN. You sin against Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
Obedience, which you owe your father. For That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The contract you pretend with that base wretch, The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
With scraps o' th' court- it is no contract, none. Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
And though it be allowed in meaner partiesYet Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar
who than he more mean?- to knit their soulsOn Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
whom there is no more dependency Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
But brats and beggary- in self-figur'd knot, Now mingled with their courages, will make known
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by To their approvers they are people such
The consequence o' th' crown, and must not foil That mend upon the world.
The precious note of it with a base slave, Enter IACHIMOPHILARIO. See! Iachimo!
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, POSTHUMUS. The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
A pantler- not so eminent!IMOGEN. Profane fellow! And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more To make your vessel nimble.
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base PHILARIO. Welcome, sir.
To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough, POSTHUMUS. I hope the briefness of your answer made
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made The speediness of your return.
Comparative for your virtues to be styl'd IACHIMO. Your lady
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.
For being preferr'd so well. POSTHUMUS. And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
CLOTEN. The south fog rot him! Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
IMOGEN. He never can meet more mischance than come And be false with them.
To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st garment IACHIMO. Here are letters for you.
That ever hath but clipp'd his body is dearer POSTHUMUS. Their tenour good, I trust.
In my respect than all the hairs above thee, IACHIMO. 'Tis very like.
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio! PHILARIO. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
Enter PISANIO When you were there?
CLOTEN. 'His garments'! Now the devilIMOGEN. IACHIMO. He was expected then,
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently. But not approach'd.
CLOTEN. 'His garment'! POSTHUMUS. All is well yet.
IMOGEN. I am sprited with a fool; Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is't not
Frighted, and ang'red worse. Go bid my woman Too dull for your good wearing?
Search for a jewel that too casually IACHIMO. If I have lost it,
Hath left mine arm. It was thy master's; shrew me, I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
If I would lose it for a revenue I'll make a journey twice as far t' enjoy
Of any king's in Europe! I do think A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won. She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
POSTHUMUS. The stone's too hard to come by. Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
IACHIMO. Not a whit, And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said
Your lady being so easy. She priz'd it once.
POSTHUMUS. Make not, sir, POSTHUMUS. May be she pluck'd it of
Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we To send it me.
Must not continue friends. IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she?
IACHIMO. Good sir, we must, POSTHUMUS. O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought [Gives the ring] It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour
We were to question farther; but I now Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love
Profess myself the winner of her honour, Where there's another man. The vows of women
Together with your ring; and not the wronger Of no more bondage be to where they are made
Of her or you, having proceeded but Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.
By both your wills. O, above measure false!
POSTHUMUS. If you can make't apparent PHILARIO. Have patience, sir,
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won.
And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion It may be probable she lost it, or
You had of her pure honour gains or loses Who knows if one her women, being corrupted
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both Hath stol'n it from her?
To who shall find them. POSTHUMUS. Very true;
IACHIMO. Sir, my circumstances, And so I hope he came by't. Back my ring.
Being so near the truth as I will make them, Render to me some corporal sign about her,
Must first induce you to believe- whose strength More evident than this; for this was stol'n.
I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not IACHIMO. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!
You'll give me leave to spare when you shall find POSTHUMUS. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
You need it not. 'Tis true- nay, keep the ring, 'tis true. I am sure
POSTHUMUS. Proceed. She would not lose it. Her attendants are
IACHIMO. First, her bedchamber, All sworn and honourable- they induc'd to steal it!
Where I confess I slept not, but profess And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy'd her.
Had that was well worth watching-it was hang'd The cognizance of her incontinency
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Is this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. There, take thy hire; and all the
Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman fiends of hell
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for Divide themselves between you!
The press of boats or pride. A piece of work PHILARIO. Sir, be patient;
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive This is not strong enough to be believ'd
In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd Of one persuaded well of.
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, POSTHUMUS. Never talk on't;
Since the true life on't wasPOSTHUMUS. She hath been colted by him.
This is true; IACHIMO. If you seek
And this you might have heard of here, by me For further satisfying, under her breastWorthy
Or by some other. the pressing- lies a mole, right proud
IACHIMO. More particulars Of that most delicate lodging. By my life,
Must justify my knowledge. I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
POSTHUMUS. So they must, To feed again, though full. You do remember
Or do your honour injury. This stain upon her?
IACHIMO. The chimney POSTHUMUS. Ay, and it doth confirm
Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures Were there no more but it.
So likely to report themselves. The cutter IACHIMO. Will you hear more?
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, POSTHUMUS. Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns.
Motion and breath left out.POSTHUMUS. This is a thing Once, and a million!
Which you might from relation likewise reap, IACHIMO. I'll be swornPOSTHUMUS.
Being, as it is, much spoke of. No swearing.
IACHIMO. The roof o' th' chamber If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
With golden cherubins is fretted; her andironsI And I will kill thee if thou dost denyThou'st made me cuckold.
had forgot them- were two winking Cupids IACHIMO. I'll deny nothing.
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely POSTHUMUS. O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!
Depending on their brands. I will go there and do't, i' th' court, before
POSTHUMUS. This is her honour! Her father. I'll do something- Exit PHILARIO. Quite besides
Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise The government of patience! You have won.
Be given to your remembrance; the description Let's follow him and pervert the present wrath
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves He hath against himself.
The wager you have laid. IACHIMO. With all my heart. Exeunt
IACHIMO. Then, if you can, [Shows the bracelet] Be pale. I beg but leave to air this SCENE V.
jewel. See! Rome. Another room in PHILARIO'S house
And now 'tis up again. It must be married Enter POSTHUMUS
To that your diamond; I'll keep them. POSTHUMUS. Is there no way for men to be, but women
POSTHUMUS. Jove! Must be half-workers? We are all bastards,
Once more let me behold it. Is it that And that most venerable man which I
Which I left with her? Did call my father was I know not where
IACHIMO. Sir- I thank her- that. When I was stamp'd. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd
The Dian of that time. So doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
This yellow Iachimo in an hour- was't not?
Or less!- at first? Perchance he spoke not, but,
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
But what he look'd for should oppose and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man but I affirm
It is the woman's part. Be it lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all;
For even to vice
They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice but of a minute old for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them. Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better. Exit
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ACT III. SCENE I.
Britain. A hall in CYMBELINE'S palace
Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and LORDS at one door, and at another
CAIUS
LUCIUS and attendants
CYMBELINE. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?
LUCIUS. When Julius Caesar- whose remembrance yet
Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues
Be theme and hearing ever- was in this Britain,
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
Famous in Caesar's praises no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it, for him
And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.
QUEEN. And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.
CLOTEN. There be many CaesarsEre such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself, and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.
QUEEN. That opportunity,
Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors, together with
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
As Neptune's park, ribb'd and pal'd in
With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats
But suck them up to th' top-mast. A kind of conquest
Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
Of 'came, and saw, and overcame.' With shameThe
first that ever touch'd him- he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shippingPoor
ignorant baubles!- on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks; for joy whereof
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at pointO,
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 ambitionWhich
swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
The sides o' th' world- against all colour here
Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake of
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be.
CLOTEN. We do.
CYMBELINE. Say then to Caesar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
Ordain'd our laws- whose use the sword of Caesar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws, Who was the first of Britain
which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a king.
LUCIUS. I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus CaesarCaesar,
that hath moe kings his servants than
Thyself domestic officers- thine enemy.
Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee; look
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.
CYMBELINE. Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour,
Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent
Which not to read would show the Britons cold;
So Caesar shall not find them.
LUCIUS. Let proof speak.
CLOTEN. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or longer. If
you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle. If you
beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the
better for you; and there's an end.
LUCIUS. So, sir.
CYMBELINE. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine;
All the remain is, welcome. Exeunt
SCENE II.
Britain. Another room in CYMBELINE'S palaceEnter PISANIO reading of a letter
PISANIO. How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monsters her accuse? Leonatus!
O master, what a strange infection
Is fall'n into thy ear! What false ItalianAs
poisonous-tongu'd as handed- hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.
She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. O my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low as were Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say;
Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her? Accessible is none but Milford way. Exeunt
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I SCENE III.
Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood? Wales. A mountainous country with a cave
If it be so to do good service, never Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I BELARIUS. A goodly day not to keep house with such
That I should seem to lack humanity Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
So much as this fact comes to? [Reads] 'Do't. The letter That I have sent her, by her own Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you
command To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs
Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper, Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble, And keep their impious turbans on without
Art thou a fedary for this act, and look'st Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
Enter IMOGEN As prouder livers do.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded. GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven!
IMOGEN. How now, Pisanio! ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven!
PISANIO. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. BELARIUS. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill,
IMOGEN. Who? thy lord? That is my lord- Leonatus? Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer When you above perceive me like a crow,
That knew the stars as I his charactersHe' That it is place which lessens and sets off;
d lay the future open. You good gods, And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
Let what is here contain'd relish of love, Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war.
Of my lord's health, of his content; yet not This service is not service so being done,
That we two are asunder- let that grieve him! But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them, Draws us a profit from all things we see,
For it doth physic love- of his content, And often to our comfort shall we find
All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be The sharded beetle in a safer hold
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; Is nobler than attending for a check,
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet Richer than doing nothing for a bribe,
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
[Reads] 'Justice and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,
so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Yet keeps his book uncross'd. No life to ours!
Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford Haven. What your own love will out of this GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg'd, Have never wing'd from view
advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness that remains loyal to his vow, and o' th' nest, nor know not
your increasing in love What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.' If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
O for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? That have a sharper known; well corresponding
He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me With your stiff age. But unto us it is
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,
May plod it in a week, why may not I A prison for a debtor that not dares
Glide thither in a day? Then, true PisanioWho To stride a limit.
long'st like me to see thy lord, who long'stO, ARVIRAGUS. What should we speak of
let me 'bate!- but not like me, yet long'st, When we are old as you? When we shall hear
But in a fainter kind- O, not like me, The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
For mine's beyond beyond!-say, and speak thickLove' In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse.
s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
To th' smothering of the sense- how far it is We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey,
To this same blessed Milford. And by th' way Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat.
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
T' inherit such a haven. But first of all, We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
How we may steal from hence; and for the gap And sing our bondage freely.
That we shall make in time from our hence-going BELARIUS. How you speak!
And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence. Did you but know the city's usuries,
Why should excuse be born or ere begot? And felt them knowingly- the art o' th' court,
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak, As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
How many score of miles may we well ride Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that
'Twixt hour and hour? The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' th' war,
PISANIO. One score 'twixt sun and sun, A pain that only seems to seek out danger
Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too. I' th'name of fame and honour, which dies i' th'search, And hath as oft a sland'rous
IMOGEN. Why, one that rode to's execution, man, epitaph
Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagersWhere horses have been nimbler than As record of fair act; nay, many times,
the sands Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worseMust
That run i' th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry. curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story
Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say The world may read in me; my body's mark'dWith Roman swords, and my report was once
She'll home to her father; and provide me presently first with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;
A riding suit, no costlier than would fit And when a soldier was the theme, my name
A franklin's huswife. Was not far off. Then was I as a tree
PISANIO. Madam, you're best consider. Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night
IMOGEN. I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here, A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; And left me bare to weather.
GUIDERIUS. Uncertain favour! for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou
BELARIUS. My fault being nothing- as I have told you oftBut that two villains, whose art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.' PISANIO. What shall I need
false oaths prevail'd to draw my sword? The paper
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
I was confederate with the Romans. So Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
This rock and these demesnes have been my world, Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states,
More pious debts to heaven than in all Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave,
The fore-end of my time. But up to th' mountains! This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
This is not hunters' language. He that strikes IMOGEN. False to his bed? What is it to be false?
The venison first shall be the lord o' th' feast; To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To him the other two shall minister; To weep twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature,
And we will fear no poison, which attends To break it with a fearful dream of him,
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. And cry myself awake? That's false to's bed,
Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! Is it?
These boys know little they are sons to th' King, PISANIO. Alas, good lady!
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. IMOGEN. I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo,
They think they are mine; and though train'd up thus meanly I' th' cave wherein they bow, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
their thoughts do hit Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks,
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy,
In simple and low things to prince it much Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him.
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who And for I am richer than to hang by th' walls
The King his father call'd Guiderius- Jove! I must be ripp'd. To pieces with me! O,
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Into my story; say 'Thus mine enemy fell, Put on for villainy; not born where't grows,
And thus I set my foot on's neck'; even then But worn a bait for ladies.
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, PISANIO. Good madam, hear me.
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture IMOGEN. True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, Were, in his time, thought false; and Sinon's weeping
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,
His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rous'd! Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men:
O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd
Thou didst unjustly banish me! Whereon, From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest;
At three and two years old, I stole these babes, Do thou thy master's bidding; when thou seest him,
Thinking to bar thee of succession as A little witness my obedience. Look!
Thou refts me of my lands. Euriphile, I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, And every day do honour to her The innocent mansion of my love, my heart.
grave. Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief;
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, Thy master is not there, who was indeed
They take for natural father. The game is up. Exit The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike.
SCENE IV. Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,
Wales, near Milford Haven But now thou seem'st a coward.
Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN PISANIO. Hence, vile instrument!
IMOGEN. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place Was near at hand. Ne'er Thou shalt not damn my hand.
long'd my mother so IMOGEN. Why, I must die;
To see me first as I have now. Pisanio! Man! And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh There is a prohibition so divine
From th' inward of thee? One but painted thus That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heartSomething'
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd s afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence!-
Beyond self-explication. Put thyself Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
Why tender'st thou that paper to me with Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
A look untender! If't be summer news, Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd
But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand? Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
And he's at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue That didst set up my disobedience 'gainst the King
May take off some extremity, which to read My father, and make me put into contempt the suits
Would be even mortal to me. Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
PISANIO. Please you read,And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing It is no act of common passage but
The most disdain'd of fortune. A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself
IMOGEN. [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in my bed, the To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
as strong as my grief and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee dispatch.
must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands The lamp entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
take away her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven; she hath my letter When I desire it too.
PISANIO. O gracious lady,
Since I receiv'd command to do this busines
I have not slept one wink.
IMOGEN. Do't, and to bed then.
PISANIO. I'll wake mine eyeballs first.
IMOGEN. Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles with a pretence? This place?
Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent?- whereunto I never
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far
To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
Th' elected deer before thee?
PISANIO. But to win time
To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.
IMOGEN. Talk thy tongue weary- speak.
I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
PISANIO. Then, madam,
I thought you would not back again.
IMOGEN. Most likeBringing
me here to kill me.
PISANIO. Not so, neither;
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
But that my master is abus'd. Some villain,
Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.
IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan!
PISANIO. No, on my life!
I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it, for 'tis commanded
I should do so. You shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.
IMOGEN. Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? where bide? how live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?
PISANIO. If you'll back to th' courtIMOGEN.
No court, no father, nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple nothingThat
Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.
PISANIO. If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.
IMOGEN. Where then?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I' th' world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't;
In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee think
There's livers out of Britain.
PISANIO. I am most glad
You think of other place. Th' ambassador,
LUCIUS the Roman, comes to Milford Haven
To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That which t' appear itself must not yet be
But by self-danger, you should tread a course
Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near
The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear
As truly as he moves.
IMOGEN. O! for such means,
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.
PISANIO. Well then, here's the point:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear and nicenessThe
handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman it pretty self- into a waggish courage;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, andAs quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it- but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy!- to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein
You made great Juno angry.
IMOGEN. Nay, be brief;
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.
PISANIO. First, make yourself but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit-
'Tis in my cloak-bag- doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them. Would you, in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
Wherein you're happy- which will make him know
If that his head have ear in music; doubtless
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroadYou
have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning nor supplyment.
IMOGEN. Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee away!
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt
I am soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.
PISANIO. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box; I had it from the Queen.
What's in't is precious. If you are sick at sea
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
Direct you to the best!
IMOGEN. Amen. I thank thee. Exeunt severally
SCENE V.
Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace
Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and LORDS
CYMBELINE. Thus far; and so farewell.
LUCIUS. Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence,
And am right sorry that I must report ye
My master's enemy.
CYMBELINE. Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.
LUCIUS. So, sir. I desire of you
A conduct overland to Milford Haven.
Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you!
CYMBELINE. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit.
So farewell, noble Lucius.
LUCIUS. Your hand, my lord.
CLOTEN. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
LUCIUS. Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
Exeunt LUCIUS and LORDS QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us
That we have given him cause.
CLOTEN. 'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
CYMBELINE. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely CLOTEN. Where is thy lady? or, by JupiterI
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness. will not ask again. Close villain,
The pow'rs that he already hath in Gallia I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
His war for Britain.QUEEN. 'Tis not sleepy business, A dram of worth be drawn.
But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. PISANIO. Alas, my lord,
CYMBELINE. Our expectation that it would be thus How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, He is in Rome.
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd CLOTEN. Where is she, sir? Come nearer.
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd No farther halting! Satisfy me home
The duty of the day. She looks us like What is become of her.
A thing more made of malice than of duty; PISANIO. O my all-worthy lord!
We have noted it. Call her before us, for CLOTEN. All-worthy villain!
We have been too slight in sufferance. Exit a MESSENGER QUEEN. Royal sir, Discover where thy mistress is at once,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd At the next word. No more of 'worthy lord'!
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
'Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty, Thy condemnation and thy death.
Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady PISANIO. Then, sir,
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, This paper is the history of my knowledge
And strokes death to her. Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter] CLOTEN. Let's see't. I will pursue her
Re-enter MESSENGER Even to Augustus' throne.
CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How PISANIO. [Aside] Or this or perish.
Can her contempt be answer'd? She's far enough; and what he learns by this
MESSENGER. Please you, sir, May prove his travel, not her danger.
Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer CLOTEN. Humh!
That will be given to th' loud of noise we make. PISANIO. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe
QUEEN. My lord, when last I went to visit her, return again!
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close; CLOTEN. Sirrah, is this letter true?
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity PISANIO. Sir, as I think.
She should that duty leave unpaid to you CLOTEN. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do
Which daily she was bound to proffer. This me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a
She wish'd me to make known; but our great court serious industry- that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and
Made me to blame in memory. truly- I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy
CYMBELINE. Her doors lock'd? relief nor my voice for thy preferment.
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear PISANIO. Well, my good lord.
Prove false! Exit QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King. CLOTEN. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the
CLOTEN. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be
I have not seen these two days. a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?
QUEEN. Go, look after. Exit CLOTEN Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus! PISANIO. Sir, I will.
He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence CLOTEN. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes possession?
It is a thing most precious. But for her, PISANIO. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my
Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz'd her; lady and mistress.
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown CLOTEN. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy first
To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is service; go.
To death or to dishonour, and my end PISANIO. I shall, my lord. Exit CLOTEN. Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him
Can make good use of either. She being down, one thing; I'll remember't anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I
I have the placing of the British crown. would these garments were come. She said upon a time- the bitterness of it I now belch
Re-enter CLOTEN from my heart- that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble
How now, my son? and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
CLOTEN. 'Tis certain she is fled. back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she see my valour,
Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment
Dare come about him. ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dinedwhich, as I say, to vex her I will
QUEEN. All the better. May execute in the clothes that she so prais'd- to the court I'll knock her back, foot her
This night forestall him of the coming day! Exit CLOTEN. I love and hate her; for she's home again. She hath despis'd me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.
fair and royal, Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Be those the garments?
Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one PISANIO. Ay, my noble lord.
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, CLOTEN. How long is't since she went to Milford Haven?
Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but PISANIO. She can scarce be there yet.
Disdaining me and throwing favours on CLOTEN. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment thee. The third is that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous and
That what's else rare is chok'd; and in that point true, preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, wings to follow it! Come, and be true. Exit PISANIO. Thou bid'st me to my loss; for true
To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools to thee
Shall- Were to prove false, which I will never be,
Enter PISANIO To him that is most true. To Milford go,
Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
Come hither. Ah, you precious pander! Villain, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
Where is thy lady? In a word, or else Be cross'd with slowness! Labour be his meed! Exit
Thou art straightway with the fiends. SCENE VI.
PISANIO. O good my lord! Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS
Enter IMOGEN alone, in boy's clothes Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
IMOGEN. I see a man's life is a tedious one. By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together 'Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sickBut that my resolution helps me. Milford, Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, Boys, bid him welcome.GUIDERIUS. Were you a woman, youth,
Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty
Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, I bid for you as I'd buy.
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me ARVIRAGUS. I'll make't my comfort
I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie, He is a man. I'll love him as my brother;
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis And such a welcome as I'd give to him
A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome!
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.
Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood IMOGEN. 'Mongst friends,
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so that they
Thou art one o' th' false ones. Now I think on thee Had been my father's sons! Then had my prize
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was Been less, and so more equal ballasting
At point to sink for food. But what is this? To thee, Posthumus.
Here is a path to't; 'tis some savage hold. BELARIUS. He wrings at some distress.
I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine, GUIDERIUS. Would I could free't!
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. ARVIRAGUS. Or I, whate'er it be,
Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever What pain it cost, what danger! Gods!
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here? BELARIUS. [Whispering] Hark, boys.
If anything that's civil, speak; if savage, IMOGEN. [Aside] Great men,
Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter. That had a court no bigger than this cave,
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
But fear the sword, like me, he'll scarcely look on't. Which their own conscience seal'd them, laying by
Such a foe, good heavens! Exit into the cave That nothing-gift of differing multitudes,
Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
BELARIUS. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman and I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I Since Leonatus' false.
Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match. BELARIUS. It shall be so.
The sweat of industry would dry and die Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in.
But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
Will make what's homely savoury; weariness We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth So far as thou wilt speak it.
Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, GUIDERIUS. Pray draw near.
Poor house, that keep'st thyself! ARVIRAGUS. The night to th' owl and morn to th' lark less welcome. IMOGEN. Thanks, sir.
GUIDERIUS. I am thoroughly weary. ARVIRAGUS. I pray draw near. Exeunt
ARVIRAGUS. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. SCENE VII.
GUIDERIUS. There is cold meat i' th' cave; we'll browse on that Whilst what we have Rome. A public place
kill'd be cook'd. Enter two ROMAN SENATORS and TRIBUNES
BELARIUS. [Looking into the cave] Stay, come not in. FIRST SENATOR. This is the tenour of the Emperor's writ:
But that it eats our victuals, I should think That since the common men are now in action
Here were a fairy. 'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
GUIDERIUS. What's the matter, sir? And that the legions now in Gallia are
BELARIUS.. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, Full weak to undertake our wars against
An earthly paragon! Behold divineness The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
No elder than a boy! The gentry to this business. He creates
Re-enter IMOGEN Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes,
IMOGEN. Good masters, harm me not. For this immediate levy, he commands
Before I enter'd here I call'd, and thought His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!
To have begg'd or bought what I have took. Good troth, TRIBUNE. Is Lucius general of the forces?
I have stol'n nought; nor would not though I had found SECOND SENATOR. Ay.
Gold strew'd i' th' floor. Here's money for my meat. TRIBUNE. Remaining now in Gallia?
I would have left it on the board, so soon FIRST SENATOR. With those legions
As I had made my meal, and parted Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
With pray'rs for the provider. Must be supplyant. The words of your commission
GUIDERIUS. Money, youth? Will tie you to the numbers and the time
ARVIRAGUS. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, Of their dispatch.
As 'tis no better reckon'd but of those TRIBUNE. We will discharge our duty. Exeunt
Who worship dirty gods. ACT IV. SCENE I.
IMOGEN. I see you're angry. Wales. Near the cave of BELARIUS
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Enter CLOTEN alone
Have died had I not made it. CLOTEN. I am near to th' place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp'd it truly.
BELARIUS. Whither bound? How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the
IMOGEN. To Milford Haven. tailor, not be fit too? The rather- saving reverence of the word- for 'tis said a woman's
BELARIUS. What's your name? fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, for it
IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber- I mean, the lines
Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford; of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant
I am fall'n in this offence. in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this imperceiverant
BELARIUS. Prithee, fair youth, 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 Juno had been sick,
garments cut to pieces before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her father, And he her dieter.
who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my mother, having power of ARVIRAGUS. Nobly he yokes
his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out,sword, and to A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
a sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very Was that it was for not being such a smile;
description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me. Exit The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly
SCENE II. From so divine a temple to commixWith winds that sailors rail at.
Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS GUIDERIUS. I do note
Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
BELARIUS. [To IMOGEN] You are not well. Remain here in the cave; We'll come to you after Mingle their spurs together.
hunting. ARVIRAGUS. Grow patience!
ARVIRAGUS. [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here. And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
Are we not brothers? His perishing root with the increasing vine!
IMOGEN. So man and man should be; BELARIUS. It is great morning. Come, away! Who's there?
But clay and clay differs in dignity, Enter CLOTEN
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. CLOTEN. I cannot find those runagates; that villain
GUIDERIUS. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him. Hath mock'd me. I am faint.
IMOGEN. So sick I am not, yet I am not well; BELARIUS. Those runagates?
But not so citizen a wanton as Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me; Cloten, the son o' th' Queen. I fear some ambush.
Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom I saw him not these many years, and yet
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!
Cannot amend me; society is no comfort GUIDERIUS. He is but one; you and my brother search
To one not sociable. I am not very sick, What companies are near. Pray you away;
Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here. Let me alone with him. Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS CLOTEN. Soft! What are you
I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?
Stealing so poorly. I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
GUIDERIUS. I love thee; I have spoke it. GUIDERIUS. A thing
How much the quantity, the weight as much More slavish did I ne'er than answering
As I do love my father. 'A slave' without a knock.
BELARIUS. What? how? how? CLOTEN. Thou art a robber,
ARVIRAGUS. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.
In my good brother's fault. I know not why GUIDERIUS. To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I
I love this youth, and I have heard you say An arm as big as thine, a heart as big?
Love's reason's without reason. The bier at door, Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art;
'My father, not this youth.' Why I should yield to thee.
BELARIUS. [Aside] O noble strain! CLOTEN. Thou villain base,
O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! Know'st me not by my clothes?
Cowards father cowards and base things sire base. GUIDERIUS. No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes,
I'm not their father; yet who this should be Which, as it seems, make thee.
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.- CLOTEN. Thou precious varlet,
'Tis the ninth hour o' th' morn. My tailor made them not.
ARVIRAGUS. Brother, farewell. GUIDERIUS. Hence, then, and thank
IMOGEN. I wish ye sport. The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
ARVIRAGUS. Your health. [To BELARIUS] So please you, sir. IMOGEN. [Aside] These are I am loath to beat thee.
kind CLOTEN. Thou injurious thief,
creatures. Gods, what lies I have Hear but my name, and tremble.
heard! GUIDERIUS. What's thy name?
Our courtiers say all's savage but at court. CLOTEN. Cloten, thou villain.
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! GUIDERIUS. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, I cannot tremble at it. Were it toad, or adder, spider, 'Twould move me sooner.
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. CLOTEN. To thy further fear,
I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I'll now taste of thy drug. [Swallows some] GUIDERIUS. I could not stir him. I am son to th' Queen.
He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; GUIDERIUS. I'm sorry for't; not seeming
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. So worthy as thy birth.
ARVIRAGUS. Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter CLOTEN. Art not afeard?
I might know more. GUIDERIUS. Those that I reverence, those I fear- the wise: At fools I laugh, not fear
BELARIUS. To th' field, to th' field! them.
We'll leave you for this time. Go in and rest. CLOTEN. Die the death.
ARVIRAGUS. We'll not be long away. When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
BELARIUS. Pray be not sick, I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
For you must be our huswife. And on the gates of Lud's Town set your heads.
IMOGEN. Well, or ill, Yield, rustic mountaineer. Exeunt, fighting
I am bound to you. Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS
BELARIUS. And shalt be ever. Exit IMOGEN into the cave This youth, howe'er distress'd, BELARIUS. No company's abroad.
appears he hath had ARVIRAGUS. None in the world; you did mistake him, sure.
Good ancestors. BELARIUS. I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him,
ARVIRAGUS. How angel-like he sings! But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
GUIDERIUS. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters, And sauc'd our broths as Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute I'll willingly to him; to gain his colour
'Twas very Cloten. I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood,
ARVIRAGUS. In this place we left them. And praise myself for charity. Exit BELARIUS. O thou goddess,
I wish my brother make good time with him, Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon'st
You say he is so fell. In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
BELARIUS. Being scarce made up, As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
I mean to man, he had not apprehension Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgmentIs oft the cease of fear. Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind
Re-enter GUIDERIUS with CLOTEN'S head That by the top doth take the mountain pine
But, see, thy brother. And make him stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonder
GUIDERIUS. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; That an invisible instinct should frame themTo royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
There was no money in't. Not Hercules Civility not seen from other, valour
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none; That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
My head as I do his. What Cloten's being here to us portends,
BELARIUS. What hast thou done? Or what his death will bring us.
GUIDERIUS. I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head, Re-enter GUIDERIUS
Son to the Queen, after his own report; GUIDERIUS. Where's my brother?
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
With his own single hand he'd take us in, In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
Displace our heads where- thank the gods!- they grow, For his return. [Solemn music] BELARIUS. My ingenious instrument!
And set them on Lud's Town. Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion
BELARIUS. We are all undone. Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!
GUIDERIUS. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose GUIDERIUS. Is he at home?
But that he swore to take, our lives? The law BELARIUS. He went hence even now.
Protects not us; then why should we be tender GUIDERIUS. What does he mean? Since death of my dear'st mother It did not speak before.
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, All solemn things
Play judge and executioner all himself, Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
For we do fear the law? What company Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
Discover you abroad? Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
BELARIUS. No single soul Is Cadwal mad?
Can we set eye on, but in an safe reason Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN as dead, bearing
He must have some attendants. Though his humour her in his arms
Was nothing but mutation- ay, and that BELARIUS. Look, here he comes,
From one bad thing to worse- not frenzy, not And brings the dire occasion in his arms
Absolute madness could so far have rav'd, Of what we blame him for!
To bring him here alone. Although perhaps ARVIRAGUS. The bird is dead
It may be heard at court that such as we That we have made so much on. I had rather
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
May make some stronger head- the which he hearing, To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
As it is like him, might break out and swear Than have seen this.
He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable GUIDERIUS. O sweetest, fairest lily!
To come alone, either he so undertaking My brother wears thee not the one half so well
Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear, As when thou grew'st thyself.
If we do fear this body hath a tail BELARIUS. O melancholy!
More perilous than the head. Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
ARVIRAGUS. Let ordinance The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare
Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe'er, Might'st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
My brother hath done well. Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
BELARIUS. I had no mind Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness How found you him?
Did make my way long forth. ARVIRAGUS. Stark, as you see;
GUIDERIUS. With his own sword, Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek
His head from him. I'll throw't into the creek Reposing on a cushion.
Behind our rock, and let it to the sea GUIDERIUS. Where?
And tell the fishes he's the Queen's son, Cloten. ARVIRAGUS. O' th' floor;
That's all I reck. Exit BELARIUS. I fear'twill be reveng'd. His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept, and put
Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Becomes thee well enough. Answer'd my steps too loud.
ARVIRAGUS. Would I had done't, GUIDERIUS. Why, he but sleeps.
So the revenge alone pursu'd me! Polydore, If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed;
I love thee brotherly, but envy much With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed. I would revenges, And worms will not come to thee.
That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, And put us to our answer. ARVIRAGUS. With fairest flowers,
BELARIUS. Well, 'tis done. Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
Where there's no profit. I prithee to our rock. The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
You and Fidele play the cooks; I'll stay The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
To dinner presently. Out-sweet'ned not thy breath. The ruddock would,
ARVIRAGUS. Poor sick Fidele! With charitable bill- O bill, sore shaming
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
Without a monument!- bring thee all this; Exeunt all but IMOGEN IMOGEN. [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way? I
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are none, thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither?'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?
To winter-ground thy corseGUIDERIUS. I have gone all night. Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
Prithee have done, But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses!
And do not play in wench-like words with that [Seeing the body] These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world;
Which is so serious. Let us bury him, This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
And not protract with admiration what For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
Is now due debt. To th' grave. And cook to honest creatures. But 'tis not so;
ARVIRAGUS. Say, where shall's lay him? 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
GUIDERIUS. By good Euriphile, our mother.ARVIRAGUS. Be't so; Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground, I tremble still with fear; but if there be
As once to our mother; use like note and words, Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
GUIDERIUS. Cadwal, The dream's here still. Even when I wake it is
I cannot sing. I'll weep, and word it with thee; Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse A headless man? The garments of Posthumus?
Than priests and fanes that lie. I know the shape of's leg; this is his hand,
ARVIRAGUS. We'll speak it, then. His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,
BELARIUS. Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less, for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial faceMurder
queen's son, boys; in heaven! How! 'Tis gone. Pisanio,
And though he came our enemy, remember All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Together have one dust, yet reverenceThat Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
angel of the world- doth make distinction Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
And though you took his life, as being our foe, Hath with his forged letters- damn'd PisanioFrom
Yet bury him as a prince. this most bravest vessel of the world
GUIDERIUS. Pray you fetch him hither. Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas,
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me! where's that?
When neither are alive. Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
ARVIRAGUS. If you'll go fetch him, And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. 'Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them
Exit BELARIUS GUIDERIUS. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th' East; My father hath a Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
reason for't. The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
ARVIRAGUS. 'Tis true. And cordial to me, have I not found it
GUIDERIUS. Come on, then, and remove him. Murd'rous to th' senses? That confirms it home.
ARVIRAGUS. So. Begin. This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten. O!
SONG Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the heat o' th' sun That we the horrider may seem to those
Nor the furious winter's rages; Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord!
Thou thy worldly task hast done, [Falls fainting on the body]
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Enter LUCIUS, CAPTAINS, and a SOOTHSAYER
Golden lads and girls all must, CAPTAIN. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
ARVIRAGUS. Fear no more the frown o' th' great; You here at Milford Haven; with your ships,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. They are in readiness.
Care no more to clothe and eat; LUCIUS. But what from Rome?
To thee the reed is as the oak. CAPTAIN. The Senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
The sceptre, learning, physic, must And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
All follow this and come to dust. That promise noble service; and they come
GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the lightning flash, Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
ARVIRAGUS. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone; Sienna's brother.
GUIDERIUS. Fear not slander, censure rash; LUCIUS. When expect you them?
ARVIRAGUS. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan. CAPTAIN. With the next benefit o' th' wind.
BOTH. All lovers young, all lovers must LUCIUS. This forwardness
Consign to thee and come to dust. Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
GUIDERIUS. No exorciser harm thee! Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
ARVIRAGUS. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?
GUIDERIUS. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! SOOTHSAYER. Last night the very gods show'd me a visionI
ARVIRAGUS. Nothing ill come near thee! fast and pray'd for their intelligence- thus:
BOTH. Quiet consummation have, I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
And renowned be thy grave! From the spongy south to this part of the west,
Re-enter BELARIUS with the body of CLOTEN There vanish'd in the sunbeams; which portends,
GUIDERIUS. We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down. BELARIUS. Here's a few Unless my sins abuse my divination,
flowers; but 'bout midnight, more. The herbs that have on them cold dew o' th' night Success to th' Roman host.
Are strewings fit'st for graves. Upon their faces. LUCIUS. Dream often so,
You were as flow'rs, now wither'd. Even so And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
These herblets shall which we upon you strew. Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
Come on, away. Apart upon our knees. It was a worthy building. How? a page?
The ground that gave them first has them again. Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather;
For nature doth abhor to make his bed I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
Let's see the boy's face. There wants no diligence in seeking him,
CAPTAIN. He's alive, my lord.LUCIUS. He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one, And will no doubt be found.
Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems CYMBELINE. The time is troublesome.[To PISANIO] We'll slip you for a season; but our
They crave to be demanded. Who is this jealousy Does yet depend.
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he LORD. So please your Majesty,
That, otherwise than noble nature did, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest Are landed on your coast, with a supply
In this sad wreck? How came't? Who is't? What art thou? IMOGEN. I am nothing; or if not, Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent.
Nothing to be were better. This was my master, CYMBELINE. Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
A very valiant Briton and a good, I am amaz'd with matter.
That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! LORD. Good my liege,
There is no more such masters. I may wander Your preparation can affront no less
From east to occident; cry out for service; Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready. The want is but to put those
Try many, all good; serve truly; never pow'rs in motion
Find such another master. That long to move.
LUCIUS. 'Lack, good youth! CYMBELINE. I thank you. Let's withdraw,
Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. What can from Italy annoy us; but
IMOGEN. Richard du Champ. [Aside] If I do lie, and do We grieve at chances here. Away! Exeunt all but PISANIO PISANIO. I heard no letter from
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope my master since
They'll pardon it.- Say you, sir? I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange.
LUCIUS. Thy name? Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. To yield me often tidings. Neither know
LUCIUS. Thou dost approve thyself the very same; What is betid to Cloten, but remain
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure, These present wars shall find I love my country,
No less belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters, Even to the note o' th' King, or I'll fall in them.
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. Exit
IMOGEN. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, I'll hide my master from the SCENE IV.
flies, as deep Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave, And on it said a century of GUIDERIUS. The noise is round about us.
prayers, BELARIUS. Let us from it.
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; ARVIRAGUS. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure?
And leaving so his service, follow you, GUIDERIUS. Nay, what hope
So please you entertain me. Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans
LUCIUS. Ay, good youth; Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
And rather father thee than master thee. For barbarous and unnatural revolts
My friends, During their use, and slay us after.
The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us BELARIUS. Sons,
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
And make him with our pikes and partisans To the King's party there's no going. Newness
A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd Of Cloten's death- we being not known, not muster'd
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd Among the bands-may drive us to a render
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes. Where we have liv'd, and so extort from's that
Some falls are means the happier to arise. Exeunt Which we have done, whose answer would be death,
SCENE III. Drawn on with torture.
Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace GUIDERIUS. This is, sir, a doubt
Enter CYMBELINE, LORDS, PISANIO, and attendants In such a time nothing becoming you
CYMBELINE. Again! and bring me word how 'tis with her. Nor satisfying us.
Exit an attendant A fever with the absence of her son; ARVIRAGUS. It is not likely
A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens, That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time That they will waste their time upon our note,
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, To know from whence we are.
So needful for this present. It strikes me past BELARIUS. O, I am known
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Of many in the army. Many years,
Who needs must know of her departure and Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee From my remembrance. And, besides, the King
By a sharp torture. Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves,
PISANIO. Sir, my life is yours; Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress, The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
I nothing know where she remains, why gone, To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness, But to be still hot summer's tanlings and
Hold me your loyal servant. The shrinking slaves of winter.
LORD. Good my liege, GUIDERIUS. Than be so,
The day that she was missing he was here. Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th' army.
I and my brother are not known; yourself SCENE II.
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps
Cannot be questioned. Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army at one door, and the British army at another,
ARVIRAGUS. By this sun that shines, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Alarums.
I'll thither. What thing is't that I never Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS. He vanquisheth and disarmeth
Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood IACHIMO, and then leaves him
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! IACHIMO. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Never bestrid a horse, save one that hadA rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady,
Nor iron on his heel! I am asham'd The Princess of this country, and the air on't
To look upon the holy sun, to have Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne
So long a poor unknown. As I wear mine are titles but of scorn.
GUIDERIUS. By heavens, I'll go! If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
I'll take the better care; but if you will not, Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. Exit
The hazard therefore due fall on me by The battle continues; the BRITONS fly; CYMBELINE is taken. Then enter to his rescue
The hands of Romans! BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS
ARVIRAGUS. So say I. Amen. BELARIUS. Stand, stand! We have th' advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded; nothing
BELARIUS. No reason I, since of your lives you set routs us but
So slight a valuation, should reserve The villainy of our fears.
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys! GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Stand, stand, and fight!
If in your country wars you chance to die, Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons; they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie. re-enter LUCIUS and IACHIMO,
Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn Till it fly out and with IMOGEN
show them princes born. Exeunt LUCIUS. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED As war were hoodwink'd.
BY PROJECT IACHIMO. 'Tis their fresh supplies.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. LUCIUS. It is a day turn'd strangely. Or betimes
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Let's reinforce or fly. Exeunt
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR SCENE III.
YOUR OR OTHERS Another part of the field
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Enter POSTHUMUS and a Britain LORD
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY LORD. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR POSTHUMUS. I did:
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
ACT V. SCENE I. LORD. I did.
Britain. The Roman camp POSTHUMUS. No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,
Enter POSTHUMUS alone, with a bloody handkerchief But that the heavens fought. The King himself
POSTHUMUS. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou shouldst be colour'd Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
thus. You married ones, And but the backs of Britons seen, an flying,
If each of you should take this course, how many Through a strait lane- the enemy, full-hearted,
Must murder wives much better than themselves Lolling the tongue with slaught'ring, having work
For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
Every good servant does not all commands; Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm'd
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
Had liv'd to put on this; so had you saved To die with length'ned shame.
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck LORD. Where was this lane?
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack, POSTHUMUS. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf, Which gave advantage to an
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love, ancient soldierAn
To have them fall no more. You some permit honest one, I warrant, who deserv'd
To second ills with ills, each elder worse, So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift. In doing this for's country. Athwart the lane
But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills, He, with two striplings- lads more like to run
And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither The country base than to commit such slaughter;
Among th' Italian gentry, and to fight With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Against my lady's kingdom. 'Tis enough Than those for preservation cas'd or shameMade
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! good the passage, cried to those that fled
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, 'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men.
Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand;
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself Or we are Romans and will give you that,
As does a Britain peasant. So I'll fight Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save
Against the part I come with; so I'll die But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!' These three,
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Three thousand confident, in act as manyFor
Is every breath a death. And thus unknown, three performers are the file when all
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril The rest do nothing- with this word 'Stand, stand!'
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know Accommodated by the place, more charming
More valour in me than my habits show. With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd
Gods, put the strength o' th' Leonati in me! A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
To shame the guise o' th' world, I will begin Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some turn'd coward But by example- O, a sin in war
The fashion- less without and more within. Exit Damn'd in the first beginners!- gan to look
The way that they did and to grin like lions SECOND GAOLER. Ay, or a stomach. Exeunt GAOLERS POSTHUMUS. Most welcome,
Upon the pikes o' th' hunters. Then began bondage! for
A stop i' th' chaser, a retire; anon thou art a way,
A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly, I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, Than one that's sick o' th' gout, since he had rather
The strides they victors made; and now our cowards, Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd
Like fragments in hard voyages, becameThe life o' th' need. Having found the back-door open By th' sure physician death, who is the key
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! T' unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'dMore than my shanks and wrists; you
Some slain before, some dying, some their friends good gods, give me
O'erborne i' th' former wave. Ten chas'd by one The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty. Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
Those that would die or ere resist are grown So children temporal fathers do appease;
The mortal bugs o' th' field. Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,
LORD. This was strange chance: I cannot do it better than in gyves,
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. Desir'd more than constrain'd. To satisfy,
POSTHUMUS. Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
Rather to wonder at the things you hear No stricter render of me than my all.
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, I know you are more clement than vile men,
And vent it for a mock'ry? Here is one: Who of their broken debtors take a third,
'Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.' On their abatement; that's not my desire.
LORD. Nay, be not angry, sir. For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
POSTHUMUS. 'Lack, to what end? 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it.
Who dares not stand his foe I'll be his friend; 'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
For if he'll do as he is made to do, Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake;
I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow'rs,
You have put me into rhyme. If you will take this audit, take this life,
LORD. Farewell; you're angry. Exit POSTHUMUS. Still going? This is a lord! O noble And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
misery, I'll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps]
To be i' th' field and ask 'What news?' of me! Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS
To-day how many would have given their honours LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man attired
To have sav'd their carcasses! took heel to do't, like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd, matron, his WIFE, and mother to POSTHUMUS, with
Could not find death where I did hear him groan, music before them. Then, after other music, follows
Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster, the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS,
'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, with wounds, as they died in the wars.
Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we They circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping
That draw his knives i' th' war. Well, I will find him; For being now a favourer to the SICILIUS. No more, thou thunder-master, show
Briton, Thy spite on mortal flies.
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
The part I came in. Fight I will no more, That thy adulteries
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall Rates and revenges.
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
Here made by th' Roman; great the answer be Whose face I never saw?
Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death; I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
On either side I come to spend my breath, Attending nature's law;
Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again, Whose father then, as men report
But end it by some means for Imogen. Thou orphans' father art,
Enter two BRITISH CAPTAINS and soldiers Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
FIRST CAPTAIN. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken. 'Tis thought the old man and From this earth-vexing smart.
his sons were angels. MOTHER. Lucina lent not me her aid,
SECOND CAPTAIN. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave th' affront with But took me in my throes,
them. That from me was Posthumus ripp'd,
FIRST CAPTAIN. So 'tis reported; Came crying 'mongst his foes,
But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there? A thing of pity.
POSTHUMUS. A Roman, SICILIUS. Great Nature like his ancestry
Who had not now been drooping here if seconds Moulded the stuff so fair
Had answer'd him. That he deserv'd the praise o' th' world
SECOND CAPTAIN. Lay hands on him; a dog! As great Sicilius' heir.
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell FIRST BROTHER. When once he was mature for man,
What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service, As if he were of note. Bring him In Britain where was he
to th' King. That could stand up his parallel,
Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman captives. Or fruitful object be
The In eye of Imogen, that best
CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers Could deem his dignity?
him over to a gaoler. Exeunt omnes MOTHER. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
SCENE IV. To be exil'd and thrown
Britain. A prison From Leonati seat and cast
Enter POSTHUMUS and two GAOLERS From her his dearest one,
FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you; So graze as you find Sweet Imogen?
pasture. SICILIUS. Why did you suffer Iachimo,
Slight thing of Italy, To taint his nobler heart and brain
 With needless jealousy, Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
And to become the geck and scorn Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects
O' th' other's villainy? So follow to be most unlike our courtiers,
SECOND BROTHER. For this from stiller seats we came, As good as promise.
Our parents and us twain, [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be
That, striking in our country's cause, embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches
Fell bravely and were slain, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and
Our fealty and Tenantius' right freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
With honour to maintain. peace and plenty.'
FIRST BROTHER. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
To Cymbeline perform'd. Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing,
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The graces for his merits due, The action of my life is like it, which
Being all to dolours turn'd? I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
SICILIUS. Thy crystal window ope; look out; Re-enter GAOLER
No longer exercise GAOLER. Come, sir, are you ready for death?
Upon a valiant race thy harsh POSTHUMUS. Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.
And potent injuries. GAOLER. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cook'd.
MOTHER. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, POSTHUMUS. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.
Take off his miseries. GAOLER. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to no
SICILIUS. Peep through thy marble mansion. Help! more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the sadness of parting, as the
Or we poor ghosts will cry procuring of mirth. You come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much
To th' shining synod of the rest drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and
Against thy deity. brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being
BROTHERS. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal, drawn of heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of a
And from thy justice fly. penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice. You have no true debitor and creditor but
JUPITER descends-in thunder and lightning, sitting it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and
upon an eagle. He throws a thunderbolt. The GHOSTS counters; so the acquittance follows.
fall on their knees POSTHUMUS. I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
JUPITER. No more, you petty spirits of region low, GAOLER. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a man that were to sleep
Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his
Accuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know, officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? POSTHUMUS. Yes indeed do I, fellow.
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest GAOLER. Your death has eyes in's head, then; I have not seen him so pictur'd. You must
Upon your never-withering banks of flow'rs. either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to take upon yourself that
Be not with mortal accidents opprest: which I am sure you do not know, or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you
No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours. shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, POSTHUMUS. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; going, but such as wink and will not use them. GAOLER. What an infinite mock is this,
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift; that a man should have the best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. hanging's the way of winking.
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in Enter a MESSENGER
Our temple was he married. Rise and fade! MESSENGER. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King. POSTHUMUS. Thou
He shall be lord of Lady Imogen, bring'st good news: I am call'd to be made free. GAOLER. I'll be hang'd then.
And happier much by his affliction made. POSTHUMUS. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. Exeunt
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein POSTHUMUS and MESSENGER GAOLER. Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; young
And so, away; no farther with your din gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that die against their
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends] SICILIUS. He came in thunder; his wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O,
celestial breath there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my
Was sulpherous to smell; the holy eagle wish hath a preferment in't. Exit
Stoop'd as to foot us. His ascension is SCENE V.
More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird Britain. CYMBELINE'S tent
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, LORDS, OFFICERS,
As when his god is pleas'd. and attendants
ALL. Thanks, Jupiter! CYMBELINE. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
SICILIUS. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest, That the poor soldier that so richly fought,Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked
Let us with care perform his great behest. [GHOSTS vanish]POSTHUMUS. [Waking] Sleep, breast
thou has been a grandsire and begot A father to me; and thou Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found.
hast created He shall be happy that can find him, if
A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn, Our grace can make him so.
Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born. BELARIUS. I never saw
And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
On greatness' favour, dream as I have done; Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve; But beggary and poor looks.
Many dream not to find, neither deserve, CYMBELINE. No tidings of him?
And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I, PISANIO. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him.
That have this golden chance, and know not why. CYMBELINE. To my grief, I am
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one! The heir of his reward; [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS] which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain, of Britain, LUCIUS. Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day
By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
To ask of whence you are. Report it. We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd Our prisoners with the sword. But
BELARIUS. Sir, since the gods
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen; Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
Further to boast were neither true nor modest, May be call'd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth
Unless I add we are honest. A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.
CYMBELINE. Bow your knees. Augustus lives to think on't; and so much
Arise my knights o' th' battle; I create you For my peculiar care. This one thing only
Companions to our person, and will fit you I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born,
With dignities becoming your estates. Let him be ransom'd. Never master had
Enter CORNELIUS and LADIES A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
There's business in these faces. Why so sadly So tender over his occasions, true,
Greet you our victory? You look like Romans, So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join
And not o' th' court of Britain. With my request, which I'll make bold your Highness
CORNELIUS. Hail, great King! Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm
To sour your happiness I must report Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir,
The Queen is dead. And spare no blood beside.
CYMBELINE. Who worse than a physician CYMBELINE. I have surely seen him;
Would this report become? But I consider His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
By med'cine'life may be prolong'd, yet death Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore
CORNELIUS. With horror, madly dying, like her life; To say 'Live, boy.' Ne'er thank thy master. Live;
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
I will report, so please you; these her women Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks The noblest ta'en.
Were present when she finish'd. IMOGEN. I humbly thank your Highness.
CYMBELINE. Prithee say. LUCIUS. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
CORNELIUS. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you, And yet I know thou wilt.
not you; IMOGEN. No, no! Alack,
Married your royalty, was wife to your place; There's other work in hand. I see a thing
Abhorr'd your person. Bitter to me as death; your life, good master,
CYMBELINE. She alone knew this; Must shuffle for itself.
And but she spoke it dying, I would not LUCIUS. The boy disdains me,
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys
CORNELIUS. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
With such integrity, she did confess Why stands he so perplex'd?
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, CYMBELINE. What wouldst thou, boy?
But that her flight prevented it, she had I love thee more and more; think more and more
Ta'en off by poison. What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy
CYMBELINE. O most delicate fiend! kin? thy friend?
Who is't can read a woman? Is there more? IMOGEN. He is a Roman, no more kin to me
CORNELIUS. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal,
For you a mortal mineral, which, being took, Am something nearer.
Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring, CYMBELINE. Wherefore ey'st him so?
By inches waste you. In which time she purpos'd, IMOGEN. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to To give me hearing.
O'ercome you with her show; and in time, CYMBELINE. Ay, with all my heart,
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
Her son into th' adoption of the crown; IMOGEN. Fidele, sir.
But failing of her end by his strange absence, CYMBELINE. Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
Grew shameless-desperate, open'd, in despite I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.
Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart] BELARIUS. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, ARVIRAGUS. One sand another
Despairing, died. Not more resembles- that sweet rosy lad
CYMBELINE. Heard you all this, her women? Who died and was Fidele. What think you?
LADY. We did, so please your Highness. GUIDERIUS. The same dead thing alive.
CYMBELINE. Mine eyes BELARIUS. Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear. Creatures may be alike;
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; were't he, I am sure
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart He would have spoke to us.
That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious GUIDERIUS. But we saw him dead.
To have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter! BELARIUS. Be silent; let's see further.
That it was folly in me thou mayst say,And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! PISANIO. [Aside] It is my mistress.
Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the SOOTHSAYER, and other Since she is living, let the time run on
Roman prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN To good or bad. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN advance] CYMBELINE. Come, stand thou by our
Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that side;Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss do
Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit it freely,
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
So think of your estate. Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.
IMOGEN. My boon is that this gentleman may render To make the noble Leonatus mad,By wounding his belief in her renown
Of whom he had this ring. With tokens thus and thus; averring notes
POSTHUMUS. [Aside] What's that to him? Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her braceletO
CYMBELINE. That diamond upon your finger, say cunning, how I got it!- nay, some marks
How came it yours? Of secret on her person, that he could not
IACHIMO. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
Which to be spoke would torture thee. I having ta'en the forfeit. WhereuponMethinks
CYMBELINE. How? me? I see him nowPOSTHUMUS.
IACHIMO. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that [Coming forward] Ay, so thou dost,
Which torments me to conceal. By villainy Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel, Egregious murderer, thief, anything
Whom thou didst banish; and- which more may grieve thee, As it doth me- a nobler sir That's due to all the villains past, in being,
ne'er liv'd To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out
CYMBELINE. All that belongs to this. For torturers ingenious. It is I
IACHIMO. That paragon, thy daughter, That all th' abhorred things o' th' earth amend
For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
Quail to remember- Give me leave, I faint. That kill'd thy daughter; villain-like, I lieThat
CYMBELINE. My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength; caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will A sacrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak. Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
IACHIMO. Upon a time- unhappy was the clock Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
That struck the hour!- was in Rome- accurs'd The dogs o' th' street to bay me. Every villain
The mansion where!- 'twas at a feast- O, would Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least Be villainy less than 'twas! O Imogen!
Those which I heav'd to head!- the good PosthumusWhat My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
should I say? he was too good to be Imogen, Imogen!
Where ill men were, and was the best of all IMOGEN. Peace, my lord. Hear, hear!
Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly POSTHUMUS. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lies thy part. [Strikes
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy her. She falls] PISANIO. O gentlemen, help!
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help!
The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, Mine honour'd lady!
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, CYMBELINE. Does the world go round?
A shop of all the qualities that man POSTHUMUS. How comes these staggers on me?
Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, PISANIO. Wake, my mistress!
Fairness which strikes the eyeCYMBELINE. CYMBELINE. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
I stand on fire. To death with mortal joy.
Come to the matter. PISANIO. How fares my mistress?
IACHIMO. All too soon I shall, IMOGEN. O, get thee from my sight;
Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, Thou gav'st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!
Most like a noble lord in love and one Breathe not where princes are.
That had a royal lover, took his hint; CYMBELINE. The tune of Imogen!
And not dispraising whom we prais'd- therein PISANIO. Lady,
He was as calm as virtue- he began The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, That box I gave you was not thought by me
And then a mind put in't, either our brags A precious thing! I had it from the Queen.
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description CYMBELINE. New matter still?
Prov'd us unspeaking sots. IMOGEN. It poison'd me.
CYMBELINE. Nay, nay, to th' purpose. CORNELIUS. O gods!
IACHIMO. Your daughter's chastity- there it begins. I left out one thing which the Queen confess'd,
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams Which must approve thee honest. 'If Pisanio
And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch, Have' said she 'given his mistress that confection
Made scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore As I would serve a rat.'
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain CYMBELINE. What's this, Cornelius?
In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring CORNELIUS. The Queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, To temper poisons for her; still pretending
No lesser of her honour confident The satisfaction of her knowledge only
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
And would so, had it been a carbuncle Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it Was of more danger, did compound for her
Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain A certain stuff, which, being ta'en would cease
Post I in this design. Well may you, sir, The present pow'r of life, but in short time
Remember me at court, where I was taught All offices of nature should again
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd IMOGEN. Most like I did, for I was dead.
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain BELARIUS. My boys,
Gan in your duller Britain operate There was our error.
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; GUIDERIUS. This is sure Fidele.
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd IMOGEN. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
That I return'd with simular proof enough Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again. [Embracing him] POSTHUMUS. Hang there like fruit, my soul, Was call'd Belarius.
Till the tree die! CYMBELINE. What of him? He is
CYMBELINE. How now, my flesh? my child? A banish'd traitor.
What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? BELARIUS. He it is that hath
Wilt thou not speak to me? Assum'd this age; indeed a banish'd man;
IMOGEN. [Kneeling] Your blessing, sir.BELARIUS. [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS] Though I know not how a traitor.
you did love this CYMBELINE. Take him hence,
youth, I blame ye not; The whole world shall not save him.
You had a motive for't. BELARIUS. Not too hot.
CYMBELINE. My tears that fall First pay me for the nursing of thy sons,
Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, And let it be confiscate all, so soonAs I have receiv'd it.
Thy mother's dead. CYMBELINE. Nursing of my sons?
IMOGEN. I am sorry for't, my lord. BELARIUS. I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee.
CYMBELINE. O, she was naught, and long of her it was Ere I arise I will prefer my sons;
That we meet here so strangely; but her son Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
Is gone, we know not how nor where. These two young gentlemen that call me father,
PISANIO. My lord, And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
Upon my lady's missing, came to me And blood of your begetting.
With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore, CYMBELINE. How? my issue?
If I discover'd not which way she was gone, BELARIUS. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
It was my instant death. By accident Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd.
I had a feigned letter of my master's Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Then in my pocket, which directed him Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; Was all the harm I did. These gentle princesFor
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, such and so they are- these twenty years
Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts Have I train'd up; those arts they have as
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as
My lady's honour. What became of him Your Highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
I further know not. Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
GUIDERIUS. Let me end the story: Upon my banishment; I mov'd her to't,
I slew him there. Having receiv'd the punishment before
CYMBELINE. Marry, the gods forfend! For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth, The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Deny't again. Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
GUIDERIUS. I have spoke it, and I did it. Here are your sons again, and I must lose
CYMBELINE. He was a prince. Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
GUIDERIUS. A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me The benediction of these covering heavens
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
With language that would make me spurn the sea, To inlay heaven with stars.
If it could so roar to me. I cut off's head, CYMBELINE. Thou weep'st and speak'st.
And am right glad he is not standing here The service that you three have done is more
To tell this tale of mine. Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children.
CYMBELINE. I am sorry for thee. If these be they, I know not how to wish
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must A pair of worthier sons.
Endure our law. Thou'rt dead. BELARIUS. Be pleas'd awhile.
IMOGEN. That headless man This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
I thought had been my lord. Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius;
CYMBELINE. Bind the offender, This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
And take him from our presence. Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
BELARIUS. Stay, sir King. In a most curious mantle, wrought by th' hand
This man is better than the man he slew, Of his queen mother, which for more probation
As well descended as thyself, and hath I can with ease produce.
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens CYMBELINE. Guiderius had
Had ever scar for. [To the guard] Let his arms alone; Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
They were not born for bondage. It was a mark of wonder.
CYMBELINE. Why, old soldier, BELARIUS. This is he,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent It was wise nature's end in the donation,
As good as we? To be his evidence now.
ARVIRAGUS. In that he spake too far. CYMBELINE. O, what am I?
CYMBELINE. And thou shalt die for't. A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
BELARIUS. We will die all three; Rejoic'd deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
But I will prove that two on's are as good That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
As I have given out him. My sons, I must You may reign in them now! O Imogen,
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech, Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
Though haply well for you. IMOGEN. No, my lord;
ARVIRAGUS. Your danger's ours. I have got two worlds by't. O my gentle brothers,
GUIDERIUS. And our good his. Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
BELARIUS. Have at it then by leave! But I am truest speaker! You call'd me brother,
Thou hadst, great King, a subject who When I was but your sister: I you brothers,
When we were so indeed. being dead many years, shall
CYMBELINE. Did you e'er meet? after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his
ARVIRAGUS. Ay, my good lord. miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
GUIDERIUS. And at first meeting lov'd, Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
Continu'd so until we thought he died. The fit and apt construction of thy name,
CORNELIUS. By the Queen's dram she swallow'd. Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.
CYMBELINE. O rare instinct! [To CYMBELINE] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, Which we call 'mollis
When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgment aer,' and 'mollis aer'
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which We term it 'mulier'; which 'mulier' I divine
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv'd you? Is this most constant wife, who even now
And when came you to serve our Roman captive? Answering the letter of the oracle,
How parted with your brothers? how first met them? Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, With this most tender air.
And your three motives to the battle, with CYMBELINE. This hath some seeming.
I know not how much more, should be demanded, SOOTHSAYER. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
And all the other by-dependences,From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place Personates thee; and thy lopp'd branches point
Will serve our long interrogatories. See, Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol'n,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen; For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting Promises Britain peace and plenty.
Each object with a joy; the counterchange CYMBELINE. Well,My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground, Although the victor, we submit to Caesar
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. And to the Roman empire, promising
[To BELARIUS] Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever. IMOGEN. You are my father To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
too, and did relieve me We were dissuaded by our wicked queen,
To see this gracious season. Whom heavens in justice, both on her and hers,
CYMBELINE. All o'erjoy'd Have laid most heavy hand.
Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too, SOOTHSAYER. The fingers of the pow'rs above do tune
For they shall taste our comfort. The harmony of this peace. The vision
IMOGEN. My good master, Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
I will yet do you service. Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant
LUCIUS. Happy be you! Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
CYMBELINE. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
He would have well becom'd this place and grac'd Lessen'd herself and in the beams o' th' sun
The thankings of a king. So vanish'd; which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
POSTHUMUS. I am, sir, Th'imperial Caesar, Caesar, should again unite
The soldier that did company these three His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for Which shines here in the west.
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, CYMBELINE. Laud we the gods;
Speak, Iachimo. I had you down, and might And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
Have made you finish. From our bless'd altars. Publish we this peace
IACHIMO. [Kneeling] I am down again; To all our subjects. Set we forward; let
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, A Roman and a British ensign wave
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, Friendly together. So through Lud's Town march;
Which I so often owe; but your ring first, And in the temple of great Jupiter
And here the bracelet of the truest princess Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
That ever swore her faith. Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
POSTHUMUS. Kneel not to me. Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. Exeunt
The pow'r that I have on you is to spare you; THE END
The malice towards you to forgive you. Live, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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CYMBELINE. Nobly doom'd! BY PROJECT
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As you did mean indeed to be our brother; YOUR OR OTHERS
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POSTHUMUS. Your servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome, COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 1604
Of mine own kindred. When I wak'd, I found THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK
This label on my bosom; whose containing by William Shakespeare
Is so from sense in hardness that I can Dramatis Personae
Make no collection of it. Let him show Claudius, King of Denmark.
His skill in the construction. Marcellus, Officer.
LUCIUS. Philarmonus! Hamlet, son to the former, and nephew to the present king. Polonius, Lord Chamberlain.
SOOTHSAYER. Here, my good lord. Horatio, friend to Hamlet.
LUCIUS. Read, and declare the meaning. Laertes, son to Polonius.
SOOTHSAYER. [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking Voltemand, courtier.
find, and be embrac'd by Cornelius, courtier.
a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches which, Rosencrantz, courtier.
Guildenstern, courtier. What we two nights have seen.
Osric, courtier. Hor. Well, sit we down,
A Gentleman, courtier. And let us hear Bernardo speak of this.
A Priest. Ber. Last night of all,
Marcellus, officer. When yond same star that's westward from the pole
Bernardo, officer. Had made his course t' illume that part of heaven
Francisco, a soldier Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself,
Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. The bell then beating one-
Players. Enter Ghost.
Two Clowns, gravediggers. Mar. Peace! break thee off! Look where it comes again!
Fortinbras, Prince of Norway. Ber. In the same figure, like the King that's dead.
A Norwegian Captain. Mar. Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.
English Ambassadors. Ber. Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.
Getrude, Queen of Denmark, mother to Hamlet. Hor. Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.
Ophelia, daughter to Polonius. Ber. It would be spoke to.
Ghost of Hamlet's Father. Mar. Question it, Horatio.
Lords, ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, Attendants. Hor. What art thou that usurp'st this time of night
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Together with that fair and warlike form
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED In which the majesty of buried Denmark
BY PROJECTGUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee speak!Mar. It is offended.
PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Ber. See, it stalks away!
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR Hor. Stay! Speak, speak! I charge thee speak!
YOUR OR OTHERS Exit Ghost. Mar. 'Tis gone and will not answer.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Ber. How now, Horatio? You tremble and look pale.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Is not this something more than fantasy?
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR What think you on't?
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe
SCENE.- Elsinore. Without the sensible and true avouch
ACT I. Scene I. Of mine own eyes.
Elsinore. A platform before the Castle. Mar. Is it not like the King?
Enter two Sentinels-[first,] Francisco, [who paces up and down at his post; then] Hor. As thou art to thyself.
Bernardo, [who approaches him]. Such was the very armour he had on
Ber. Who's there.? When he th' ambitious Norway combated.
Fran. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself. So frown'd he once when, in an angry parle,
Ber. Long live the King! He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice.
Fran. Bernardo? 'Tis strange.
Ber. He. Mar. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour,
Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch.
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco. Hor. In what particular thought to work I know not;
Fran. For this relief much thanks. 'Tis bitter cold, But, in the gross and scope of my opinion,
And I am sick at heart. This bodes some strange eruption to our state.
Ber. Have you had quiet guard? Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me he that knows,
Fran. Not a mouse stirring. Why this same strict and most observant watch
Ber. Well, good night. So nightly toils the subject of the land,
If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, And why such daily cast of brazen cannon
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. And foreign mart for implements of war;
Enter Horatio and Marcellus. Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task
Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there? Does not divide the Sunday from the week.
Hor. Friends to this ground. What might be toward, that this sweaty haste
Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day?
Fran. Give you good night. Who is't that can inform me?
Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier. Hor. That can I.
Who hath reliev'd you? At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king,
Fran. Bernardo hath my place. Whose image even but now appear'd to us,
Give you good night. Exit. Mar. Holla, Bernardo! Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,
Ber. SayWhat, Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride,
is Horatio there ? Dar'd to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet
Hor. A piece of him. (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him)
Ber. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus. Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact,
Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? Well ratified by law and heraldry,
Ber. I have seen nothing. Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands
Mar. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror;
And will not let belief take hold of him Against the which a moiety competent
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us. Was gaged by our king; which had return'd
Therefore I have entreated him along, To the inheritance of Fortinbras,
With us to watch the minutes of this night, Had he been vanquisher, as, by the same comart
That, if again this apparition come, And carriage of the article design'd,
He may approve our eyes and speak to it. His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,
Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. Of unimproved mettle hot and full,
Ber. Sit down awhile, Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there,
And let us once again assail your ears, Shark'd up a list of lawless resolutes,
That are so fortified against our story, For food and diet, to some enterprise
That hath a stomach in't; which is no other,
As it doth well appear unto our state,
But to recover of us, by strong hand
And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands
So by his father lost; and this, I take it,
Is the main motive of our preparations,
The source of this our watch, and the chief head
Of this post-haste and romage in the land.
Ber. I think it be no other but e'en so.
Well may it sort that this portentous figure
Comes armed through our watch, so like the King
That was and is the question of these wars.
Hor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye.
In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets;
As stars with trains of fire, and dews of blood,
Disasters in the sun; and the moist star
Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
And even the like precurse of fierce events,
As harbingers preceding still the fates
And prologue to the omen coming on,Have heaven and earth together demonstrated
Unto our climature and countrymen.
Enter Ghost again.
But soft! behold! Lo, where it comes again!
I'll cross it, though it blast me.- Stay illusion!
Spreads his arms. If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me.
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and, race to me,
Speak to me.
If thou art privy to thy country's fate,
Which happily foreknowing may avoid,
O, speak!
Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life
Extorted treasure in the womb of earth
(For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death),
The cock crows. Speak of it! Stay, and speak!- Stop it, Marcellus!
Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
Hor. Do, if it will not stand.
Ber. 'Tis here!
Hor. 'Tis here!
Mar. 'Tis gone!
Exit Ghost. We do it wrong, being so majestical,
To offer it the show of violence;
For it is as the air, invulnerable,
And our vain blows malicious mockery.
Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew.
Hor. And then it started, like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day; and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
Th' extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine; and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.
Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say that ever, 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long;
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
Hor. So have I heard and do in part believe it.
But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill.
Break we our watch up; and by my advice
Let us impart what we have seen to-night
Unto young Hamlet; for, upon my life,
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him.
Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it,
As needful in our loves, fitting our duty?
Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know
Where we shall find him most conveniently. Exeunt.
Scene II.
Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle.
Flourish. [Enter Claudius, King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes
and his sister Ophelia, [Voltemand, Cornelius,] Lords Attendant.
King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death
The memory be green, and that it us befitted
To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom
To be contracted in one brow of woe,
Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature
That we with wisest sorrow think on him
Together with remembrance of ourselves.
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,
Th' imperial jointress to this warlike state,
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy,
With an auspicious, and a dropping eye,With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,
In equal scale weighing delight and dole,
Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr'd
Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone
With this affair along. For all, our thanks.
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,
Holding a weak supposal of our worth,
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame,
Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message
Importing the surrender of those lands
Lost by his father, with all bands of law,
To our most valiant brother. So much for him.
Now for ourself and for this time of meeting.
Thus much the business is: we have here writ
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras,
Who, impotent and bedrid, scarcely hears
Of this his nephew's purpose, to suppress
His further gait herein, in that the levies,
The lists, and full proportions are all made
Out of his subject; and we here dispatch
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand,
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway,
Giving to you no further personal power
To business with the King, more than the scope
Of these dilated articles allow. [Gives a paper.] Farewell, and let your haste commend
your duty.
Cor., Volt. In that, and all things, will we show our duty. King. We doubt it nothing.
Heartily farewell.
Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius. And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit. What is't, Laertes?
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane
And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes,
That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?
The head is not more native to the heart,
The hand more instrumental to the mouth,
Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.
What wouldst thou have, Laertes?
Laer. My dread lord,
Your leave and favour to return to France;
From whence though willingly I came to Denmark
To show my duty in your coronation,
Yet now I must confess, that duty done,
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France
And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.
King. Have you your father's leave? What says Polonius?
Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave
By laboursome petition, and at last
Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent.
I do beseech you give him leave to go.
King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes. Time be thine,
And thy best graces spend it at thy will! Seem to me all the uses of this world!
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my sonHam. Fie on't! ah, fie! 'Tis an unweeded garden
[aside] A little more than kin, and less than kind! That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
Ham. Not so, my lord. I am too much i' th' sun. But two months dead! Nay, not so much, not two.
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, So excellent a king, that was to this
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Seek for thy noble father in the dust. Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Thou know'st 'tis common. All that lives must die, Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
Passing through nature to eternity. As if increase of appetite had grown
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. By what it fed on; and yet, within a monthLet
Queen. If it be, me not think on't! Frailty, thy name is woman!-
Why seems it so particular with thee? A little month, or ere those shoes were old
Ham. Seems, madam, Nay, it is. I know not 'seems.' With which she followed my poor father's body
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Like Niobe, all tears- why she, even she
Nor customary suits of solemn black, (O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason
Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath, Would have mourn'd longer) married with my uncle;
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, My father's brother, but no more like my father
Nor the dejected havior of the visage, Than I to Hercules. Within a month,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
'That can denote me truly. These indeed seem, Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
For they are actions that a man might play; She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
But I have that within which passeth showThese With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
but the trappings and the suits of woe.King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, It is not, nor it cannot come to good.
Hamlet, But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue!
To give these mourning duties to your father; Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo.Hor. Hail to your lordship!
But you must know, your father lost a father; Ham. I am glad to see you well.
That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound Horatio!- or I do forget myself.
In filial obligation for some term Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.
To do obsequious sorrow. But to persever Ham. Sir, my good friend- I'll change that name with you. And what make you from
In obstinate condolement is a course Wittenberg, Horatio?
Of impious stubbornness. 'Tis unmanly grief; Marcellus?
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, Mar. My good lord!
A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, Ham. I am very glad to see you.- [To Bernardo] Good even, sir.- But what, in faith, make
An understanding simple and unschool'd; you from Wittenberg?
For what we know must be, and is as common Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.
As any the most vulgar thing to sense, Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so,
Why should we in our peevish opposition Nor shall you do my ear that violence
Take it to heart? Fie! 'tis a fault to heaven, To make it truster of your own report
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, Against yourself. I know you are no truant.
To reason most absurd, whose common theme But what is your affair in Elsinore?
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.
From the first corse till he that died to-day, Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
'This must be so.' We pray you throw to earth Ham. I prithee do not mock me, fellow student.
This unprevailing woe, and think of us I think it was to see my mother's wedding.
As of a father; for let the world take note Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.
You are the most immediate to our throne, Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats
And with no less nobility of love Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
Than that which dearest father bears his son Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven
Do I impart toward you. For your intent Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio!
In going back to school in Wittenberg, My father- methinks I see my father.
It is most retrograde to our desire; Hor. O, where, my lord?
And we beseech you, bend you to remain Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.
Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, Hor. I saw him once. He was a goodly king.
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all.
Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. I shall not look upon his like again.
I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg. Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. Ham. Saw? who?
King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply. Hor. My lord, the King your father.
Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come. Ham. The King my father?
This gentle and unforc'd accord of Hamlet Hor. Season your admiration for a while
Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, With an attent ear, till I may deliver
No jocund health that Denmark drinks to-day Upon the witness of these gentlemen,
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, This marvel to you.
And the King's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, Ham. For God's love let me hear!
Respeaking earthly thunder. Come away. Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen
Flourish. Exeunt all but Hamlet. Ham. O that this too too solid flesh would melt, (Marcellus and Bernardo) on their watch
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! In the dead vast and middle of the night
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd Been thus encount'red. A figure like your father,
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Appears before them and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them. Thrice he walk'd
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,
Within his truncheon's length; whilst they distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,
Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me
In dreadful secrecy impart they did,
And I with them the third night kept the watch;
Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time,
Form of the thing, each word made true and good,
The apparition comes. I knew your father.
These hands are not more like.
Ham. But where was this?
Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.
Ham. Did you not speak to it?
Hor. My lord, I did;
But answer made it none. Yet once methought
It lifted up it head and did address
Itself to motion, like as it would speak;
But even then the morning cock crew loud,
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away
And vanish'd from our sight.
Ham. 'Tis very strange.
Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true;
And we did think it writ down in our duty
To let you know of it.
Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs. But this troubles me.
Hold you the watch to-night?
Both [Mar. and Ber.] We do, my lord.
Ham. Arm'd, say you?
Both. Arm'd, my lord.
Ham. From top to toe?
Both. My lord, from head to foot.Ham. Then saw you not his face?
Hor. O, yes, my lord! He wore his beaver up.
Ham. What, look'd he frowningly.
Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
Ham. Pale or red?
Hor. Nay, very pale.
Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?
Hor. Most constantly.
Ham. I would I had been there.
Hor. It would have much amaz'd you.
Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?
Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.
Both. Longer, longer.
Hor. Not when I saw't.
Ham. His beard was grizzled- no?
Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life,
A sable silver'd.
Ham. I will watch to-night.
Perchance 'twill walk again.
Hor. I warr'nt it will.
Ham. If it assume my noble father's person,
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all,
If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight,
Let it be tenable in your silence still;
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night,
Give it an understanding but no tongue.
I will requite your loves. So, fare you well.
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve,
I'll visit you.
All. Our duty to your honour.
Ham. Your loves, as mine to you. Farewell.
Exeunt [all but Hamlet]. My father's spirit- in arms? All is not well.
I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come!
Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
Exit.
Scene III.
Elsinore. A room in the house of Polonius.
Enter Laertes and Ophelia.
Laer. My necessaries are embark'd. Farewell.
And, sister, as the winds give benefit
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep,
But let me hear from you.
Oph. Do you doubt that?
Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood;
A violet in the youth of primy nature,
Forward, not permanent- sweet, not lasting;
The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
No more.
Oph. No more but so?
Laer. Think it no more.
For nature crescent does not grow alone
In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes,
The inward service of the mind and soul
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now,
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch
The virtue of his will; but you must fear,
His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own;
For he himself is subject to his birth.
He may not, as unvalued persons do,
Carve for himself, for on his choice depends
The safety and health of this whole state,
And therefore must his choice be circumscrib'd
Unto the voice and yielding of that body
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you,
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it
As he in his particular act and place
May give his saying deed; which is no further
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal.
Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain
If with too credent ear you list his songs,
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure openTo his unmast'red importunity.
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough
If she unmask her beauty to the moon.
Virtue itself scopes not calumnious strokes.
The canker galls the infants of the spring
Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd,
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent.
Be wary then; best safety lies in fear.
Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
Oph. I shall th' effect of this good lesson keep
As watchman to my heart. But, good my brother,
Do not as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
And recks not his own rede.
Laer. O, fear me not!
Enter Polonius.
I stay too long. But here my father comes.
A double blessing is a double grace;
Occasion smiles upon a second leave.
Pol. Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,
And you are stay'd for. There- my blessing with thee!
And these few precepts in thy memory
Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion'd thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar:
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in,
Bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all- to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
But it is with Somerset, Cape York, that we have more especial concern. In the August of
1862, Sir George Bowen, Governor of Queensland, being on a voyage of inspection to the
Northern Ports, in Her Majesty's Steamer "Pioneer," visited Port Albany, Cape York, and
on his return, in a despatch to the Imperial Government, recommended it for the site of a
Settlement, on account of its geographical importance, as harbor of refuge, coaling
station, and entrepot for the trade of Torres Straits and the Islands of the North
Pacific. The following year the formation of a Settlement was decided upon, the Home
Government sending out a detachment of Marines to be stationed there, and assist in its
establishment. The task of establishing the new Settlement was confided to Mr. Jardine,
then Police Magistrate of Rockhampton, than whom, perhaps, no man could be found more
fitted for its peculiar duties. An experienced official, a military man, keen sportsman,
and old bushman, he possessed, in addition to an active and energetic temperament, every
quality and experience necessary for meeting the varied and exceptional duties incident
to such a position. It was whilst making the arrangements for the expedition by sea,
which was to transport the staff, materiel, and stores of the Settlement, that Mr.
Jardine, foreseeing the want of fresh provision, proposed to the Government to send his
own sons, Frank and Alexander, overland with a herd of cattle to form a station from
which it might be supplied. This was readily acceded to, the Government agreeing to
supply the party with the services of a qualified surveyor, fully equipped, to act as
Geographer, by noting and recording their course and the appearance of the country
traversed, and also horses, arms, and accoutrements for four native blacks, or as they
are commonly called in the colonies, Black-boys. Although the account of poor Kennedy's
journey from Rockingham Bay to Cape York, in which his own and half his party's lives
were sacrificed, was not very encouraging for the intended expedition, Mr. Jardine never
for a moment doubted of its success, and looked forward to meeting his sons at Somersetas a
matter of course. In the prime of youth and health (their ages were but 22 and 20),
strong, active, and hardy, inured to the life and habits of the bush, with an instinct of
locality, which has been alluded to as having "la Boussole dans la tete," they were
eminently fitted for the task, and eagerly undertook it when proposed. How well they
carried it out, although, unfortunately, with so little benefit to themselves, is here
recorded. Had poor Wills been associated with such companions there would have been a
different tale to tell to that which lends so melancholy an interest to his name, and we
should now have him amongst us to honor, instead of a monument to his memory, a
monument,
which in honoring the dead, rebukes the living.
The loss of three-fourths of their horses, and a fifth of their cattle, together with a
large equipment, has made the enterprise of the Messrs. Jardine, speaking financially,
little short of a failure, but at their age the mind is resilient, and not easily damped
by misfortune. On their return to Brisbane the Government, with kind consideration,
proposed to place such a sum on the Estimates of Parliament as would indemnify them, and
at the same time mark its sense of the high merit and importance of their journey, but
this, through their father, they respectfully declined, Frank Jardine giving as his
reason, that as the expedition was a private enterprise and not a public undertaking, he
did not consider himself entitled to any indemnity from the public. Opinions may be
divided on such a conclusion, but in it we cannot but recognise a delicacy and nobility
of sentiment as rare, unfortunately, as it is admirable. Yet, if they have thus
voluntarily cut themselves off from the substantial rewards which have hitherto
recompensed other explorers, they are still entitled to the high praise and commendation
of all who admire spirit and determination of purpose, and cannot be insensible to their
applause. And it is in recognition that such is their due, that the writer has undertaken
to bring this narrative before the public.
CHAPTER I.
Start from Rockhampton -- Alexander Jardine explores the Einasleih -- Newcastle Range --
Pluto Creek -- Canal Creek -- Basaltic Plateau -- Warroul Creek -- Parallel Creek --
Galas Creek -- Porphyry Islands -- Alligators' tracks -- Bauhinia Plains -- Discovers
error as to River Lynd -- Return -- The Nonda -- Burdekin duck -- Simon's Gap -- Arrival
of the cattle -- Preparation for final start.
On the 14th of May, 1864, the overland party which was to take cattle to the new
settlement at Cape York, was started by Mr. Frank Jardine, from Rockhampton, under the
charge of his brother Alexander. It comprised ten persons, with thirty-one horses. The
instructions were to travel by easy stages to Port Denison, and there wait the arrival of
the Leader. In the following month, Mr. Jardine, senior, taking with him his third son
John, sailed for Brisbane, and shortly after from thence to Somerset, Cape York, in the
Eagle, barque, chartered by the Government, for transport of material, etc., arriving
there at the end of June.
Mr. Frank Jardine, taking with him the surveyor attached to the expedition, Mr. A. J.
Richardson, arrived at Bowen by sea, about the middle of July, when the party was again
moved forward, he himself starting off to make the purchase of the cattle. Five more
horses were purchased on account of the Government in Bowen, for Mr. Richardson, making a
total of forty-two. The prevalence of pleuro-pneumonia made it a matter of some
difficulty for Mr. F. Jardine to get suitable stock for his purpose, and caused
considerable delay. Arrangements having at length been made with Mr. William Stenhouse,
of the River Clarke, the party was divided at the Reedy Lake Station, on the Burdekin,
Mr. A. Jardine moving forward with the pack horses and equipment, leaving the Leader with
Messrs. Scrutton and Cowderoy, and three black boys to muster and fetch on the cattle.
The advance party started on the 17th August, and arrived at Carpentaria Downs, the
station of J. G. Macdonald, Esq., on the 30th. This was at that time the furthest station
to the North West, and was intended to be made the final starting point of the
expedition, by the permission of Mr. Macdonald, from whom the party received much
kindness. On their way they were joined by Mr. Henry Bode, a gentleman who was in search
of country to occupy with stock. After remaining in camp at Carpentaria Downs for a few
days, Mr. A. Jardine decided on utilizing the interval, which must elapse before his
brother could re-join him with the cattle, by exploring the country ahead, so as to
faciliate the march of the stock on the final start. Accordingly, leaving the camp in
charge of Mr. Richardson, with Mr. Binney, and two black boys, he started on the 3rd of
September, taking with him the most trusty of his black boys, "old Eulah," and one
pack-horse, and accompanied by Mr. Bode, who took advantage of the opportunity to have a
look at the country. As Mr. Bode had his own black boy with him, the party comprised
four, with two pack-horses, carrying provision for three weeks. About the same time Mr.
Macdonald started with a party of three to find a road for his stock to the Gulf, where
he was about to form a station; the account of which trip has been published bythat
gentleman.
The stream on which Carpentaria Downs station is situated was supposed to be the "Lynd"
of Leichhardt and was so called and known; but as this was found to be an error, and that
it was a tributary of the Gilbert, it will be distinguished by the name it subsequently
received, the Einasleih. Keeping the right bank of the river which was running strongly
two hundred yards wide, the party travelled six miles to a small rocky bald hill, under
which they passed on the north side; and thence to a gap in a low range, through whichthe
river forces its way. Travelling down its bed for a quarter-of-a-mile, they crossed
to its left bank, on to a large level basaltic plain; but here the extent of the rocky
ground made the travelling so bad for the horses, although shod, that it was impossible
to proceed, and the river was therefore re-crossed. Five miles more of rough travelling
over broken stony ironbark ridges, brought them to a second gorge, formed by two spurs of
a range, running down to the river banks on either side, where they camped, having made
about 15 miles on a general course of N.W. by N. To the south of this gorge, and running
parallel with the river, is a high range of hills, which received the name of the
Newcastle Range. (Camp I.)
'September' 4. -- Resuming their journey, the party passed through a gap in the northern
spur, described yesterday, about a quarter-of-a-mile from the camp. From this gap a point
of the range on the south side was sighted, running into the river, and for this they
steered. At 4 miles a small lagoon was passed, 300 yards out from the river, and a
quarter-of-a-mile further on, a broad, shallow, sandy creek(then dry), which was named
"Pluto Creek." At 8 miles a small rugged hill was passed on the left hand, and the point
of the range steered for reached at 9. At 12 a large well-watered creek was crossed, and
the party camped at the end of 18 miles on a similar one. The general course N.N.W., and
lay chiefly over very stony ridges, close to the river banks. The timber was chiefly box,
iron-bark, and melaleuca, the latter growing in the shallow bed, in which also large
granite boulders frequently occurred. Though shallow, it contained fine pools and reaches
of water, in some of which very fine fish were observed. Eighteen miles (Camp II.)
'September' 5. -- After crossing the creek, on which they had camped, at its junction,
the party followed down a narrow river flat for four miles, to where a large sandy creek
joins it from the north. The steepness of its banks and freedom from fallen timber,
suggested the name of "Canal Creek" -- it is about 80 yards wide. Two miles further down
a small creek joins, and at 12 miles a high rocky hill was reached. From this hill a bar
of granite rock extends across the river to a similar one on the south side. A fine view
was obtained from its summit showing them the course of the river. Up to this point the
course had been N.W. After passing through a gap, immediately under and on the north of
the rocky hill they were forced by the river into a northerly course for two miles, at
which they crossed a spur of the range running into it, so rugged that they were obliged
to lead their horses. Beyond this they emerged on to a basaltic plain, timbered with box
and bloodwood, and so stony as to render the walking very severe for the horses. The
basalt continued for the rest of the day. At about 18 miles a large creek was crossed,
running into an ana-branch. The banks of the river which border the basaltic plain are
very high and steep on both sides. Running the ana-branch down for four miles, the camp
was pitched, after a tedious and fatiguing day's march. (Camp III.)
'September' 6. -- The ana-branch camped on last night being found to run parallel to the
course of the river, received the name of Parallel Creek. Its average width is about 150
yards, well watered, and full of melaleucas and fallen timber. The country on its north
bank down to its junction with the river 20 miles from the junction of Warroul Creek, is
broken into ridges of quartz and sand-stone, stony, and poorly grassed. That contained
between its south bank and the river, the greatest width of which is not more than three
miles, is a basaltic plateau, terminating in precipitous banks on the river, averaging 50
feet in perpendicular height. To avoid the stones on either side, there being no choice
between the two, the party travelled down the bed of Parallel Creek the whole day. At
about 9 miles stringy bark appeared on the ridges of the north bank. Large flocks of
cockatoo parrots ('Nymphicus Nov. Holl.') were seen during the day, and a "plant" of
native spears was found. They were neatly made, jagged at the head with wallaby bones,
and intended for throwing in the Wommerah or throwing stick. At the end of 20 miles the
party reached the junction of Parallel Creek with the river and encamped. The general
course was about N.W. (Camp IV.)
'September' 7. -- The party was now happily clear of the basaltic country, but the
travelling was still none of the best, the first nine miles of to-day's stage being over
stony ridges of quartz and iron-stone, interspersed with small, sandy, river flats. At
this distance a large creek of running water was crossed, and the camp pitched at about
two miles from its junction with the Einasleih. The creek received the name of Galaa
Creek, in allusion to the galaa or rose cockatoo ('Cacatua Rosea'), large flocks of which
were frequently seen. The junction of Galaa Creek is remarkable for two porphyritic rock
islands, situated in the bed of the river, which is here sandy, well watered, and about
300 yards wide. The grass was very scarce, having been recently burned. The timber
chiefly iron-bark and box. Course N.W. 1/2 W., distance 10 miles (Camp V.)
'September' 8. -- To-day the river was followed down over low broken stony ranges, having
their crests covered with "garrawan" scrub for 5 miles, when the party was gratified by
an agreable change in the features of the country. Instead of the alternative of broken
country, stony ridges, or basaltic plains they had toiled over for nearly 80 miles, they
now emerged on to fine open well-grassed river flats, lightly timbered, and separated by
small spurs of ridges running into them. A chain of small lagoons was passed at 12 miles,
teeming with black duck, teal, wood duck, and pigmy geese, whilst pigeons and other birds
were frequent in the open timber, a sure indication of good country. At 13 miles a small
creek was crossed, and another at 18, and after having made a good stage of 25 miles the
party again camped on the Einasleih. At this point it had increased to a width of nearly
a mile, the banks were low and sloping, and the bed shallow and dry. It was stillnevertheless,
well watered, the stream, as is not unusual in many of our northern rivers,
continuing to run under the surface of the sand, and requiring very slight digging or
even scratching, to be got at. The general course throughout the day was about N.W.1/2W.
(Camp VI.)
'September' 9. -- The course down the river was resumed over similar country to that of
yesterday. Keeping at the back of some low table-topped hills, at 5 miles the party
struck a fine clear deep lagoon, about two miles in from the river, of which it is the
overflow. A chain of small waterholes occurs at 12 miles, which were covered with ducks
and other water-fowl, whilst immense flocks of a slate-colored pigeon were seen at
intervals. They are about the same size as the Bronzewing, and excessively wild.* The
river, when again struck, had resumed running. It was still sandy and full of the
graceful weeping melaleuca in the bed, where traces of alligators were observed. The
country traversed throughout the day was good, but the small plains and flats were
thought likely to be swampy in wet weather. Another good stage of 26 miles was made, and
the party again camped on the river. The general course was due west. (Camp VII.)
[footnote] * 'The Phaps Histrionica, or Harlequin Bronzewing.'
'September' 10. -- Taking his course from the map he carried, shewing the river running
north-west, and depending on its correctness, Mr. Jardine bore to the north-west for 15
miles, travelling over sandy honey-combed rises, and low swampy plains, when he reached a
watershed to the north, which he then supposed must be the head of Mitchell waters,
finding himself misled by his map and that he had left the river altogether, he turned
south by west and did not reach it before the end of 8 miles on that bearing, when the
party camped on a small ana-branch. The true course of the river would thus be about W.
by N. Total distance 23 miles. (Camp VIII.)
'September' 11. -- This day's journey was over fine country. The first course was N.W.
for about 5 miles, to a large round shallow lagoon, covered with quantities of wild fowl,
and thence, following the direction of the river into camp about 13 miles, over a
succession of large black soil plains covered with good grasses, mixed herbs, and salt
bush. The principal timber being bauhinia, suggested the name of "Bauhinia Plains." Their
width back from the river extended to an average of six miles, when they were bounded by
low well-grassed iron-bark ridges. The river was broad and sandy, running in two or three
channels, and occasionally spreading into long reaches. Large ana-branches, plentifully
watered, left the main channel running back from it from 1 to 3 miles. A great many
fishing weirs were observed in the channels of the river, from which it would appear that
the blacks live much, if not principally, on fish. They were well and neatly constructed.
(Camp IX.)
'September' 12. -- Alexander Jardine, having now travelled 180 miles from Carpentaria
Downs, was convinced that the river he had traced this distance could not be the Lynd of
Leichhardt. The reasons which forced this conclusion on him were three: -- Firstly, the
discription of the country in no wise tallied. Secondly, the course of the river
differed. And thirdly, although he had travelled further to the west than Leichhardt's
junction of the Lynd and Mitchell, he had not even been on Mitchell waters, the northern
watershed he had been on, on the 10th, being that of a small creek, doubling on itself,
and running into this river. Having thus set the matter at rest in his own mind, he
determined to re-trace his steps, and accordingly started back this morning and camped at
night at the shallow lagoon, passed the day previous. On the way they shot several ducks
and a bustard. These are very numerous on the plains, but wild and unapproachable, as
they most frequently are in the north. At each camp on his journey Mr. Jardine regularly
marked a tree A.J. and the number of the Camp.
'September' 13. -- The party travelled back over Bauhinia Plains, and camped on the
river, near camp 8 of the outward journey. At night they went fishing, and got a number
of fine perch, and a small spotted fish. Distance 24 miles.
'September' 14. -- To-day the party saw blacks for the first time since leaving
Carpentaria Downs. They "rounded them up," and had a parley, without hostility on either
side, each being on the defensive, and observing the other. They bore no distinctive
character, or apparent difference to the Rockhampton tribes, and were armed with reed
speers and wommerahs. For the first time also they met with the ripe fruit of the
Palinaria, the "Nonda" of Leichhardt. The distance travelled was 27 miles, which brought
them to the 7th camp on the outward journey.
'September' 15. -- Following up the course of the river, the 6th camp was reached in 26
miles, where the feed was so good that Mr. Jardine determined to halt for a day and
recruit the horses. On the way they again passed some natives who were fishing in a large
lagoon, but shewed no hostility. They had an opportunity of seeing their mode of spearing
the fish, in which they used a long heavy four-pronged spear, barbed with kangaroo bones.
'September' 16. -- Was spent in fishing and hunting, whilst the horses luxuriated in the
abundant feed. They caught some perch, and a fine cod, not unlike the Murray cod in
shape, but darker and without scales. At night, there being a fine moonlight, they went
out to try and shoot opossums as an addition to the larder, but were unsuccessful. They
appeared to be very scarce.'September' 17. -- Resuming their journey, the party travelled 21
miles, to a spot about
4 miles below No. 5 camp, on Gaala Creek, and turned out. Here they met with wild lucerne
in great abundance, and a great deal of mica and talc was observed in the river. During
the day Mr. Jardine shot a bustard, and some fish being again caught in the evening,
there was high feeding in camp at night. The bagging of a bustard, or plain turkey as it
is more commonly called, always makes a red day for the kitchen. Its meat is tender and
juicy, and either roasted whole, dressed into steaks, or stewed into soup, makes a
grateful meal for a hungry traveller.
'September' 18. -- Keeping out some distance from its banks to avoid the stones and deep
gullies, the party followed up the river to the junction of Parallel Creek: this was
traced, keeping along its bed for the same reason, by which course only they were enabled
to avoid them. These, as before described, were very thickly strewn making the journey
tedious and severe on the horses, so that only 14 miles were accomplished, when they
camped on a large waterhole five miles above the junction. The beautiful Burdekin duck
('Tadorna Radjah') was met with, of which Mr. Jardine shot a couple.
'September' 19. -- Still keeping along the bed of Parallel Creek, the party travelled up
its course. This they were constrained to do, in consequence of the broken and stony
banks and country on the east side, whilst an abrupt wall of basalt prevented them
leaving the bed on the west. At 13 miles they camped for a couple of hours in the middle
of the day, on a large creek which received the name of Warroul Creek, suggested by their
finding two large "sugar bags" or bees' nests on it, "Warroul" being the name for bee in
the Wirotheree or Wellington dialect. Warroul Creek runs into Parallel Creek from the
south-east, joining it about half-a-mile below where it leaves the river, it being as
before mentioned an ana-branch of the Einasleih. Leaving Parallel and travelling up
Warroul Creek, in 8 miles they reached the gap in the range 12 miles below camp No. 2.
This afterwards received the name of Simon's Gap, and the range it occurs in, Jorgensen's
Range, after Simon Jorgensen, Esq., of Gracemere. Two miles, from the gap they struck a
large round swamp which had not been observed on the down journey, the party having kept
close to the river, from which it is distant two miles. This was named "Cawana Swamp"
There being good grass there, they camped. Native companions ('Crus Australalasinus') and
the more rare jabiru ('Myeteria Australis') were very numerous on it. Total distance 23
miles.
'September' 20. -- To-day the party made the lagoon mentioned on the 4th inst., a
distance of 27 miles, traversing nearly the same ground already described and camped.
They again saw a mob of blacks fishing in the river, who, on seeing them, immediately
decamped into the ranges on the opposite side and disappeared. The next day, Mr.
Macdonald's station, Carpentaria Downs was reached in 17 miles, the little party having
travelled over nearly 360 miles of ground in 18 days. Mr. Jardine found all well at the
main camp, but no sign of his brother with the cattle; fifteen days passed before his
arrival, during which time Alexander Jardine plotted up the courses of his journey down
the Einasleih, and submitted the plan to Mr. Richardson, without, however, shaking the
gentleman's faith as to his position, or that they were on Leichhardt's Lynd, preferring
to dispute the accuracy of the reckoning. It will be seen, however, that the explorer was
right, and the surveyor wrong. It being expedient that the party should husband their
rations for the journey until the final start, Mr. Macdonald kindly supplied them with
what was necessary for their present wants, thus allowing them to keep their own stores
intact.
On the 6th of October, Frank Jardine made his appearance with the cattle, a mob of about
250 head of bullocks and cows in good condition. The ensuing three days were spent by the
brothers in shoeing the horses, a job of no little tedium and difficulty, they being the
only farriers of the party. There were 42 head to shoe, many of which had never been shod
before, and as the thermometer stood at 100 degrees in the shade most of the day, their
office was no sinecure; they had at first some difficulty in getting a sufficient heat,
but after a little experimenting found a wood of great value in that particular. This was
the apple-gum, by using which, they could if necessary get a white heat in the iron. At
the end of the third day the last horse was shod, and it only remained to get the stores
and gear together, and dispose them on the different packs. This was done on the 10th, on
the evening of which they were ready for the final start. The party was thus composed:
Frank Lacelles Jardine, Leader; Alexander Jardine, Archibald J. Richardson, Government
Surveyor; C. Scrutton, R. N. Binney, A. Cowderoy, Eulah, Peter, Sambo and Barney, black
boys from the districts of Rockhampton and Wide Bay; 41 picked horses and 1 mule, all in
good order and condition.
Their provision was calculated to last them 4 months, and was distributed together with
the tools, amunition, and camp necessaries on 18 packs, averaging at the start about 150
lbs. each. It consisted of 1200 lbs. flour, 3 cwt. sugar, 35 lbs. of tea, 40 lbs.
currants and raisins, 20 lbs. peas, 20 lbs. jams, salt, etc. The black troopers were
armed with the ordinary double-barrelled police carbine, the whites carrying Terry's
breech-loaders, and Tranter's revolvers. They had very ample occasion to test the value
and efficiency of both these arms, which, in the hands of cool men, are invaluable in
conflict.
The personalities of the party were reduced to a minimum, and what was supposed to be
absolutely necessary, one pack (the mule's) being devoted to odds and ends, or what
aretermed in bush parlance, 'manavlins'. Three light tents only were carried, more for
protecting the stores than for shelter for the party.
All were in excellent health, and good spirits, and eager to make a start.
CHAPTER II.
Start from Carpentaria Downs -- Order of Travel -- Canal Creek -- Cawana Swamp -- Simons'
Gap -- Cowderoy's Bluff -- Barney's Nob -- Casualties in Parallel Creek -- Basaltic Wall
-- Singular Fish -- Black Carbonado -- Improvement in Country -- Search for the Lynd --
Doubts -- First rain -- Error of Starting point -- Large ant-hills -- Ship's iron found
-- Native nets -- Second start in search of Lynd -- Return -- Byerley Creek -- The whole
party moves forward -- Belle Creek -- Maroon Creek -- Cockburn Creek -- Short Commons --
Camp Burned -- The Powder saved -- Maramie Creek -- The Staaten -- First hostility of
Natives -- Poison -- "Marion" abandoned -- Conclusion as to River -- Heavy rain -- First
attack of Natives -- Horses lost -- Barren Country -- Detention -- Leader attacked by
Natives -- Black-boy attacked -- A "growl" -- Mosquitoes and flies -- Kites -- Cattle
missing -- Horses found -- Leader again attacked -- Main party attacked -- Return to the
River -- Character of Staaten -- Lagoon Creek -- Tea-tree levels -- Junction of Maramie
Creek -- Reach head of tide -- Confirmation of opinion.
'October' 11. -- At sunrise the cattle was started with Cowderoy and two black-boys,
Eulah and Barney, the former acting as pilot. Their instructions were to camp at the
swamp at the junction of Pluto Creek, seventeen miles from McDonald's station, mentioned
on 3rd. September. The pack-horses were not got away until half-past 12, two, "Rasper,"
and the mule (as often provokingly happens when most wanted) being astray, and having to
be hunted for. There was also the usual amount of "bucking" incident to a start, the
unpractised pack-horses rebelling against the unwonted load and amount of gear, and with
a few vigorous plunges sending pack-bags, pots, hobbles, and chains in scattered
confusion all round them. Few starts of a large party occur without similar mischances,
but a day or two, suffices for the horses to settle to their work, after which all goes
smoothly. The country travelled has been described in the preceding chapter. A hill at
five miles on Pluto Creek, received the name of Mount Eulah. On reaching the swamp, the
brothers found the cattle party had not arrived. This was the first of many similar
annoyances during the journey. It being between 8 and 9 p.m., it was useless to think of
looking for them at that time of night. They therefore encamped on the river, intending
to return and run the tracks of the cattle in the morning. The distance travelled was
about 20 miles.
'October' 12. -- Leaving Binney in charge of the horses, with orders to feed them about
the Lagoon, where there was better grass than at the river, the brothers started at
sunrise in quest of the cattle party. They met them at about five miles up Pluto Creek,
which they were running down. It appeared that Master Eulah, the pilot, had got
completely puzzled, and led the party into the ranges to the eastward, where, after
travelling all day, they had been obliged to camp about half-way from the station, and
without water. He was very chop-fallen about his mistake, which involved his character as
a bushman. The Australian aborigines have not in all cases that unerring instinct of
locality which has been attributed to them, and are, out of their own country, no better,
and generally scarcely so good as an experienced white. The brothers soon found water for
them in the creek under Mount Eulah; after which,returning to the camp, it was too late
to continue the journey, particularly as it had been necessary to send one of "the boys"
back for a bag of amunition that had been lost on the way. This is the work they are most
useful in, as few, even of the best bushmen are equal to them in running a track. The
day's stage of the cattle was about 11 miles.
'October' 13. -- The cattle started at a quarter-to-six, in charge of Alexander Jardine
and two black-boys, while Frank and the rest of the party remained behind to pack and
start the horses. This at the commencement was the usual mode of travelling, the horses
generally overtaking the cattle before mid-day, when all travelled together till they
camped at night, or preceded them to find and form the camp. Two incidents occurred on
the way: "Postman," a pack-horse on crossing a deep narrow creek, fell and turned heels
uppermost, where he lay kicking helplessly, unable to rise, until the pack was cut clear
of him; and "Cerberus," another horse, not liking the companionship of the mule, took
occasion in crossing another creek to kick his long-eared mate from the top to the bottom
of it, to the intense amusement of the black-boys, who screamed "dere go poor fellow
donkit" with great delight. The whole course was about 11 miles. The camp on a small dry
creek. They procured water in the main channel of the river, on the south side. During
the journey at every camp where there was timber, Mr. Jardine cut (or caused to be cut)
its number with a chisel into the wood of a tree, in Roman numerals, and his initials
generally in a shield.
'October' 14. -- The distance travelled to-day was only 11 miles, but described by Mr.
Jardine, as equal to 20 of fair travelling ground. The course lay over very stony quartz
and granite ridges, which could not be avoided, as they ran into the river, whilst the
bed of the stream would have been as difficult, being constantly crossed by rocky bars,
and filled by immense boulders. The grass was very scarce, the blacks having burnt it all
along the river. There were patches where it never grows at all, presenting the
appearance of an earthern floor. They encamped at the junction of Canal Creek, under
theshade of some magnificent Leichhardt trees ('Nauclea Leichhardtii') that grow there,
without other water than what they dug for in the sandy bed, and reached at a depth of
two feet. On the opposite side and about a mile from the junction there is a swamp,
splendidly grassed, which looked like a green barley field, but the water was too salt
for the horses to drink, an unusual thing in granite country. The timber of the ridges
was cheifly stunted hollow iron-bark, that of the river, bloodwood, and the apple-gum,
described as so good for forging purposes; there was a total absence of those tall
well-grown gums, by which the course of a stream may usually be traced from a distance.
So little was the river defined by the timber that it could not be distinguished at a
half-a-mile away.
'October' 15. -- The party moved to-day as far as the swamp mentioned on the 19th
September. It received the name of "Cawana Swamp," and is described as the best and
prettiest camping place they had yet seen. It is surrounded by the high stoney range
called Jorgensen's Range on two sides, north and east, whilst on the south and east it is
hemmed in by a stretch of cellular basalt, which makes it almost unapproachable. The only
easy approach is by the river from the westward. It is six miles round, and so shallow
that the cattle fed nearly a mile towards the middle. The party travelled out of the
direct course to avoid the stones, keeping the narrow flats occuring between the river
and ridges, which averaged about 200 yards in width; when intercepted by the ridges
running into the river, they followed down its bed which is more clearly defined by oak
('Casuarinae') and Leichhardt trees than up the stream. The improved travelling allowed
them to make the stage of 9 miles in less than four hours, and turn out early. Several
large flocks of galaas ('Cacatua Rosea,') were seen, and Alexander Jardine shot a
wallaby. Before starting, Barney, one of the black-boys had to be corrected by the Leader
for misconduct, which had the effect of restoring discipline. On reaching Cawana Swamp,
the fires of the natives were found quite fresh, from which it would seem that they had
decamped on the approach of the party, leaving plenty of birrum-burrongs, or bee-eaters
('Merops Ornatus, Gould') behind them. An observation taken at night gave the latitude 18
degrees 1 minute 59 seconds, which gave about 41 miles of Northing.
'October' 16. -- The cattle were started away at a quarter-to-four o'clock, this morning,
and found an excellent passage through Jorgensen's Range, by "Simon's Gap." The track
from this point to the junction of Warroul and Parallel Creeks with the river (where the
camp was pitched) was very winding, from having to avoid the basalt, which was laming
some of the cattle, besides wrenching off the heads of the horse-shoe nails: it could not
be altogether avoided, and made it past noon before the cattle reached the camp. A native
companion, a rock wallaby, and a young red kangaroo were the result of the hunting in the
afternoon, which saved the necessity of having to kill a beast: this would have been
specially inconvenient, if not impossible here, for the natives had burnt all the grass,
and there was not a bite of feed for either horses or cattle, had they halted. About 50
blacks, all men, followed the tracks of the party from Cawana Swamp: they were painted,
and fully armed, which indicated a disposition for a "brush" with the white intruders; on
being turned upon, however, they thought better of it, and ran away. The camp was formed
under a red stony bluff, which received the name of "Cowderoy's Bluff," after one of the
party; whilst a large round hill bearing E.N.E. from the camp was called "Barney's Nob."
In the afternoon Mr. Binney and Eulah were sent to the river to fish, but as they ate all
the caught, there was no gain to the party. For this their lines were taken from them by
Mr. Jardine, and they got a "talking to," the necessity for which was little creditable
to the white man. The thermometer at 5 a.m. stood at 80 degrees. The day's stage about 10
miles N.N.W. Some banksias, currijong, and stringy-bark were noticed to-day, the latter
is not a common timber in the northern districts.
'October' 17. -- All the horses were away this morning: as might have been expected, the
poor hungry creatures had strayed back towards the good feed on Cawana Swamp, and were
found 5 miles from the camp. The day's stage was the worst they had yet had. The country
down Parallel Creek has already been described, and it took six of the party five hours
to get the cattle over three-and-a-half miles of ground: the bed of the creek, by which
alone they could travel was intersected every 300 or 400 yards by bars formed of granite
boulders, some of which were from 25 to 30 feet high, and their interstices more like a
quarry than anything else; over these the cattle had to be driven in two and sometimes
three lots, and were only travelled 8 miles with great difficulty. There were several
casualties; "Lucifer," one of the best of the horses cut his foot so badly, as to make it
uncertain whether he could be fetched on; and two unfortunate cows fell off the rocks,
and were smashed to pieces. The cows were beginning to calve very fast, and when the
calves were unable to travel, they had to be destroyed, which made the mothers stray from
the camp to where they had missed them; one went back in this manner the previous night,
but it was out of the question to ride thirty miles after her over the stones they had
traversed. The camp was made in the bed of Parallel Creek, at a spot where there was a
little grass, the whole stage having been almost without any. Here the basaltic wall was
over 80 feet in height, hemming them in from the west; on some parts during the day it
closed in on both sides. An observation at night made the latitude 17 degrees 51 minutes.
A curious fishwas caught to-day -- it had the appearance of a cod, whose head and tail
had been drawn out, leaving the body round. (Camp VIII.)
'October', 18. -- Another severe stage, still down the bed of Parallel Creek, from which
indeed there was no issue. Frank Jardine describes it as a "pass or gorge, through the
range which abuts on each side through perpendicular cliffs, filling it up with greatblocks of
stone," and adding that "a few more days of similar country would bring their
horses to a standstill." Their backs and the feet of the cattle were in a woeful plight
from its effects: one horse was lost, and a bull and several head of cattle completely
knocked up. Bad as yesterday's journey was, this day's beat it; they managed to travel
ten miles over the most villanous country imaginable, with scarcely a vestage of grass,
when the camp was again pitched in the bed of the creek. A large number of natives were
seen to-day -- one mob was disturbed at a waterhole, where they were cooking fish, which
they left in their alarm, together with their arms. The spears were the first that had
been observed made of reed, and a stone tomahawk was seen, as large as the largest-sized
American axe. These blacks were puny wretched-looking creatures, and very thin. They had
a great number of wild dogs with them -- over thirty being counted by the party. 10
miles, N.W. by W. 1/2 W. (Camp IX.)
'October' 19. -- The confluence of Parallel Creek with the Einasleih was reached in four
miles, after which the country on the river slightly improved; the camp was pitched four
miles further on, on a river flat, within sight of a large scrub, on the east side. Four
of the cattle that had been knocked up yesterday were sent for before starting, and
fetched -- the cattle counted and found correct. The river at the camp was about 700
yards wide, with fine waterholes in it, containing plenty of fish. A strange discovery
was made to-day. At a native fire the fresh remains of a negro were found 'roasted', the
head and thigh bones were alone complete, all the rest of the body and limbs had been
broken up, the skull was full of blood. Whether this was the body of an enemy cooked for
food, or of a friend disposed of after the manner of their last rites, must remain a
mystery, until the country and its denizens become better known. Some spears were found
pointed with sharp pieces of flint, fastened on with kangaroo sinews, and the gum of the
Xanthorea, or grass-tree. (Camp X.)
'October' 20. -- The last of the stony ground was travelled over to-day, and the
foot-sore cattle were able to luxuriate in the soft sandy ground of the river flats. At
about 6 miles Galaa Creek was crossed at Alexander Jardine's marked tree (V in a square),
and the Rocky Island at its junction, before mentioned, were seen. At this point the
ranges come into the river on each side. The camp was pitched at about five miles further
on, at a fine waterhole, where there was good grass -- a welcome change for cattle and
horses. It was not reached, however, till about 9 o'clock. The river afforded the party
some fine fish -- cod, perch, and peel, and a lobster weighing more than half-a-pound.
Its channels were very numerous, making altogether nearly a mile in width. Scrub was in
sight during the whole of the stage, the crests of the broken ridges being covered with
garrawon. (Camp XI.)
'October' 21. -- Mr. Jardine describes to-day's stage as the best the cattle had
experienced since taking delivery of them 230 miles back; the river banks along which
they travelled were flat and soft, lightly timbered with box, poplar-gum and bloodwood.
From a low table-topped range, which they occasionally sighted on the right, spurs of
sandstone ran into the river at intervals, but were no obstruction. A cow had to be
abandoned knocked up. A couple of blacks were surprised in the river spearing fish; they
set up a howl, and took to the river. In the evening the whole of the party went fishing
for the pot, there being no meat left. (Camp XII.) Distance 11 miles. The weather to-day
was cloudy for the first time, shewing appearance of rain.
'October' 22. -- The river was travelled down for 10 miles, through similar and better
country than that of yesterday's stage, and the camp established on a deep narrow
well-watered creek, three-quarters-of-a-mile from its junction with the river. Here the
Leader determined to halt for a few days to recruit the strength of the horses and
cattle, the feed being good; many of the cattle were lame, two of the hacks were knocked
up, and several of the pack-horses had very sore backs, so that a "spell" was a
necessity. They were now 120 miles from Macdonald's station, having averaged ten miles
a-day since the start
'October' 23. -- The camp was established at this point (Camp XIII.) pending a
reconnaissance by the Leader and his brother to find the Lynd of Leichhardt, and
determine the best line of road for the stock. A couple of calves were killed, cut up,
and jerked, whilst some of the party employed themselves in the repairs to the saddlery,
bags, etc., and Alexander Jardine took a look at the country back from the river. Mr.
Richardson plotted up his course, when it was found that it differed from that of the
brothers by only one mile in latitude, and two in longitude; he also furnished the Leader
with his position on the chart, telling him that the Lynd must be about ten miles N.E. of
them, their latitude being 17 degrees 34 minutes 32 seconds S.*
[footnote] *In Mr. Richardson's journal he mentions the distances as 18 to 20. He also
explains that he had two maps, in which a difference of 30 miles in longitude existed in
the position of their starting point. Not having a Chronometer to ascertain his longitude
for himself, he adopted that assigned by the tracing furnished from the
Surveyor-General's Office.
'October' 24. -- The brothers started this morning, taking with them Eulah, as the most
reliable of the black-boys; they were provisioned for five days. The cattle were left in
charge of Mr. Scrutton: the feed being good and water plentiful, the halt served the
double purpose of recruiting their strength, and allowing the Leader to choose the bestroad for
them. Steering N.E. by E. at a mile, they passed through a gap in the low range
of table-topped hills of red and white sandstone which had been skirted on the way down:
through this gap a small creek runs into the river, which they ran up, N.N.E., 3 miles
further, on to a small shallow creek, with a little water in it. Travelling over
lightly-timbered sandy ridges, barren and scrubby, but without stone, at 9 or 10 miles
they crossed the head of a sandy creek, rising in a spring, about 60 yards wide, having
about 5 or 6 inches of water in it. The creek runs through mimosa and garrawon scrub for
5 miles, and the spring occurs on the side of a scrubby ridge, running into the creek
from the west. At 18 miles they struck an ana-branch having some fine lagoons in it, and
half-a-mile further on a river 100 yards wide, waterless, and the channels filled up with
melaleuca and grevillea; this, though not answering to Leichhardt's description, they
supposed to be an ana-branch of the Lynd; its course was north-west. They followed its
left bank down for three miles, then crossing it, they bore N.N.E. for four miles,
through level and sometimes flooded country, when their course was arrested by a line of
high ridges, dispelling the idea that they were on the Lynd waters. Turning west they now
travelled back to the river, and crossing it, camped on one of the same chain of lagoons
which they first struck in the morning, and in which they were able to catch some fish
for supper. The distance travelled was 28 miles.
'October' 25. -- It was impossible to believe that the stream they were now camped on was
the Lynd. Leichhardt's description at the point where they had supposed that they should
strike it, made it stony and timbered with iron-bark and box. Now, since leaving the
Einasleih they had not seen a single box or iron-bark tree, or a stone. Frank Jardine
therefore determined to push out to thenorth-east, and again seek this seemingly
apocryphal stream. After travelling for eight miles through sandy ridges, scrubby and
timbered with blood-wood, messmate, and melaleuca (upright-leaved) they struck a sandy
creek, bearing north; this they followed for five miles, when it turned due west, as if a
tributary of the stream they had left in the morning. Having seen no water since then, it
was out of the question to attempt bringing the cattle across at this point. It was
determined therefore that they should return and mark a line from the Einasleih to the
lagoons they had camped on last night, along which cattle could travel slowly, whilst the
brothers again went forward to look for a better road from that point, and ascertain
definitely whether they were on the Lynd or not. Turning west they travelled 28 miles to
the creek they had left in the morning, striking it more than 40 miles below their camp,
when, to their surprise it was found running nearly due south and still dry. Here they
camped and caught some fish and maramies (cray-fish) by puddling a hole in the creek,
which, with three pigeons they shot, made a good supper. At night a heavy thunder-storm
broke over them, which lasted from 9 till 12. Frank Jardine here states himself to have
been exceedingly puzzled between Leichhardt and Mr. Richardson; one or the other of these
he felt must be wrong. Leichhardt describes the stream in that latitude (page 283
Journal) as stony, and with conical hills of porphyry near the river banks, "Bergues"
running into it on each side. They had not seen a rise even, in any direction for miles,
whilst the creek presented only occasional rocks of flat water-worn sandstone, and the
screw-palm 'Pandanus Spiralis' occurred in all the water-courses, a tree that from its
peculiarity would scarcely have been unnoticed or undescribed. As it was quite unlikely
that he should have misrepresented the country, the natural presumption was, that Mr.
Richardson must have been in error as to their true position; this was in reality the
case, the error in his assumed longitude at starting causing his reckoning to overlap the
Lynd altogether. This is easily seen and explained now, but was at that time a source of
great uncertainty and anxiety to the explorers.
'October' 26. -- Crossing over to the west bank of the river, the brothers followed it up
the whole day along its windings, the general course being from South-east to East for
above 36 miles. They saw none of the porphyry cliffs described by Leichhardt, or stone of
any kind. The country traversed, consisted of scrubby flats, and low sandy ridges,
timbered with bloodwood, messmate, mimosa, melaleuca, grevillea, and two or three species
of the sterculia or curriijong, then in full blossom. Thick patches of a kind of tree,
much resembling brigalow in its appearance and grain, were seen on the river banks; but
the box, apple-gum, and iron-bark, mentioned by Leichhardt as growing in this latitude
were altogether wanting. Large ant-hills, as much as 15 feet in height, which were
frequent, gave a remarkable appearance to the country. During their stage the party came
on to a black's camp, where they found some matters of interest. The natives, who were
puddling a waterhole for fish, had, as was most frequent, decamped at their appearance,
leaving them leisure to examine some very neatly made reed spears, tipped variously with
jagged hardwood, flint, fish-bones, and iron; pieces of ship's iron were also found, and
a piece of saddle girth, which caused some speculation as to how or where it had been
obtained, and proving that they must at some time have been on the tracks of white men.
Their nets excited some admiration, being differently worked to any yet seen, and very
handsome; a sort of chain without knots. The camp was made on an ana-branch of the river,
were the travellers caught a couple of cod-fish. Their expertness as fishermen was a
great stand-by, for they had started without any ration of meat. They experienced some
heavy wind and a thunderstorm at night.
'October' 27. -- Still travelling up the river, the party in about 9 miles reached the
lagoons where they were first struck, and turned out for a couple of hours. There was
good feed round them, in which the horses solaced themselves, whilst their riders caught
some fish and shot some pigeons for dinner, after which they commenced blazing the line
for the cattle. They reached the main camp at 9 o'clock at night, having in eight hoursmarked a
line through the best of the sandy tea-tree ridges, between 18 and 20 miles in
length; no despicable work for three tomahawks. Mr. Jardine communicated the result of
his trip to Mr. Richardson, but that gentleman could or would not acquiesce in the
opinion arrived at by the brothers, despite the very conclusive arguments with which it
was supported. This opposition occasioned a feeling of want of confidence, which caused
them to cease consulting Mr. Richardson on their course, leaving him merely to carry out
the duty of his appointment.
'October' 28. -- The following day was spent in camp, preparatory to a fresh start ahead
of the cattle, which, it was decided should leave this camp on the 31st. Some of them
could scarcely move, but their number were found correct on counting.
'October' 29. -- Again taking old Eulah with them, the brothers started on another quest
for the Lynd, which, like the mirage of the desert, seemed to recede from them as they
approached; setting out late in the day, they camped at night once more on the lagoon, at
the end of their marked-tree line, a distance of about 18 miles. They took with them four
days' rations of flour, tea, and sugar, trusting to their guns and fishing lines for
their supply of meat.
'October' 30. -- Starting at half-past 6 in the morning the little party steered N. by W.
about 36 miles. At about three-quarters of-a-mile from the river they passed a fine
lagoon, and at four miles further on a rocky creek running west with some water in it.
Their way lay over soft, barren, sandy ridges, timbered with tea-tree. Eight miles more
brought them to a creek where water could be obtained by digging, and at 24 miles further
they camped on a large well-watered creek, running N.W.; the whole of the distance was
over the same soft, barren, monotonous country. On their way they killed an iguana
('Monitor Gouldii'), which made them a good supper, and breakfast next morning. The
cattle party at No. 13 Camp were left with instructions to follow slowly along the
marked-tree line, to camp at the lagoon, and there await the return of the advance party.
'October' 31. -- An early start was made this morning at a quarter after 6, and 20 or 22
miles were accomplished on the same bearing as that of yesterday, N. by W., over the same
heavy barren stringy-bark country. Three small creeks were crossed, but not a hill or
rise was to be seen, or any indication of a river to the northward. At this point the
heavy travelling beginning to tell on their jaded horses, the Leader determined on
abandoning the idea of bringing the cattle by the line they had traversed, and turning
south and by west made for the river they had left in the morning, intending to ascertain
if it would be the better route for the cattle, and if not, to let them travel down the
supposed Lynd (which now received the name of Byerley Creek), on which they were to
rendezvous. After travelling 16 miles further on the new bearing, they camped without
water, being unable to reach the large creek they had camped on the previous night. The
country along the last course was of the same description, low, sandy, string-bark, and
tea-tree ridges, without a vestige of water; total distance 38 miles.
'November' 1. -- Making another early start, and steering S.W. by S., the party reached
the creek in four miles, and getting a copious drink for themselves and their thirsty
horses, breakfasted off some "opossums and rubbish" they got out of a black's camp. The
stream was 100 yards wide, and well-watered, a great relief after their arid journey of
yesterday: large rocks of sandstone occurred inits bed in different places. Crossing it,
they followed down its left bank for 8 miles, its trend being N.W., then turning their
back on it, they steered due south to strike Byerley Creek. Sixteen miles of weary
travelling over wretched barren country brought them to a small sandy creek, on which
they camped, procuring water for their horses by digging in its bed. Here they made a
supper of the lightest, their rations being exhausted, and "turned in" somewhat disgusted
with the gloomy prospect for the progress of the cattle. They again met with the nonda of
Leichhardt, and ate of its ripe fruit, which is best when found dry under the trees. Its
taste is described as like that of a boiled mealy potatoe.
'November' 2. -- Continuing on the same course, due south for 18 miles, over the same
useless country, the party reached Byerley Creek, striking it at a point 32 miles below
the Rendezvous Camp, then turning up its course they followed it for 16 miles, to their
hunting camp of the 26th October. Here they camped and made what they deemed a splendid
supper off an oppossum, an iguana, and four cod-fish, the result of their day's sport.
Total distance travelled 28 miles.
'November' 3. -- Following up the creek for 16 miles, the party reached the main camp on
the lagoons early in the day. Here they found all right, with the exception that most of
the party were suffering from different stages of sandy-blight, or ophthalmia. A calf was
killed, and the hungry vanguard were solaced with a good feed of veal. Byerley Creek
having been found utterly destitute of grass, badly watered, and moreover trending
ultimately to the S. of W., the Leader determined to take the cattle on to the next,
which was well watered, having some feed on it, and being on the right course. There
were, however, two long stages without water; but it was, on the whole, the best and
almost only course open to him. The cattle had made this camp in two stages from the
Einasleih. It was, consequently, No. LI. The latitude was found to be 17 degrees 23
minutes 24 seconds: a tree was marked with these numbers, in addition to the usual
initial and numbers. The Thermometer at daylight marked 90 degrees, and at noon 103
degrees, in the 'shade!''November' 4. -- A late start was made to-day, a number of the horses
having strayed, and
not having been got in. The Brothers went ahead, and marked a line for five miles out to
the creek mentioned on the 30th October: it contained sufficient water for the horses and
cattle, and was the best watercourse they would get until they reached the next river, a
distance of 30 miles. It received the name of "Belle Creek," in remembrance of "Belle,"
one of their best horses, who died at this camp, apparantly from a snake bite, the
symptoms being the same as in the case of "Dora," but the time shorter. Belle Creek is
rocky and tolerably well watered, and remarkable for the number of nonda trees on it.
Whilst waiting for the cattle the Brothers caught some fish and a fine lot of maramies.
'November' 5. -- This day appears to have been one of disasters. It opened with the
intelligence that sixteen of the horses were missing. Leaving one party to seek and bring
on the stray horses, the Brothers started the cattle forward: they left instructions at
the camp for the horses to start, if recovered before 3 o'clock; if not, to be watched
all night, and brought on the next day. They then started, and preceding the cattle,
marked a line for 15 miles to "Maroon Creek." Here they camped without water, waiting
with some anxiety for the arrival of the pack-horses. Hour after hour passed but none
appeared, and as night closed in, the Brothers were forced to the conclusion that
something must have gone wrong at the camp. They could not however turn back, as they had
to mark the next day's stage for the cattle to water, there being none for them to-night,
and only a little for the party, obtained by digging, however, they were relieved by the
appearance of a blackboy with rations, who reported that some of the horses had not been
found when he left the camp. The night was spent in watching the thirsty cattle.
'November' 6. -- The cattle were started at dawn and driven on to the watered creek,
where they got feed and water at some fine waterholes, it received the name of "Cockburn
Creek;" the Brothers as usual preceded them and marked a line further ahead. Arrived
there, they spent the rest of the day in fishing whilst uneasily waiting the arrival of
the pack-horses. They luckily caught some fish for supper, for night fell without the
appearance of the remainder of the party, and they had nothing to eat since the preceding
night. The country has already been described.
'November' 7. -- To-day was spent in camp by the party whilst anxiously awaiting the
arrival of the pack-horses, but night fell without their making their appearance. They
had nothing to eat, and as there was no game to be got, they decided on killing a calf,
but in this they were disappointed, as the little animal eluded them, and bolted into the
scrub. They therefore had to go "opossuming," and succeeding in catching three, which,
with a few small fish, formed their supper.
'November' 8. -- At daylight this morning, Alexander Jardine succeeded in "potting" the
calf that had eluded them yesterday, which gave the party a satisfactory meal. Another
anxious day was passed without the arrival of the pack-horses, and the Leader had the
annoyance of finding on counting the cattle, that between twenty or thirty were missing.
Being now seriously anxious about the pack-horses, he determined if they did not arrive
that night, to despatch his brother to look after them.
'November' 9. -- The horses not having arrived, Alexander Jardine started to see what had
happened: he met the party with them half way, and learned some heavy news. In the
afternoon of the 5th (the day on which the Brothers started with the cattle), the grass
around the camp had, by some culpable carelessness, been allowed to catch fire, by which
half their food and nearly all their equipment were burnt. The negligence was the more
inexcusable, as before starting, Alexander Jardine had pulled up the long grass around
the tents at the camp, which should have put them on their guard against such a
contingency, one for which even less experienced bushmen are supposed to be watchful
during the dry season. The consequences were most disastrous: resulting in the
destruction of 6 bags of flour, or 70 lbs. each, or 420 lbs., all the tea save 10 lbs.,
the mule's pack, carrying about 100 lbs. of rice and jam, apples, and currants, 5 lbs.
gun-powder, 12 lbs. of shot, the amunition box, containing cartridges and caps, two
tents, one packsaddle, twenty-two pack-bags, 14 surcingles, 12 leather girths, 6
breechings, about 30 ring pack-straps, 2 bridles, 2 pairs blankets, 2 pairs of boots,
nearly all the black boys' clothes, many of the brothers', and 2 bags containing
nicknacks, awls, needles, twine, etc., for repairs. It was providential the whole was not
burnt, and but for the exertions of Mr. Scrutton, all the powder would have gone. He is
described as having snatched some of the canisters from the fire with the solder melting
on the outside. They had succeeded in rescuing the little that was saved by carrying it
to a large ant-hill to, windward. Their exertions were no doubt great and praise-worthy,
but a little common prudence would have saved their necessity, and a heavy and
irreparable loss to the whole party, one which might have jeopardized the safety of the
expedition. Besides this, they had a less important but still serious loss; "Maroon," a
valuable grey sire horse, that Mr. Jardine hoped to take to the new settlement, died from
the effects of poison, or of a snake bite, but more probably the former. The pack-horses
joined the cattle in the evening. Stock was taken of the articles destroyed, and the best
disposition made of what remained. The latitude of this camp (XVIII.) was 16 degrees 55
minutes 6 seconds.
'November' 10. -- Leaving instructions with the cattle party to follow down Cockburn
Creek, and halt at the spots marked for them, the Brothers, accompanied by Eulah, started
ahead, to mark the camps and examine the country. By this means no time was lost. Thefirst
three camps were marked at about seven-mile intervals; and at about 25 miles,
opposite two small lagoons on the west bank, the Leader marked trees STOP (in heart), on
either side the creek, leaving directions for the party to halt till he returned, and a
mile further down camped for the night. The banks of the creek were scrubby and poorly
grassed, the country sandy, and thickly timbered with tea-tree, stringy-bark, and
bloodwood, and a few patches of silver-leaved iron-bark, the nondas being very plentiful
along its course. Large flocks of cockatoo parrots ('Nymphicus Nov. Holl.') and galaas
were seen during the day.
'November' 11. -- Still continuing down the creek the party made a short stage of 13
miles, one of their horses having become too sick to travel. The early halt gave them an
opportunity to go hunting, the more necessary as they were again out of meat. The result
was an iguana, a bandicoot, three opossums, and some "sugar bags" or wild honey nests.
'November' 12. -- Crossing Cockburn Creek the Brothers bore away N.N.W. for 9 or 10
miles, over sandy bloodwood ridges, intersected with broad tea-tree gullies, to two sandy
water courses half-a-mile apart, the first 100 and the second 50 yards in width, running
west. These they supposed to be heads of the Mitchell. Crossing them and continuing N. by
W., they traversed over barren tea-tree levels (showing flood marks from three to four
feet high), without a blade of grass, for about 16 miles, when they reached the extreme
head of a small rocky creek, where they camped at a waterhole, and caught a great number
of maramies, which suggested the name of "Maramie Creek." It was quite evident that the
cattle could not follow by this route, as there was nothing for them to eat for nearly
the whole distance. The stage travelled was 26 1/2 miles.
'November' 13. -- Maramie Creek was followed down for 25 miles: its general course is
west. At three miles from the start a small creek runs in from the north-east. The
Brothers had hoped that the character of the country would improve as they went down, but
were disappointed. Nothing but the same waste of tea-tree and spinifex could be seen on
either side, the bank of the main creek alone producing bloodwood, stringy-bark, acacia,
and nonda. Though shallow it was well watered, and increased rapidly in size as they
proceeded. The natives had poisoned all the fish in the different waterholes with the
bark of a small green acacia that grew along the banks, but the party succeeded in
getting a few muscles and maramies.
'November' 14. -- Being satisfied that the cattle could not be brought on by the course
they had traversed, Frank Jardine determined to leave Maramie Creek, and make for the
large stream crossed on the 12th, so as to strike it below the junction of Cockburn
Creek. Turning due south the party passed a swamp at eight miles, and at seventeen miles
a lagoon, on which were blue lilies ('Nymphoea gigantea.') A mile farther on they reached
what they supposed to be the Mitchell, which was afterwards ascertained to be the
Staaten, of the Dutch navigators, or one of its heads. At the point where they struck it
(about 18 miles below the junction of Cockburn Creek, it is nearly a quarter-of-a-mile in
width, sandy, with long waterholes. A dense black tea-tree scrub occupies its south bank.
It was here that the party experienced the first decided show of hostility from the
natives. They had seen and passed a number at the lily lagoon unmolested, but when
arrived at the river whilst the leader was dismounted in its bed, fixing the girths of
his saddle, he was surprised to find himself within 30 yards of a party carrying large
bundles of reed spears, who had come upon him unperceived. They talked and gesticulated a
great deal but made no overt hostility, contenting themselves with following the party
for about three miles throughscrub, as they proceeded along the river. Getting tired of
this noisy pursuit, which might at any moment end in a shower of spears, the Brothers
turned on reaching a patch of open ground, determined that some of their pursuers should
not pass it. This movement caused them to pause and seeming to think better of their
original intention they ceased to annoy or follow the little party, which pursued its way
for five miles further, when they camped in the bed of the stream. Its character for the
8 miles they had followed it up was scrubby and sandy: its course nearly west -- long
gullies joined it from each side walled with sandstone. They caught two turtles for
supper. Total distance travelled 26 miles.
'November 15. -- Making an early start, the party followed up the Staaten for eight
miles, the general course being about N.E. Here it was jointed by Cockburn creek, which
they ran up until they reached the cattle party encamped at the lagoons, where the Leader
had marked trees STOP. They had reached this place on the 13th inst., without further
accident or disaster, and seeing the trees, camped as instructed. It was nearly 30 miles
from the junction of the Staaten, the country scrubby, thickly timbered, and very broken.
Total distance 38 miles.
'November' 16. -- The whole party was moved down Cockburn Creek, that being the only
practicable route. It was the alternative of poor grass or no grass. The trend of the
creek was about N.W. by W. At twelve miles they encamped on its bed. A red steer and a
cow were left behind poisoned; and another horse, "Marion" was suffering severely from
the same cause. They were unable to detect the plant which was doing so much mischief,
which must be somewhat plentiful in this part of the country. Leichhardt mentions (page
293) the loss of Murphy's pony on the Lynd, which was found on the sands, "with its body
blown up, and bleeding from the nostrils." Similar symptoms showed themselves in the case
of the horses of this expedition, proving pretty clearly that the deaths were caused by
some noxious plant. (Camp XXIII.)'November' 17. -- The course was continued down Cockburn
Creek. At six miles a large
stream runs in from the S.E. which was supposed to be Byerley Creek. This however is only
an assumption, and not very probable, as it will be remembered that when the brothers
struck it on the 1st November, 40 miles below camp 15, they were surprised to find it
trending toward the south. It is not improbable that it may run into the sea between the
Staaten and Gilbert. This problem can only be solved when the country gets more occupied,
or some explorer traces the Staaten in its whole length. Below this junction Cockburn
Creek is from 200 to 300 yards wide, running in many channels, but under the surface. The
country is flat and poorly grassed, a low sandy ridge occasionally running into the
creek. The timber is bloodwood, string-bark, tea-tree, nonda, and acacia. The party
camped 5 miles further down; poor "Marion" being now past all hope of recovery had to be
abandoned. Three cows that calved at camp 22 were sent for and brought up. They were kept
safely all night, but during the morning watch, were allowed to escape by Barney. At this
camp (XXIV.) Scrutton was bitten in two or three places by a scorpion, without however
any very severe effects.
'November' 18. -- Cockburn Creek, now an important stream was followed down for four
miles, when it formed a junction with the Staaten. The width of the main stream is about
400 yards, in many channels sandy and dry. It now runs generally west and very winding.
The country and timber were much as before described, with the exception that a mile back
from the river, (a chain of lagoons) generally occurs, some of them being large and deep
and covered with lilies. Beyond, a waste of sandy tea-tree levels, thickly covered with
triodia or spinifex, and other desert grasses. The green tree ant was very numerous,
particularly in the nonda trees, where they form their nests. The birds were also very
numerous, large flocks of black cockatoos, cockatoo parrots, galaas, budgerygars or grass
parrots ('Melopsittacus Undulatus, Gould'), and some grey quail were frequently seen, and
on one of the lagoons a solitary snipe was found. Another cow was abandoned to-day. The
total day's stage was 8 miles. The party camped in the sandy bed of the river. A little
rain was experienced at night. (Camp XXV.) Latitude 16 degrees 32 minutes 14 seconds.
'November' 19. -- The party followed down parallel with the Staaten, so as to avoid the
scrub and broken sandstone gullies on the banks. They travelled for 11 miles, and camped
on one of the lagoons above mentioned. Their course was somewhat to the south of west, so
that they were no nearer to their destination -- an annoying reflection. In the afternoon
some of the party went over to the river to fish. At this spot it had narrowed to a width
of 100 yards, was clear of fallen trees and snags, the water occupying the whole width,
but only 5 feet deep. Up to this time, Frank Jardine had supposed the stream they were on
to be the Mitchell, but finding its course so little agreeing with Leichhardt's
description of it, below the junction of the Lynd, which is there said to run N.W., he
was inclined to the conclusion that they had not yet reached that river. Mr. Richardson,
on the contrary, remained firm in his opinion that Byerley Creek was the river Lynd, and
consequently, that this stream was the Mitchell, nor was it till they reached the head of
the tide that he was fully convinced of his error. (See his journal November 18, and
December 2.)
'November' 20. -- To-day the Leader went forward and chose a good camp, 12 miles on, at
some fine lagoons. The cattle followed, keeping, as usual, back from the river, the
interval to which was all scrubby flooded ground, thickly covered with brush and
underwood. They were however unable to reach the camp that night, for when within three
miles of it a heavy deluge of rain compelled them to halt, and pitch the tents to protect
the rations, all the oilskin coverings that had been provided for the packs having been
destroyed in the bonfire, on Guy-Faux Day, at camp No. 16. They could hardly have been
caught in a worse place, being on the side of a scrubby ridge, close to one of the
ana-branches of the river. It would seem that the natives calculated on taking them at a
disadvantage, for they chose this spot for an attack, being the first instance in which
they attempted open hostility. Whilst the Brothers were busily engaged in cutting out a
"sugar bag," a little before sundown, they heard an alarm in the camp, and a cry of "here
come the niggers." Leaving their 'sweet' occupation, they re-joined the party, in front
of which about 20 blacks were corroboreeing, probably to screw up their courage. They had
craft enough to keep the sun, which was now low, at their backs, and taking advantage of
this position sent in a shower of spears, without any of the party -- not even the
black-boys -- being aware of it, until they saw them sticking in the ground about them.
No one was hit, but several had very narrow shaves. The compliment was returned, and as
Alexander Jardine describes "'exeunt' warriors," who did not again molest them, although
they were heard all around the camp throughout the night. (Camp XXVII.) Course W.
Distance 9 miles. A heavy thunderstorm in the evening.
'November' 21. - The cattle were started as usual, but as ill-luck would have it, 13 of
the horses were not to be found. After waiting for them till four o'clock, all the packs
and riding-saddles were packed on the remaining horses, and the party drove them on foot
before them to the camp, at the lagoons, three miles on. It was dark before they got
there, and well into the second watch before the tents were pitched, and everything put
straight. The country continued the same as before described, a barren waste of tea-tree
levels to the north, obliging them to keep along the river, although at right angles to
their proper course. (Camp XXVIII.) Distance 3 miles W.
'November 22. - The troubles and adventures of the party seemed to thicken at this point,
where the cattle were detained, whilst the missing horses were being sought for. OldEulah had
come in late the preceding night empty-handed, he had seen their tracks, but
night coming on he was unable to follow them. He was started away this morning in company
with Peter to pick up and run the trail. At two o'clock he returned with two, and
reported that Peter was on the trail of the others. They had evidently been disturbed by
their friends the natives, for their tracks were split up, and those brought on had their
hobbles broken. At dusk Peter brought home three more, without being able to say where
the others had got to. During this time, Frank Jardine had a little adventure to himself;
wishing to find a better run for the cattle, he started about noon, and rode down the
river for about six miles. There was no choice, the country was all of the same
description, so he turned back in disgust, when, in crossing the head of a sandstone
gully, he heard a yell, and looked round just in time to see a half a dozen spears come
at him, and about a dozen natives around and painted, jumping about in great excitement.
Going forward a little, he got time to clear the lock of his rifle, from the oil rag
which usually protected it. He turned on his assailants, and sent a bullet amongst them;
it hit a tree instead of a blackfellow, but as they still menaced him, his next shot was
more successful, when seeing one of their number fall, the rest decamped. It was now
their turn to run, but before they could cross the bed of the river, which was dry,
clear, and about 300 yards wide, he was able to get two good shots at short range. They
did not trouble him again that afternoon. They dropped all their spears in the
"stampede," some of which, reed and jagged, were taken home as trophies. They used no
"wommerahs." Peter came in to camp at dark, with 3 horses, having no idea where the
others had got to; there were 8 still away.
'November' 23. - Sambo, the best tracker among the black-boys, was despatched at sunrise,
with Peter, to look for the missing horses. He returned at sundown with the mule, which
he had found on the opposite side of the river, but he had seen no traces of the rest.
Peter came in after dark, without any, he had seen the tracks of the natives on the horse
tracks, and related in his own jargon, that "blackfella bin run'em horses all about" and
"that bin brok'em hobble." He had also seen two or three of the blacks themselves, at the
lagoon where the brothers met them on the 14th, and had some parley with them -- he
described them a "cawbawn saucy" "that tell'im come on, me trong fella, you little
fella," and after chaffing him in their own way, sent as many spears at him as he would
stand for. The detention caused by the loss of the horses, was a serious matter, whilst
the hostility of the natives was very annoying, keeping the party constantly on the
alert. The interval was occupied in patching up the ration tent, with portions of the
other two, so that they had now one water-proof to protect their stores. Some good snipe
and duck shooting might have been got round these lagoons, but as nearly all their caps
had been destroyed by the fire, it was not to be thought of. The scarcity of these and of
horse-flesh alone prevented the Brothers from turning out and giving their troublesome
enemies a good drilling, which, indeed, they richly deserved, for they had in every case
been the agressors, and hung about the party, treacherously waiting for an opportunity to
take them by surprise. The detention also was due to them, which was a matter of some
anxiety to the Leader, when it is considered that the party was in a level flooded
country, without a rise that they knew of within fifty miles, and that the rains of the
last ten days portended the breaking up the dry season.
'November' 24. - This morning Frank Jardine went out with Eulah, and succeded in finding
5 more of the horses, scattered all over the country, their hobbles broken, and as wild
as hawks. He sent Eulah along the tracks of the last two, who were evidently not far
ahead, and brought the others in himself. These two "Cerebus" and "Creamy," were the best
and fattest of the pack-horses. Their loss would have made a serious addition to the
loads of the remainder, who had already to share 400lbs. Extra in consequence of the
poisoning of the three already lost. Whilst waiting for and expecting their arrival every
hour, the different members of the party amused themselves as best they might by fishing,
opossum, sugar-bag hunting, and nonda gathering. The monotony of the camp was also
broken
by a little grumbling, consequent on an order from the Leader against the opening of the
next week's ration bag. The party had, during the halt consumed a week's rations a day
and a-half too soon, hence the order, which was a wise precaution. The rations were
calculated with care to last through the journey, but, unless a restriction had been
placed on the consumption, this could not be hoped for. But it is difficult to reason
with hungry men.
'November' 25. - Another day passed without finding the two missing horses. Sambo and
Eulah were sent out in quest of them, but returned unsuccessful, giving it, as their
opinion that "blackfella bin 'perim 'longa 'crub." Peter and Barney were then despatched
with orders to camp out that night and look for them all next day. A steer having been
killed last night, the day was passed in jerking him. The day was very unpropitious as
there had been a shower of rain in the morning, and there was no sun, so it had to be
smoked with manure in one of the tents. What with the mosquitoes and sand-flies, men,
horses, and cattle were kept in a continual fever. The horses would not leave the smoke
of the fires, the cattle would not remain on the camp, and the men could get no rest at
night for the mosquitoes, whilst during the day the flies were in myriads, and a small
species of gad-fly, particularly savage and troublesome. Another source of annoyance was
from the flocks of crows and kites, the latter ('Milvus Affinis') are described by
Leichhardt as being extraordinarily audacious, during his journey through this part of
the country, and they certainly manifested their reputation now. Not content with the
offal about the camp, they would actually, unless sharply watched, take the meat that was
cooking on the fire. The black-boys killed a great many with "paddimelon" sticks, andreed
spears, (the spoils of war) but with little effect. "When one was killed, twenty
came to the funeral." Old Eulah was a great proficient in this exercise, and when in
action with his countrymen, was always anxious to throw their own spears back at them.
'November' 26. - One of the party went to sleep during his watch last night, by which
fifteen head of cattle were allowed to stray away from the camp. It was not the first
time that this very grave fault had occurred, the mischief caused by which, can
sometimes, hardly be estimated. In this case, however, it verified the proverb, it is an
ill wind, etc., for whilst looking for the stragglers Frank Jardine luckily "happened" on
the missing horses "Cerebus" and "Creamy" about 7 miles down the river. They had
evidently been frightened by the blacks. Seven of the cattle only were found, leaving
eight missing which was very provoking as it was necessary to shift the camp (on which
they had now been detained six days) for all the stock where looking miserable. Neither
horses nor cattle would eat the grass, which had ceased to have a trace of green in it,
but rambled about looking for burnt stubble. The day was close and sultry with loud
thunder and bright lightning, which very much frighened the horses. The natives were
heard cooeying all round the camp during the night, but made no attack, remembering
probably the result of the Sunday and Tuesday previous.
'November' 27 - Everything was ready to pack on the horses before daylight this morning,
but most provokingly "Cerebus" was again missing. Leaving orders for the partyto start if
he was not recovered before noon, the Leader pushed on to mark a camp for them. At about
three miles he came on to a chain of fine lagoons, running parallel to and about four
miles from the river. The intervening country was one tea-tree level all flooded, but a
narrow strip of soft sandy flat occurred on the banks of each, timbered with blood-wood,
stringy-bark, and box. Following these down he marked a camp at about nine miles, then
crossed over to the river to look for the cattle. He had not followed it far when he saw
a mob of blacks. They did not molest him, so he passed them quietly, as he thought, but
about two miles further on, in some scrubby sandstone gullies, as he was riding along
looking for tracks, a spear whistled past, within six inches of his face. Pulling up, he
saw seven natives, all standing quietly looking on at the effect of the missile: the
fellow who threw it never threw another. Pursuing his way, pondering on the fatality that
had brought about collisions on two Sundays running, he met the cattle, and found the
party in some excitement; they too had had a shindy. The natives had attacked them in
force, but no one was hurt, whilst some of their assailants were left on the ground, and
others carried away wounded. It was found that they would not stand after the first
charge -- and a few were hit. (Camp XXIX.) Distance 9 miles. Course W. by N.
'November' 28. - All hopes of finding the eight missing head of cattle, lost from camp
28, had to be abandoned, for the reason that the horse-flesh could not hold out in
looking for them. The cattle were moved down along the lagoons, which in about two miles
narrowed into a defined creek, sandy, with occasional lagoons. This was explored ten
miles by the Leader, and the question as to whether he should choose that route, or
follow the river was decided for him. The banks were either utterly barren or clothed
with spinifex, and the country on either side the same worthless tea-tree levels. He was
therefore determined to take the cattle back on to the river, which was not much better,
and led them away from their course. The prospects of the Brothers were rather
dispiriting. To attempt striking north was out of the question, whilst every mile down
the river took them further away from their destination, and their horses were falling
away daily, so much so, that if the feed did not soon improve, there would not be one
capable of carrying an empty saddle. The rainy season too was at hand, and the level and
flooded nature of the country they were in, would, were they caught there by the floods,
endanger the safety of the party. It was therefore with no little anxiety that they
watched the weather, and searched for a practicable line which would allow of their
steering north. (Camp XXX.) Latitude 16 degrees 26 minutes 53 seconds. Distance 10 miles,
W. by N.
'November' 29. - Keeping a south-west course, so as to strike it lower down, the cattle
were again taken on to the river, which they reached in about nine miles; then travelling
about another mile down its banks, encamped. These were now decidedly more open, and the
country generally improved. The same strip of soft sandy flat about half-a-mile wide
continued, but better grassed, although the spear grass was far too common. Bloodwood,
stringy-bark, applegum and acacia timbered the north bank; whilst on the south, tea-tree
flats, covered with spinifex, ran close down to the bed, the bank itself being of red
clay. Two channels, together making a width of about 300 yards, formed the bed, which was
sandy, and held very little water on the surface. No large trees occurred, save now and
then a vagrant nonda. Another cow was lost to-day, and "Lottie," a favorite terrier, was
missing. The latitude of Camp 31 was supposed to be 16 degrees 31 minutes 53 seconds, but
doubtful.
'November' 30. - The river was followed down to-day for 11 miles. It was very winding and
irregular in its width. At the camp it was only 60 yards wide and running in one channel,
whilst a mile above, it measured nearly 400. Its general course was nearly west. The
creek which is formed by the lagoons, on which the party were so long detained was
crossed at about nine-and-a-half miles. The country at its junction is flooded for a long
distance back, and the river bed sandy and thickly timbered. Although the country
generally had decidedly improved, inasmuch as that it was more open, devoid of scrub, and
the box flats on the river extending further back on each side, it was by no means good.The
flats were very scantily grassed, chiefly with sour water grasses and spinifex, and
shewed by the flood marks that they must be quite impassable during floods or wet
weather. The dreary tea-tree levels might be seen in glimpses through the white box of
the flats extending far beyond. Several small swamps were passed during the day, on which
ducks and other water-fowl were very numerous, the stately native companion stalking near
the margins. The large funnel ant-hills occurred from 2 to 15 feet high. The Fitzroy
wallaby was plentiful, and the Leader shot an emeu. Some large flights of white ibis, and
slate-colored pigeons passed high overhead, flying north, which might be a good
indication. Peter was sent back to seek for Lottie, but returned in the evening
unsuccessful.
'December' 1. - Maramie Creek was crossed this morning at its junction with the river,
into which it flows in two channels, about 60 or 70 miles from the point where the
brothers first struck it on the 12th of November, while searching for a road to the
northward. Its total width is about 120 yards. The general course of the river was
slightly to the north of west, but very winding, some of its reaches extended for nearly
four miles. Numerous ana-branches occurred, the flats separating them, being three miles
in breadth, timbered with flooded box and tea-tree, their banks well grassed. It would be
a dangerous country to be caught in by the floods. Two parties of blacks were passed
fishing on the river, but they took no notice of the party, and were of course not
interfered with. They used reed spears pointed with four jagged prongs, and also hooks
and lines. Their hooks are made with wood barbed with bone, and the lines of twisted
currejong bark. Distance travelled to-day 10 miles. The Camp XXXIII. in latitude 16
degrees 27 minutes 30 seconds.
'December' 2. - The river was travelled down through similar country for eleven miles,
when the party reached the head of the tide, and camped on a rocky water hole in an
ana-branch, the river water not being drinkable. The course was to the southward of west.
It was now beyond a doubt, even to Mr. Richardson, that this river was not the Mitchell,
for neither its latitude, direction, or description corresponded with Leichhardt's
account. It was also perceived that the longitude of the starting point must have been
incorrect, and very considerably to the westward, as their reckoning, carefully checked,
brought them much too near the coast. The Brothers therefore became satisfied of what
they had long believed, that they had never been on the Lynd at all, or even on its
watershed, and that what they were on was an independent stream. They therefore named it
the "Ferguson,' in honor of Sir George Ferguson Bowen, Governor of Queensland, but there
is little doubt that it is the Staaten of the Dutch navigators, or at least its southern
branch. Should a northern branch eventually be discovered, which the delta and numerous
ana-branches make a probable hypothesis, the stream explored by the brothers might with
propriety retain the name they gave it. At eight miles from the start the character of
the country changed from the prevailing flats, to a kind of barren sandstone and spenifex
ridges. On pitching the camp the fishing-lines were put into requisition, but without
success. It is remarkable, that on reaching the salt water, not far from this spot,
Leichhardt was similarly disappointed, after having counted on catching and curing a good
quantity of fish, the whole day's work of Brown and Murphy being "a small siluus, one
mullet, and some guard-fish," 'qu.' gar-fish.
'December' 3. - To-day's stage was a short one, and was hoped to have been the last on
this miserable river, which was now looked upon as undoubtedly the Staaten. It had in
some measure improved. The timber was much larger and finer, and the lagoons extensive
and deep. But a heavy storm which came down, and compelled them to camp early, soon
proved what the country would be in the wet season. With this one heavy fall of rain it
became so boggy that the horses sank in up to their girths. Hitherto the grass had been
so scanty that the party could not halt for a day to kill. They had consequently been
four days without meat. It was determined, therefore, to stop and kill a beast,
preparatory to a start north, the feed having slightly improved in common with the
timber. In addition to the steer that was slaughtered, a shovel-nosed shark was caught
and jerked in like manner with the beef. In the afternoon Alexander Jardine explored down
the river for seven miles, seeking for a good spot for turning off. The country still
improved: the river was completely salt, and in one continuous sheet of running water, in
two channels 300 or 400 yards in width, and together about half-a-mile at the spot where
he turned back. Here it was flat and shallow, and fordable at low water. Mangroves and
salt-water creeks commenced as described by Leichhardt,* and alligator tracks were seen.
(Camp XXXV.) Latitude 16 degrees 26 minutes 39 seconds.
[footnote] *See Journal, page 320. It was at this point that he threw away his
horse-shoes and other heavy articles.
'December' 4. - The beef, shark, and a few cat-fish were jerked, and all the stores and
loading spread out and re-distributed on the packs, and as this put the camp into some
confusion, the Leader thought it well to shift it for a few miles, to let the packs shake
into place before the final start. They therefore moved down three miles to the
commencement of the mangroves, into a patch of the best feed they had seen since they
left the Einasleih. At this point the banks were very soft and sandy, growing spinifex;
the stream in numerous channels, altogether half-a-mile across, and the tide rose and
fell about twenty-two inches. Here they camped, intending to make an early start on the
following morning. Time was now an object of the utmost importance to the progress, if
not to the safety of the party: Frank Jardine was aware that the Mitchell, which he hadhoped
long ere this to have left behind him, was still ahead, at least 40 miles away,
without certainty of water until it was reached, whilst if caught by the floods he would
probably be stopped by this important stream. It was with some anxiety therefore that he
hastened preparations for the start. How his hopes were deferred and how fortune seemed
to laugh at his endeavours to push forward on his course will now be narrated, and it
will be seen how good bushmen with high hearts can overcome obstacles, and meet
difficulties that would appal and baffle ordinary travellers.
CHAPTER III.
Leave the Staaten -- Half the horses away -- Fresh troubles -- Mule Lost -- Sambo knocked
up -- Search for mule -- Perplexity -- "Lucifer" goes mad -- Final attempt to recover him
-- Marine Plains -- Search for Deceiver -- Found dead -- Salt Lagoon -- Arbor Creek --
Country improves -- Good Camp -- Eulah Creek -- The Brothers attacked -- Reach the
Mitchell -- Cow poisoned -- Battle of the Mitchell -- An ambush -- Extent of flooded
Country -- Reach head of tide -- Heavy rain -- A "Blank run" -- Leave the Mitchell --
Good Coast Country -- Balourgah Creek -- Blue grass -- Banksia -- The Eugenia -- Green
Ant -- Hearsey Creek -- Holroyd -- Creek Dunsmuir Creek -- Thalia Creek -- Black boy
chased by natives -- Another encounter -- Cattle scattered by thunder-storm -- Rainy
Season -- Macleod Creek -- Kendall Creek.
'December' 5. - Turning their backs on the Ferguson or Staaten the party steered north,
and at starting crossed the head of the sand-flats, described by Leichhardt. The rest of
the day's stage was over sandy ridges covered with tea-tree and pandanus, tolerably
grassed, no creek or water-course of any description occurred along the line, and the
party had to camp without water at about 13 miles: but as the Leader had not expected to
find any at all for at least 40, this was not thought much of. The camp though waterless
was well grassed, and by dint of searching a small pool of slimy green water was found
before dark, about two-and-a-half miles to the N.N.W. in a small watercourse, and by
starting off the black boys, enough was procured in the "billies" for the use of the
party for supper. This is marked a red day in Frank Jardine's diary, who closes his notes
with this entry. "Distance 13 miles. Course North at last." (Camp XXXVII.)
'December' 6. - The satisfaction of the party in getting away from the Staaten and King. But where is he?
travelling on the right course was destined to receive a check, and the Brothers to find Ros. Without, my lord; guarded, to know your pleasure.
they had not yet quite done with that river. This morning about half the horses were King. Bring him before us.
away, and a worse place for finding them, saving scrub, could hardly be imagined. It was Ros. Ho, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord.
fortunate that the pool of water mentioned yesterday had been found, as the cattle would Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern [with Attendants].
have had to turn back to the river, but this they were saved from. They were started away King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
for the water at day-break, in charge of two of the black boys, with instructions to stay Ham. At supper.
and feed them there until the horses came up or they were relieved by Binney. No horses King. At supper? Where?
coming in, Binney was sent after them. The Brothers searching for the horses, followed an Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain
hour-and-a-half after, but on arriving at the pool found the cattle and boys but no convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We
Binney. Returning to the camp they instructed the party to shift the packs to the pool on fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and
the twelve horses that had been found. Binney here came into the camp along the your lean beggar is but variable service- two dishes, but to one table. That's the end.
yesterday's tracks. He had missed the cattle and did not know where he had been to. He King. Alas, alas!
was started again on the cattle track by the Brothers, who then went in search of more Ham. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath
water, sending two more black boys to look for the horses. At about four miles away they fed of that worm.
themselves came on to their tracks, which they ran for about eight miles towards the King. What dost thou mean by this?
coast, when they found six. Continuing to follow the trail they were led to their 35th Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.
camp on the Staaten, when they found three more. Here, as the sun went down they were King. Where is Polonius?
obliged to camp, and after short hobbling the horses laid down by their fire, supperless, Ham. In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not there, seek him i'
and without blankets. They saw no water through the whole of the day, which was the cause th' other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him not within this month, you shall
of the restlessness of the horses the previous nigld's diameter, nose him as you go up the stair, into the lobby.
As level as the cannon to his blank, King. Go seek him there. [To Attendants.]
Transports his poisoned shot- may miss our name Ham. He will stay till you come.
And hit the woundless air.- O, come away! [Exeunt Attendants.] King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,-
My soul is full of discord and dismay. Which we do tender as we dearly grieve
Exeunt. For that which thou hast done,- must send thee hence
Scene II. With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself.
Elsinore. A passage in the Castle. The bark is ready and the wind at help,
Enter Hamlet. Th' associates tend, and everything is bent
Ham. Safely stow'd. For England.
Gentlemen. (within) Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! Ham. For England?
Ham. But soft! What noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. King. Ay, Hamlet.
Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Ham. Good.
Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes.
Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. Ham. I see a cherub that sees them. But come, for England! Farewell, dear mother.
Ros. Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence King. Thy loving father, Hamlet.Ham. My mother! Father and mother is man and wife; man and
And bear it to the chapel. wife is one flesh; and so, my
Ham. Do not believe it. mother. Come, for England!
Ros. Believe what?Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be Exit.
demanded of a sponge, King. Follow him at foot; tempt him with speed aboard.
what replication should be made by the son of a king? Delay it not; I'll have him hence to-night.
Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? Away! for everything is seal'd and done
Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the King's countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But That else leans on th' affair. Pray you make haste.
such officers do the King best service in the end. He keeps them, like an ape, in the Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern] And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught,-
corner of his jaw; first mouth'd, to be last Swallowed. When he needs what you have As my great power thereof may give thee sense,
glean'd, it is but squeezing you and, sponge, you shall be dry again. Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
Ros. I understand you not, my lord. After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Ham. I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. Ros. My lord, you must Pays homage to us,- thou mayst not coldly set
tell us where the body is and go with us to the King. Our sovereign process, which imports at full,
Ham. The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. The King is a By letters congruing to that effect,
thingGuil. The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England;
A thing, my lord? For like the hectic in my blood he rages,
Ham. Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after. And thou must cure me. Till I know 'tis done,
Exeunt. Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. Exit.
Scene III. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
Elsinore. A room in the Castle. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
Enter King. BY PROJECT
King. I have sent to seek him and to find the body. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
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This sudden sending him away must seem DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown Scene IV.
By desperate appliance are reliev'd, Near Elsinore.
Or not at all. Enter Fortinbras with his Army over the stage.
Enter Rosencrantz. For. Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king.
How now O What hath befall'n? Tell him that by his license Fortinbras
Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march
We cannot get from him. Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
if that his Majesty would aught with us, COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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Capt. I will do't, my lord. Scene V.
For. Go softly on. Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
Exeunt [all but the Captain]. Enter Horatio, Queen, and a Gentleman.
Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, [Guildenstern,] and others. Queen. I will not speak with her.
Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these? Gent. She is importunate, indeed distract.
Capt. They are of Norway, sir. Her mood will needs be pitied.
Ham. How purpos'd, sir, I pray you? Queen. What would she have?
Capt. Against some part of Poland. Gent. She speaks much of her father; says she hears
Ham. Who commands them, sir? There's tricks i' th' world, and hems, and beats her heart; Spurns enviously at straws;
Capt. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. speaks things in doubt,
Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing,
Or for some frontier? Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
Capt. Truly to speak, and with no addition, The hearers to collection; they aim at it,
We go to gain a little patch of ground And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts;
That hath in it no profit but the name. Which, as her winks and nods and gestures yield them,
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; Indeed would make one think there might be thought,
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily.
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. Hor. 'Twere good she were spoken with; for she may strew
Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds.
Capt. Yes, it is already garrison'd. Queen. Let her come in.
Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats [Exit Gentleman.] [Aside] To my sick soul (as sin's true nature is)
Will not debate the question of this straw. Each toy seems Prologue to some great amiss.
This is th' imposthume of much wealth and peace, So full of artless jealousy is guilt
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
Why the man dies.- I humbly thank you, sir. Enter Ophelia distracted.
Capt. God b' wi' you, sir. [Exit.] Ros. Will't please you go, my lord? Oph. Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark?
Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little before. Queen. How now, Ophelia?
[Exeunt all but Hamlet.] How all occasions do inform against me Oph. (sings)
And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, How should I your true-love know
If his chief good and market of his time From another one?
Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. By his cockle bat and' staff
Sure he that made us with such large discourse, And his sandal shoon.
Looking before and after, gave us not Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song?
That capability and godlike reasonTo fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be Oph. Say you? Nay, pray You mark.(Sings) He is dead and gone, lady,
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple He is dead and gone;
Of thinking too precisely on th' event,- At his head a grass-green turf,
A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part wisdom At his heels a stone.
And ever three parts coward,- I do not know O, ho!
Why yet I live to say 'This thing's to do,' Queen. Nay, but OpheliaOph.
Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means Pray you mark.
To do't. Examples gross as earth exhort me. (Sings) White his shroud as the mountain snow-
Witness this army of such mass and charge, Enter King.
Led by a delicate and tender prince, Queen. Alas, look here, my lord!
Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, Oph. (Sings)
Makes mouths at the invisible event, Larded all with sweet flowers;
Exposing what is mortal and unsure Which bewept to the grave did not go
To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, With true-love showers.
Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great King. How do you, pretty lady?
Is not to stir without great argument, Oph. Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!
When honour's at the stake. How stand I then, King. Conceit upon her father.
That have a father klll'd, a mother stain'd, Oph. Pray let's have no words of this; but when they ask, you what it means, say you
Excitements of my reason and my blood, this:
And let all sleep, while to my shame I see (Sings) To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
The imminent death of twenty thousand men All in the morning bedtime,
That for a fantasy and trick of fame And I a maid at your window,
Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot To be your Valentine.
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, Then up he rose and donn'd his clo'es
Which is not tomb enough and continent And dupp'd the chamber door,
To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, Let in the maid, that out a maid
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth! Exit. Never departed more.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM King. Pretty Ophelia!
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Oph. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make an end on't!
BY PROJECT [Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity,
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ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Young men will do't if they come to't
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YOUR OR OTHERS Quoth she, 'Before you tumbled me,
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED You promis'd me to wed.'
He answers: I dare damnation. To this point I stand,
'So would I 'a' done, by yonder sun, That both the world, I give to negligence,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.' Let come what comes; only I'll be reveng'd
King. How long hath she been thus? Most throughly for my father.
Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient; but I cannot choose but weep to think King. Who shall stay you?
they would lay him i' th' cold ground. My brother shall know of it; and so I thank you Laer. My will, not all the world!
for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet ladies. Good And for my means, I'll husband them so well
night, good night. Exit King. Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. They shall go far with little.
[Exit Horatio.] O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs King. Good Laertes,
All from her father's death. O Gertrude, Gertrude, If you desire to know the certainty
When sorrows come, they come not single spies. Of your dear father's death, is't writ in Your revenge
But in battalions! First, her father slain; That swoopstake you will draw both friend and foe,
Next, Your son gone, and he most violent author Winner and loser?
Of his own just remove; the people muddied, Laer. None but his enemies.
Thick and and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers For good Polonius' death, and we King. Will you know them then?
have done but greenly Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms
In hugger-mugger to inter him; Poor Ophelia And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican,
Divided from herself and her fair-judgment, Repast them with my blood.
Without the which we are Pictures or mere beasts; King. Why, now You speak
Last, and as such containing as all these, Like a good child and a true gentleman.
Her brother is in secret come from France; That I am guiltless of your father's death,
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear And am most sensibly in grief for it,
Feeds on his wonder, keep, himself in clouds, It shall as level to your judgment pierce
With pestilent speeches of his father's death,Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, As day does to your eye.A noise within: 'Let her come in.' Laer. How now? What noise is that?
Will nothing stick Our person to arraign Enter Ophelia.
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times salt
Like to a murd'ring piece, in many places Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!
Give, me superfluous death. A noise within. Queen. Alack, what noise is this? By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight
King. Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door. Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Enter a Messenger. Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!
What is the matter? O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits
Mess. Save Yourself, my lord: Should be as mortal as an old man's life?
The ocean, overpeering of his list, Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine,
Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste It sends some precious instance of itself
Than Young Laertes, in a riotous head, After the thing it loves.
O'erbears Your offices. The rabble call him lord; Oph. (sings)
And, as the world were now but to begin, They bore him barefac'd on the bier
Antiquity forgot, custom not known, (Hey non nony, nony, hey nony)
The ratifiers and props of every word, And in his grave rain'd many a tear.
They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!' Fare you well, my dove!
Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds, Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge,
'Laertes shall be king! Laertes king!' It could not move thus.
A noise within. Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! Oph. You must sing 'A-down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.' O, how the wheel becomes
O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs! it! It is the false steward, that stole his master's daughter.
King. The doors are broke. Laer. This nothing's more than matter.
Enter Laertes with others. Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is
Laer. Where is this king?- Sirs, staid you all without. pansies, that's for thoughts.
All. No, let's come in! Laer. A document in madness! Thoughts and remembrance fitted. Oph. There's fennel for
Laer. I pray you give me leave. you, and columbines. There's rue for you, and here's some for me. We may call it herb of
All. We will, we will! grace o' Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference! There's a daisy. I would
Laer. I thank you. Keep the door. [Exeunt his Followers.] O thou vile king, give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father died. They say he made a good
Give me my father! end.
Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. [Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.
Laer. That drop of blood that's calm proclaims me bastard; Cries cuckold to my father; Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself,
brands the harlot She turns to favour and to prettiness.
Even here between the chaste unsmirched brows Oph. (sings)
Of my true mother. And will he not come again?
King. What is the cause, Laertes, And will he not come again?
That thy rebellion looks so giantlike? No, no, he is dead;
Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person. Go to thy deathbed;
There's such divinity doth hedge a king He never will come again.
That treason can but peep to what it would, His beard was as white as snow,
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, All flaxen was his poll.
Why thou art thus incens'd. Let him go, Gertrude. He is gone, he is gone,
Speak, man. And we cast away moan.
Laer. Where is my father? God 'a'mercy on his soul!
King. Dead. And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b' wi', you. Exit.
Queen. But not by him! Laer. Do you see this, O God?
King. Let him demand his fill. King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief,
Laer. How came he dead? I'll not be juggled with: Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
To hell, allegiance! vows, to the blackest devil Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will,
Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me.
If by direct or by collateral hand That he which hath your noble father slain
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, Pursued my life.
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, Laer. It well appears. But tell me
To you in satisfaction; but if not, Why you proceeded not against these feats
Be you content to lend your patience to us, So crimeful and so capital in nature,
And we shall jointly labour with your soul As by your safety, wisdom, all things else,
To give it due content. You mainly were stirr'd up.
Laer. Let this be so. King. O, for two special reasons,
His means of death, his obscure funeralNo Which may to you, perhaps, seein much unsinew'd,
trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother
No noble rite nor formal ostentation,- Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,-
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, My virtue or my plague, be it either which,-
That I must call't in question. She's so conjunctive to my life and soul
King. So you shall; That, as the star moves not but in his sphere,
And where th' offence is let the great axe fall. I could not but by her. The other motive
I pray you go with me. Why to a public count I might not go
Exeunt<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Is the great love the general gender bear him,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Who, dipping all his faults in their affection,Would, like the spring that turneth wood to stone,
BY PROJECT Convert his gives to graces; so that my arrows,
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ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Would have reverted to my bow again,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR And not where I had aim'd them.
YOUR OR OTHERS Laer. And so have I a noble father lost;
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED A sister driven into desp'rate terms,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Whose worth, if praises may go back again,
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Stood challenger on mount of all the age
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> For her perfections. But my revenge will come.
Scene VI. King. Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think
Elsinore. Another room in the Castle. That we are made of stuff so flat and dull
Enter Horatio with an Attendant. That we can let our beard be shook with danger,
Hor. What are they that would speak with me? And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more.
Servant. Seafaring men, sir. They say they have letters for you. Hor. Let them come in. I lov'd your father, and we love ourself,
[Exit Attendant.] I do not know from what part of the world And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine-
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. Enter a Messenger with letters.
Enter Sailors. How now? What news?
Sailor. God bless you, sir. Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet:
Hor. Let him bless thee too. This to your Majesty; this to the Queen.
Sailor. 'A shall, sir, an't please him. There's a letter for you, sir,- it comes from th' King. From Hamlet? Who brought them?
ambassador that was bound for England- if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not.
is. They were given me by Claudio; he receiv'd them
Hor. (reads the letter) 'Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook'd this, give these Of him that brought them.
fellows some means to the King. They have letters for him. Ere we were two days old at King. Laertes, you shall hear them.
sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too slow of Leave us.
sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant Exit Messenger. [Reads]'High and Mighty,-You shall know I am set naked on your kingdom.
they got clear of our ship; so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me To-morrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes; when I shall (first asking your
like thieves of mercy; but they knew what they did: I am to do a good turn for them. Let pardon thereunto) recount the occasion of my sudden and more strange return.
the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou to me with as much speed as thou 'HAMLET.' What should this mean? Are all the rest come back?
wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they Or is it some abuse, and no such thing?
much too light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee where I am. Laer. Know you the hand?
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England. Of them I have much to tell King. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!'
thee. Farewell. And in a postscript here, he says 'alone.'
'He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.' Can you advise me?
Come, I will give you way for these your letters, Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come!
And do't the speedier that you may direct me It warms the very sickness in my heart
To him from whom you brought them. Exeunt. That I shall live and tell him to his teeth,
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM 'Thus didest thou.'
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED King. If it be so, Laertes
BY PROJECT (As how should it be so? how otherwise?),
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. Will you be rul'd by me?
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Laer. Ay my lord,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR So you will not o'errule me to a peace.
YOUR OR OTHERS King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED As checking at his voyage, and that he means
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY No more to undertake it, I will work him
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR To exploit now ripe in my device,
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Under the which he shall not choose but fall;
Scene VII. And for his death no wind
Elsinore. Another room in the Castle. But even his mother shall uncharge the practice
Enter King and Laertes. And call it accident.
King. Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd;
And You must put me in your heart for friend, The rather, if you could devise it so
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, That I might be the organ.
King. It falls right. Or with a little shuffling, you may choose
You have been talk'd of since your travel much, A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice,
And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality Requite him for your father.
Wherein they say you shine, Your sun of parts Laer. I will do't!
Did not together pluck such envy from him And for that purpose I'll anoint my sword.
As did that one; and that, in my regard, I bought an unction of a mountebank,
Of the unworthiest siege. So mortal that, but dip a knife in it,
Laer. What part is that, my lord? Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare,
King. A very riband in the cap of youthYet Collected from all simples that have virtue
needfull too; for youth no less becomes Under the moon, can save the thing from death
The light and careless livery that it wears This is but scratch'd withal. I'll touch my point
Thin settled age his sables and his weeds, With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly,
Importing health and graveness. Two months since It may be death.
Here was a gentleman of Normandy. King. Let's further think of this,
I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, Weigh what convenience both of time and means
And they can well on horseback; but this gallant May fit us to our shape. If this should fall,
Had witchcraft in't. He grew unto his seat, And that our drift look through our bad performance.
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse 'Twere better not assay'd. Therefore this project
As had he been incorps'd and demi-natur'dWith the brave beast. So far he topp'd my thought Should have a back or second, that might hold
That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, If this did blast in proof. Soft! let me see.
Come short of what he did. We'll make a solemn wager on your cunningsI
Laer. A Norman was't? ha't!
King. A Norman. When in your motion you are hot and dryAs
Laer. Upon my life, Lamound. make your bouts more violent to that endAndthat he calls for drink, I'll have prepar'd him
King. The very same. A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping,
Laer. I know him well. He is the broach indeed If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,
And gem of all the nation. Our purpose may hold there.- But stay, what noise,
King. He made confession of you; Enter Queen.
And gave you such a masterly report How now, sweet queen?
For art and exercise in your defence, Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel,
And for your rapier most especially, So fast they follow. Your sister's drown'd, Laertes.
That he cried out 'twould be a sight indeed Laer. Drown'd! O, where?
If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
If you oppos'd them. Sir, this report of his There with fantastic garlands did she come
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy Of crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That he could nothing do but wish and beg That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
Your sudden coming o'er to play with you. But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.
Now, out of thisLaer. There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds
What out of this, my lord? Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,
King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? When down her weedy trophies and herself
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide
A face without a heart,' And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Laer. Why ask you this? Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes,
King. Not that I think you did not love your father; As one incapable of her own distress,
But that I know love is begun by time, Or like a creature native and indued
And that I see, in passages of proof, Unto that element; but long it could not be
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
There lives within the very flame of love Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it; To muddy death.
And nothing is at a like goodness still; Laer. Alas, then she is drown'd?
For goodness, growing to a plurisy, Queen. Drown'd, drown'd.
Dies in his own too-much. That we would do, Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia,
We should do when we would; for this 'would' changes, And therefore I forbid my tears; but yet
And hath abatements and delays as many It is our trick; nature her custom holds,
As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; Let shame say what it will. When these are gone,
And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord.
That hurts by easing. But to the quick o' th' ulcer! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze
Hamlet comes back. What would you undertake But that this folly douts it. Exit. King. Let's follow, Gertrude.
To show yourself your father's son in deed How much I had to do to calm his rage I
More than in words? Now fear I this will give it start again;
Laer. To cut his throat i' th' church! Therefore let's follow.
King. No place indeed should murther sanctuarize; Exeunt.
Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
Will you do this? Keep close within your chamber. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
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ACT V. Scene I.
Elsinore. A churchyard.
Enter two Clowns, [with spades and pickaxes].
Clown. Is she to be buried in Christian burial when she wilfully seeks her own salvation?
Other. I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight. The crowner hath sate on
her, and finds it Christian burial. Clown. How can that be, unless she drown'd herself in
her own defence?
Other. Why, 'tis found so.
Clown. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: if I drown
myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches-it is to act, to do,
and to perform; argal, she drown'd herself wittingly.
Other. Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver!
Clown. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the man; good. If the man go
to this water and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he goes- mark you that. But if
the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty
of his own death shortens not his own life.
Other. But is this law?
Clown. Ay, marry, is't- crowner's quest law.
Other. Will you ha' the truth an't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have
been buried out o' Christian burial. Clown. Why, there thou say'st! And the more pity
that great folk should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves more
than their even-Christen. Come, my spade! There is no ancient gentlemen but gard'ners,
ditchers, and grave-makers. They hold up Adam's profession.
Other. Was he a gentleman?Clown. 'A was the first that ever bore arms.
Other. Why, he had none.
Clown. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says
Adam digg'd. Could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee. If thou
answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyselfOther.
Go to!
Clown. What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the
carpenter?
Other. The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.
Clown. I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows does well. But how does it well?
It does well to those that do ill. Now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is built
stronger than the church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come!
Other. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?
Clown. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
Other. Marry, now I can tell!
Clown. To't.
Other. Mass, I cannot tell.
Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off.
Clown. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with
beating; and when you are ask'd this question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he
makes lasts till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor.
[Exit Second Clown.]
[Clown digs and] sings.
In youth when I did love, did love,
Methought it was very sweet;
To contract- O- the time for- a- my behove,
O, methought there- a- was nothing- a- meet.
Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making?
Hor. Custom hath made it in him a Property of easiness.
Ham. 'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
Clown. (sings)
But age with his stealing steps
Hath clawed me in his clutch,
And hath shipped me intil the land,
As if I had never been such.
[Throws up a skull.]
Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave jowls it to the
ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that did the first murther! This might be the pate of
a Politician, which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God, might it
not?
Hor. It might, my lord.
Ham. Or of a courtier, which could say 'Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good
lord?' This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that prais'd my Lord Such-a-one's horse when he
meant to beg it- might it not?
Hor. Ay, my lord.
Ham. Why, e'en so! and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, and knock'd about the mazzard with
a
sexton's spade. Here's fine revolution, and we had the trick to see't. Did these bones
cost no more the breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think on't.
Clown. (Sings)
A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,
For and a shrouding sheet;
O, a Pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.
Throws up [another skull].
Ham. There's another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits
now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude
knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his
action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his
statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the
fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine
dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the
length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will
scarcely lie in this box; and must th' inheritor himself have no more, ha?
Hor. Not a jot more, my lord.
Ham. Is not parchment made of sheepskins?
Hor. Ay, my lord, And of calveskins too.Ham. They are sheep and calves which seek out
assurance in that. I will speak to this
fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah?
Clown. Mine, sir.
[Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made
For such a guest is meet.
Ham. I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.
Clown. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours. For my part, I do not lie
in't, yet it is mine.
Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine. 'Tis for the dead, not for the
quick; therefore thou liest.
Clown. 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you. Ham. What man dost thou
dig it for?
Clown. For no man, sir.
Ham. What woman then?
Clown. For none neither.
Ham. Who is to be buried in't?
Clown. One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead. Ham. How absolute the
knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio,
this three years I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe of the
peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.- How long hast thou
been a grave-maker?
Clown. Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet
overcame Fortinbras.
Ham. How long is that since?
Clown. Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It was the very day that young
Hamlet was born- he that is mad, and sent into England.
Ham. Ay, marry, why was be sent into England?
Clown. Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his wits there; or, if 'a do not, 'tis
no great matter there.
Ham. Why?
Clown. 'Twill not he seen in him there. There the men are as mad as he.
Ham. How came he mad?
Clown. Very strangely, they say.
Ham. How strangely?
Clown. Faith, e'en with losing his wits.
Ham. Upon what ground?
Clown. Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy thirty years.
Ham. How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot?
Clown. Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days
that will scarce hold the laying in, I will last you some eight year or nine year. A
tanner will last you nine year.
Ham. Why he more than another?
Clown. Why, sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade that 'a will keep out water a great
while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now.
This skull hath lien you i' th' earth three-and-twenty years.
Ham. Whose was it?
Clown. A whoreson, mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think it was? Ham. Nay, I know not.
Clown. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A pour'd a flagon of Rhenish on my head
once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the King's jester.
Ham. This?
Clown. E'en that. Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps in after Laertes. Laer. The devil take thy soul!
Ham. Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of [Grapples with him]. Ham. Thou pray'st not well.
infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand tunes. I prithee take thy fingers from my throat;
And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips For, though I am not splenitive and rash,
that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? Yet have I in me something dangerous,
your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand!
your own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, King. Pluck thein asunder.
let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that. Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet!
Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. All. Gentlemen!
Hor. What's that, my lord? Hor. Good my lord, be quiet.
Ham. Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' th' earth? Hor. E'en so. [The Attendants part them, and they come out of the
Ham. And smelt so? Pah! grave.]
[Puts down the skull.] Hor. E'en so, my lord. Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme
Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble Until my eyelids will no longer wag.
dust of Alexander till he find it stopping a bunghole? Queen. O my son, what theme?
Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. Ham. I lov'd Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers
Ham. No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood Could not (with all their quantity of love)
to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?
the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam (whereto he was converted) King. O, he is mad, Laertes.Queen. For love of God, forbear him!
might they not stop a beer barrel? Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou't do.
Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself? Woo't drink up esill? eat a
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. crocodile?
O, that that earth which kept the world in awe I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine?
Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw!But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King- To outface me with leaping in her grave?
Enter [priests with] a coffin [in funeral procession], King, Be buried quick with her, and so will I.
Queen, Laertes, with Lords attendant.] And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow? Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
The corse they follow did with desp'rate hand Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate. I'll rant as well as thou.
Couch we awhile, and mark. Queen. This is mere madness;
[Retires with Horatio.] Laer. What ceremony else? And thus a while the fit will work on him.
Ham. That is Laertes, Anon, as patient as the female dove
A very noble youth. Mark. When that her golden couplets are disclos'd,
Laer. What ceremony else? His silence will sit drooping.
Priest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd Ham. Hear you, sir!
As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful; What is the reason that you use me thus?
And, but that great command o'ersways the order, I lov'd you ever. But it is no matter.
She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd Let Hercules himself do what he may,
Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.
Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her. Exit.
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants, King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.
Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Exit Horatio. [To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech. We'll put
Of bell and burial. the matter to the present push.-
Laer. Must there no more be done? Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.-
Priest. No more be done. This grave shall have a living monument.
We should profane the service of the dead An hour of quiet shortly shall we see;
To sing a requiem and such rest to her Till then in patience our proceeding be.
As to peace-parted souls. Exeunt.
Laer. Lay her i' th' earth; Scene II.
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh Elsinore. A hall in the Castle.
May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, Enter Hamlet and Horatio.
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be Ham. So much for this, sir; now shall you see the other.
When thou liest howling. You do remember all the circumstance?
Ham. What, the fair Ophelia? Hor. Remember it, my lord!
Queen. Sweets to the sweet! Farewell. Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting
[Scatters flowers.] I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. RashlyAnd
And not have strew'd thy grave. prais'd be rashness for it; let us know,
Laer. O, treble woe Our indiscretion sometime serves us well
Fall ten times treble on that cursed head When our deep plots do pall; and that should learn us
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile, Rough-hew them how we willHor.
Till I have caught her once more in mine arms. That is most certain.
Leaps in the grave. Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead Ham. Up from my cabin,
Till of this flat a mountain you have made My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark
T' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head Grop'd I to find out them; had my desire,
Of blue Olympus. Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew
Ham. [comes forward] What is he whose grief To mine own room again; making so bold
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow (My fears forgetting manners) to unseal
Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio
Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, (O royal knavery!), an exact command,
Larded with many several sorts of reasons, Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing to you from his
Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, Majesty.
With, hoo! such bugs and goblins in my lifeThat, Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his right
on the supervise, no leisure bated, use. 'Tis for the head.
No, not to stay the finding of the axe, Osr. I thank your lordship, it is very hot.
My head should be struck off. Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind is northerly. Osr. It is indifferent cold,
Hor. Is't possible? my lord, indeed.
Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more leisure. Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion. Osr. Exceedingly, my
But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed? lord; it is very sultry, as 'twere- I cannot tell how. But, my lord, his Majesty bade me
Hor. I beseech you. signify to you that he has laid a great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matterHam. I
Ham. Being thus benetted round with villanies, beseech you remember.
Or I could make a prologue to my brains, [Hamlet moves him to put on his hat.] Osr. Nay, good my lord; for mine ease, in good
They had begun the play. I sat me down; faith. Sir, here is newly come to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman, full
Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair. of most excellent differences, of very soft society and great showing. Indeed, to speak
I once did hold it, as our statists do, feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry; for you shall find in him the
A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much continent of what part a gentleman would see.
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you; though, I know, to divide him
It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know inventorially would dozy th' arithmetic of memory, and yet but yaw neither in respect of
Th' effect of what I wrote?Hor. Ay, good my lord. his quick sail. But, in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great
Ham. An earnest conjuration from the King, article, and his infusion of such dearth and rareness as, to make true diction of him,
As England was his faithful tributary, his semblable is his mirror, and who else would trace him, his umbrage, nothing more.Osr.
As love between them like the palm might flourish, Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him.
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear Ham. The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer breath
And stand a comma 'tween their amities, Osr. Sir?
And many such-like as's of great charge, Hor [aside to Hamlet] Is't not possible to understand in another tongue? You will do't,
That, on the view and knowing of these contents, sir, really.
Without debatement further, more or less, Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentleman
He should the bearers put to sudden death, Osr. Of Laertes?
Not shriving time allow'd. Hor. [aside] His purse is empty already. All's golden words are spent.
Hor. How was this seal'd? Ham. Of him, sir.
Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. Osr. I know you are not ignorantHam.
I had my father's signet in my purse, I would you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you did, it would not much approve me. Well, sir?
which was the model of that Danish seal; Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes isHam.
Folded the writ up in the form of th' other, I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in excellence; but to know a man
Subscrib'd it, gave't th' impression, plac'd it safely, The changeling never known. Now, well were to know himself. Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid
the next day on him by them, in his meed he's unfellowed.
Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent Ham. What's his weapon?
Thou know'st already. Osr. Rapier and dagger.
Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. Ham. That's two of his weapons- but well.
Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this employment! Osr. The King, sir, hath wager'd with him six Barbary horses; against the which he has
They are not near my conscience; their defeat impon'd, as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with their assigns, as girdle,
Does by their own insinuation grow. hangers, and so. Three of the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very
'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit.
Between the pass and fell incensed points Ham. What call you the carriages?
Of mighty opposites. Hor. [aside to Hamlet] I knew you must be edified by the margent ere you had done.
Hor. Why, what a king is this! Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers.
Ham. Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me now uponHe Ham. The phrase would be more germane to the matter if we could carry cannon by our
that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; sides. I would it might be hangers till then. But on! Six Barbary horses against six
Popp'd in between th' election and my hopes; French swords, their assigns, and three liberal-conceited carriages: that's the French
Thrown out his angle for my Proper life, bet against the Danish. Why is this all impon'd, as you call it? Osr. The King, sir, hath
And with such coz'nage- is't not perfect conscience laid that, in a dozen passes between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you three
To quit him with this arm? And is't not to be damn'd hits; he hath laid on twelve for nine, and it would come to immediate trial if your
To let this canker of our nature come lordship would vouchsafe the answer.
In further evil? Ham. How if I answer no?
Hor. It must be shortly known to him from England Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial. Ham. Sir, I will walk here
What is the issue of the business there. in the hall. If it please his Majesty, it is the breathing time of day with me. Let the
Ham. It will be short; the interim is mine, foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and the King hold his purpose, I will win for
And a man's life is no more than to say 'one.' him if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, Osr. Shall I redeliver you e'en so?
That to Laertes I forgot myself, Ham. To this effect, sir, after what flourish your nature will. Osr. I commend my duty to
For by the image of my cause I see your lordship.
The portraiture of his. I'll court his favours. Ham. Yours, yours. [Exit Osric.] He does well to commend it himself; there are no tongues
But sure the bravery of his grief did put me else for's turn.
Into a tow'ring passion. Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.
Hor. Peace! Who comes here? Ham. He did comply with his dug before he suck'd it. Thus has he, and many more of the
Enter young Osric, a courtier. same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on, only got the tune of the time and outward
Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. habit of encountera kind of yesty collection, which carries them through and through the
Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. [Aside to Horatio] Dost know this waterfly? most fann'd and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial-the bubbles are
Hor. [aside to Hamlet] No, my good lord. out,
Ham. [aside to Horatio] Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him. He Enter a Lord.
hath much land, and fertile. Let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at Lord. My lord, his Majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings back to him,
the king's mess. 'Tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt. Osr. that you attend him in the hall. He sends to know if your pleasure hold to play with
Laertes, or that you will take longer time. Or quit in answer of the third exchange,
Ham. I am constant to my purposes; they follow the King's pleasure. If his fitness Let all the battlements their ordnance fire;
speaks, mine is ready; now or whensoever, provided I be so able as now. The King shall drink to Hamlet's better breath,
Lord. The King and Queen and all are coming down. And in the cup an union shall he throw
Ham. In happy time. Richer than that which four successive kings
Lord. The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes before you fall In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the cups;
to play. And let the kettle to the trumpet speak,
Ham. She well instructs me. The trumpet to the cannoneer without,
[Exit Lord.] Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth,
Ham. I do not think so. Since he went into France I have been in continual practice. I 'Now the King drinks to Hamlet.' Come, begin.
shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill all's here about my heart. But And you the judges, bear a wary eye.
it is no matter. Hor. Nay, good my lord - Ham. Come on, sir.
Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gaingiving as would perhaps trouble a Laer. Come, my lord. They play. Ham. One.
woman. Laer. No.
Hor. If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestall their repair hither and say Ham. Judgment!
you are not fit. Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit.
Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury; there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. Laer. Well, again!
If it be now, 'tis not to come', if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, King. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine;
yet it will come: the readiness is all. Since no man knows aught of what he leaves, what Here's to thy health.
is't to leave betimes? Let be. [Drum; trumpets sound; a piece goes off [within]. Give him the cup.
Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Osric, and Lords, with other Ham. I'll play this bout first; set it by awhile.
Attendants with foils and gauntlets. A table and flagons of wine on it. Come. (They play.) Another hit. What say you?Laer. A touch, a touch; I do confess't.
King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. King. Our son shall win.
[The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's.] Ham. Give me your pardon, sir. I have done Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath.
you wrong; Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows.
But pardon't, as you are a gentleman. The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet.
This presence knows, Ham. Good madam!
And you must needs have heard, how I am punish'd King. Gertrude, do not drink.
With sore distraction. What I have done Queen. I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me. Drinks. King. [aside] It is the poison'd
That might your nature, honour, and exception cup; it is too late.
Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam; by-and-by.
Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet. Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face.
If Hamlet from himself be taken away, Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now.
And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes, King. I do not think't.
Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. Laer. [aside] And yet it is almost against my conscience. Ham. Come for the third,
Who does it, then? His madness. If't be so, Laertes! You but dally.
Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd; pray You Pass with your best violence;
His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. I am afeard You make a wanton of me.
Sir, in this audience, Laer. Say you so? Come on. Play. Osr. Nothing neither way.
Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil Laer. Have at you now!
Free me so far in your most generous thoughts [Laertes wounds Hamlet; then] in scuffling, they
That I have shot my arrow o'er the house change rapiers, [and Hamlet wounds Laertes].
And hurt my brother. King. Part them! They are incens'd.
Laer. I am satisfied in nature, Ham. Nay come! again! The Queen falls.
Whose motive in this case should stir me most Osr. Look to the Queen there, ho!
To my revenge. But in my terms of honour Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord?
I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement Osr. How is't, Laertes?
Till by some elder masters of known honour Laer. Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric.
I have a voice and precedent of peace I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
To keep my name ungor'd. But till that time Ham. How does the Queen?
I do receive your offer'd love like love, King. She sounds to see them bleed.
And will not wrong it. Queen. No, no! the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet!
Ham. I embrace it freely, The drink, the drink! I am poison'd. [Dies.] Ham. O villany! Ho! let the door be lock'd.
And will this brother's wager frankly play. Treachery! Seek it out.
Give us the foils. Come on. [Laertes falls.] Laer. It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain;
Laer. Come, one for me. No medicine in the world can do thee good.
Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes. In mine ignorance In thee there is not half an hour of life.
Your skill shall, like a star i' th' darkest night, The treacherous instrument is in thy hand,
Stick fiery off indeed. Unbated and envenom'd. The foul practice
Laer. You mock me, sir. Hath turn'd itself on me. Lo, here I lie,
Ham. No, by this bad. Never to rise again. Thy mother's poison'd.
King. Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet, I can no more. The King, the King's to blame.
You know the wager? Ham. The point envenom'd too?
Ham. Very well, my lord. Then, venom, to thy work. Hurts the King. All. Treason! treason!
Your Grace has laid the odds o' th' weaker side. King. O, yet defend me, friends! I am but hurt.
King. I do not fear it, I have seen you both; Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned Dane,
But since he is better'd, we have therefore odds. Drink off this potion! Is thy union here?
Laer. This is too heavy; let me see another. Follow my mother. King dies. Laer. He is justly serv'd.
Ham. This likes me well. These foils have all a length? It is a poison temper'd by himself.
Prepare to play. Osr. Ay, my good lord. Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet.
King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that table. Mine and my father's death come not upon thee,
If Hamlet give the first or second hit, Nor thine on me! Dies. Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee.
I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu! Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage;
You that look pale and tremble at this chance, For he was likely, had he been put on,
That are but mutes or audience to this act, To have prov'd most royally; and for his passage
Had I but time (as this fell sergeant, Death, The soldiers' music and the rites of war
Is strict in his arrest) O, I could tell youBut Speak loudly for him.
let it be. Horatio, I am dead; Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this
Thou liv'st; report me and my cause aright Becomes the field but here shows much amiss.
To the unsatisfied. Go, bid the soldiers shoot.
Hor. Never believe it. Exeunt marching; after the which a peal of ordnance
I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. are shot off.
Here's yet some liquor left. THE END
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Ham. O, I die, Horatio! 1598
The potent poison quite o'ercrows my spirit.I cannot live to hear the news from England, THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTHby William Shakespeare
But I do prophesy th' election lights Dramatis Personae
On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. King Henry the Fourth.
So tell him, with th' occurrents, more and less, Henry, Prince of Wales, son to the King.
Which have solicited- the rest is silence. Dies. Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good Prince John of Lancaster, son to the King.
night, sweet prince, Earl of Westmoreland.
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! Sir Walter Blunt.
[March within.] Why does the drum come hither? Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester.
Enter Fortinbras and English Ambassadors, with Drum, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.
Colours, and Attendants. Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his son.
Fort. Where is this sight? Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March.
Hor. What is it you will see? Richard Scroop, Archbishop of York.
If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. Archibald, Earl of Douglas.
Fort. This quarry cries on havoc. O proud Death, Owen Glendower.
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell Sir Richard Vernon.
That thou so many princes at a shot Sir John Falstaff.
So bloodily hast struck. Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of York.
Ambassador. The sight is dismal; Poins.
And our affairs from England come too late. Gadshill
The ears are senseless that should give us bearing Peto.
To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd Bardolph.
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.
Where should We have our thanks? Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer. Mistress Quickly, hostess of
Hor. Not from his mouth, the Boar's Head in Eastcheap.
Had it th' ability of life to thank you. Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and
He never gave commandment for their death. Attendants.
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Truly deliver. SCENE.--England and Wales.
Fort. Let us haste to hear it, ACT I. Scene I.
And call the noblest to the audience. London. The Palace.
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune. Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland, [Sir Walter Blunt,] with
I have some rights of memory in this kingdom others.
Which now, to claim my vantage doth invite me. King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more. And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
But let this same be presently perform'd, To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
Even while men's minds are wild, lest more mischance No more the thirsty entrance of this soil
On plots and errors happen. Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood.
Fort. Let four captains No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor Bruise her flow'rets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now in mutual well-beseeming ranks
March all one way and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies.
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of ChristWhose
soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fightForthwith
a power of English shall we levy,
Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb
To chase these pagans in those holy fields
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd
For our advantage on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose now is twelvemonth old,
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go.
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,What yesternight our Council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience.
West. My liege, this haste was hot in question
And many limits of the charge set down
But yesternight; when all athwart there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news;
Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken,
A thousand of his people butchered;
Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse,
Such beastly shameless transformation,
By those Welshwomen done as may not be
Without much shame retold or spoken of.
King. It seems then that the tidings of this broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious lord;
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the North, and thus it did import:
On Holy-rood Day the gallant Hotspur there,
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met,
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour;
As by discharge of their artillery
And shape of likelihood the news was told;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse,
Uncertain of the issue any way.
King. Here is a dear, a true-industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours,
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains. Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake Earl of Fife and eldest son
To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil?
A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not?
West. In faith,
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
King. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and mak'st me sin
In envy that my Lord Northumberland
Should be the father to so blest a sonA
son who is the theme of honour's tongue,
Amongst a grove the very straightest plant;
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and her pride;
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him,
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O that it could be prov'd
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle clothes our children where they lay,
And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet!
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz,
Of this young Percy's pride? The prisoners
Which he in this adventure hath surpris'd
To his own use he keeps, and sends me word
I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching, this Worcester,
Malevolent to you In all aspects,
Which makes him prune himself and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.
King. But I have sent for him to answer this;
And for this cause awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor. So inform the lords;
But come yourself with speed to us again;
For more is to be said and to be done
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will my liege. Exeunt.Scene II.
London. An apartment of the Prince's.
Enter Prince of Wales and Sir John Falstaff.
Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
Prince. Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after
supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that
truly which thou wouldest truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the
day, Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds,
and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in
flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the
time of the day.
Fal. Indeed you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go by the moon And the
seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that wand'ring knight so fair. And I prithee, sweet
wag, when thou art king, as, God save thy Grace-Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt
have nonePrince.
What, none?
Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.
Prince. Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.
Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the
night's body be called thieves of the day's beauty. Let us be Diana's Foresters,
Gentlemen of the Shade, Minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good
government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon,
under whose countenance we steal.
Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of us that are the
moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the moon.
As, for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night and most
dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by,' and spent with crying
'Bring in'; now ill as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a
flow as the ridge of the gallows.
Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad- and is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet
wench?
Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle- and is not a buff jerkin a most
sweet robe of durance?
Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have
I to do with a buff jerkin? Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the
tavern? Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and oft. Prince. Did I
ever call for thee to pay thy part?
Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. Prince. Yea, and elsewhere, so
far as my coin would stretch; and where it would not, I have used my credit.
Fal. Yea, and so us'd it that, were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent- But
I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and
resolution thus fubb'd as it is with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do not
thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
Prince. No; thou shalt.
Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge. Prince. Thou judgest false
already. I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman. Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war,
Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour as well as waiting in the Plead for our interest and our being here.
court, I can tell you. BASTARD. Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out;
Prince. For obtaining of suits? And so shall you, being beaten. Do but start
Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I And echo with the clamour of thy drum,
am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a lugg'd bear. And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd
Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. That shall reverberate all as loud as thine:
Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. Sound but another, and another shall,
Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor Ditch? As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear
Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative, And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at handNot
rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee trouble me no more with vanity. I trusting to this halting legate here,
would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than needIs
lord of the Council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I mark'd him warlike John; and in his forehead sits
not; and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and yet he talk'd wisely, and A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
in the street too. To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Prince. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it. LEWIS. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.
Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast BASTARD. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt.
done much harm upon me, Hal- God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew Exeunt
nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. SCENE 3.
I must give over this life, and I will give it over! By the Lord, an I do not, I am a England. The field of battle
villain! I'll be damn'd for never a king's son in Christendom. Alarums. Enter KING JOHN and HUBERT
Prince. Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack? KING JOHN. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert.
Fal. Zounds, where thou wilt, lad! I'll make one. An I do not, call me villain and baffle HUBERT. Badly, I fear. How fares your Majesty?
me. KING JOHN. This fever that hath troubled me so long
Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee- from praying to purse-taking. Lies heavy on me. O, my heart is sick!
Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Enter a MESSENGER
Enter Poins. MESSENGER. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge,
Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by Desires your Majesty to leave the fieldAnd send him word by me which way you go.
merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villainthat ever KING JOHN. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. MESSENGER. Be of good
cried 'Stand!' to a true man. comfort;
Prince. Good morrow, Ned. for the great supply
Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack and That was expected by the Dauphin here
Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands;
Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg? This news was brought to Richard but even now.
Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due. KING JOHN. Ay me, this tyrant fever burns me up
Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the devil. Prince. Else he had been And will not let me welcome this good news.
damn'd for cozening the devil. Set on toward Swinstead; to my litter straight;
Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock early, at Gadshill! Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. Exeunt
There are pilgrims gong to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London SCENE 4.
with fat purses. I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill England. Another part of the battlefield
lies to-night in Rochester. I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap. We may do Enter SALISBURY, PEMBROKE, and BIGOT
it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you SALISBURY. I did not think the King so stor'd with friends. PEMBROKE. Up once again; put
will not, tarry at home and be hang'd! spirit in the French;
Fal. Hear ye, Yedward: if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you for going. If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
Poins. You will, chops? SALISBURY. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
Prince. Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith. PEMBROKE. They say King John, sore sick, hath left the field.
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not Enter MELUN, wounded
of the blood royal if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. MELUN. Lead me to the revolts of England here.
Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. SALISBURY. When we were happy we had other names.
Fal. Why, that's well said. PEMBROKE. It is the Count Melun.
Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. SALISBURY. Wounded to death.
Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king. Prince. I care not. MELUN. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold;
Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down such Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,
reasons for this adventure that he shall go. Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of And welcome home again discarded faith.
persuasion and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and what he Seek out King John, and fall before his feet;
hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a false For if the French be lords of this loud day,
thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in He means to recompense the pains you take
East By cutting off your heads. Thus hath he sworn,
or your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids, And I with him, and many moe with me,
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums, Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury;
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Even on that altar where we swore to you
Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts Dear amity and everlasting love.
To fierce and bloody inclination. SALISBURY. May this be possible? May this be true?
LEWIS. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; MELUN. Have I not hideous death within my view,
We grant thou canst outscold us. Fare thee well; Retaining but a quantity of life,
We hold our time too precious to be spent Which bleeds away even as a form of wax
With such a brabbler. Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?
PANDULPH. Give me leave to speak. What in the world should make me now deceive,
BASTARD. No, I will speak. Since I must lose the use of all deceit?
LEWIS. We will attend to neither. Why should I then be false, since it is true
That I must die here, and live hence by truth? Thou art my friend that know'st my tongue so well.
I say again, if Lewis do will the day, Who art thou?
He is forsworn if e'er those eyes of yours BASTARD. Who thou wilt. And if thou please,
Behold another day break in the east; Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
But even this night, whose black contagious breath I come one way of the Plantagenets.
Already smokes about the burning crest HUBERT. Unkind remembrance! thou and eyeless night
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, Have done me shame. Brave soldier, pardon me
Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire, That any accent breaking from thy tongue
Paying the fine of rated treachery Should scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives. BASTARD. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?
If Lewis by your assistance win the day. HUBERT. Why, here walk I in the black brow of night
Commend me to one Hubert, with your King; To find you out.
The love of him-and this respect besides, BASTARD. Brief, then; and what's the news?
For that my grandsire was an EnglishmanAwakes HUBERT. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
my conscience to confess all this. Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence BASTARD. Show me the very wound of this ill news;
From forth the noise and rumour of the field, I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts HUBERT. The King, I fear, is poison'd by a monk;
In peace, and part this body and my soul I left him almost speechless and broke out
With contemplation and devout desires. To acquaint you with this evil, that you might
SALISBURY. We do believe thee; and beshrew my soul The better arm you to the sudden time
But I do love the favour and the form Than if you had at leisure known of this.BASTARD. How did he take it; who did taste to him?
Of this most fair occasion, by the which HUBERT. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,
We will untread the steps of damned flight, Whose bowels suddenly burst out. The King
And like a bated and retired flood, Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
Leaving our rankness and irregular course, BASTARD. Who didst thou leave to tend his Majesty?
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, HUBERT. Why, know you not? The lords are all come back,
And calmly run on in obedienceEven to our ocean, to great King John. And brought Prince Henry in their company;
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence; At whose request the King hath pardon'd them,
For I do see the cruel pangs of death And they are all about his Majesty.
Right in thine eye. Away, my friends! New flight, BASTARD. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And happy newness, that intends old right. And tempt us not to bear above our power!
Exeunt, leading off MELUN I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night,
SCENE 5. Passing these flats, are taken by the tideThese
England. The French camp Lincoln Washes have devoured them;
Enter LEWIS and his train Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
LEWIS. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to set, Away, before! conduct me to the King;
But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, I doubt he will be dead or ere I come. Exeunt
When English measure backward their own ground SCENE 7.
In faint retire. O, bravely came we off, The orchard at Swinstead Abbey
When with a volley of our needless shot, Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT
After such bloody toil, we bid good night; PRINCE HENRY. It is too late; the life of all his blood
And wound our tott'ring colours clearly up, Is touch'd corruptibly, and his pure brain.
Last in the field and almost lords of it! Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,
Enter a MESSENGER Doth by the idle comments that it makes
MESSENGER. Where is my prince, the Dauphin? Foretell the ending of mortality.
LEWIS. Here; what news? Enter PEMBROKE
MESSENGER. The Count Melun is slain; the English lords PEMBROKE. His Highness yet doth speak, and holds belief
By his persuasion are again fall'n off, That, being brought into the open air,
And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, It would allay the burning quality
Are cast away and sunk on Goodwin Sands. Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
LEWIS. Ah, foul shrewd news! Beshrew thy very heart! PRINCE HENRY. Let him be brought into the orchard here.
I did not think to be so sad to-night Doth he still rage? Exit BIGOT PEMBROKE. He is more patient
As this hath made me. Who was he that said Than when you left him; even now he sung.
King John did fly an hour or two before PRINCE HENRY. O vanity of sickness! Fierce extremes
The stumbling night did part our weary pow'rs? In their continuance will not feel themselves.
MESSENGER. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
LEWIS. keep good quarter and good care to-night; Leaves them invisible, and his siege is now
The day shall not be up so soon as I Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. Exeunt With many legions of strange fantasies,
SCENE 6. Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
An open place wear Swinstead Abbey Confound themselves. 'Tis strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale
Enter the BASTARD and HUBERT, severally faint swan
HUBERT. Who's there? Speak, ho! speak quickly, or I shoot. BASTARD. A friend. What art Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death,
thou? And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings
HUBERT. Of the part of England. His soul and body to their lasting rest.
BASTARD. Whither dost thou go? SALISBURY. Be of good comfort, Prince; for you are born
HUBERT. What's that to thee? Why may I not demand To set a form upon that indigest
Of thine affairs as well as thou of mine? Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
BASTARD. Hubert, I think. Re-enter BIGOT and attendants, who bring in
HUBERT. Thou hast a perfect thought. KING JOHN in a chair
I will upon all hazards well believe KING JOHN. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
It would not out at windows nor at doors. PRINCE HENRY. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
There is so hot a summer in my bosom For so he will'd it.
That all my bowels crumble up to dust. BASTARD. Thither shall it, then;
I am a scribbled form drawn with a pen And happily may your sweet self put on
Upon a parchment, and against this fire The lineal state and glory of the land!
Do I shrink up. To whom, with all submission, on my knee
PRINCE HENRY. How fares your Majesty? I do bequeath my faithful services
KING JOHN. Poison'd-ill-fare! Dead, forsook, cast off; And true subjection everlastingly.
And none of you will bid the winter come SALISBURY. And the like tender of our love we make,
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw, To rest without a spot for evermore.
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course PRINCE HENRY. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks, And knows not how to do it
Through my burn'd bosom, nor entreat the north but with tears.
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips BASTARD. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much; Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait This England never did, nor never shall,
And so ingrateful you deny me that. Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
PRINCE HENRY. O that there were some virtue in my tears, But when it first did help to wound itself.
That might relieve you!KING JOHN. The salt in them is hot. Now these her princes are come home again,
Within me is a hell; and there the poison Come the three corners of the world in arms,
Is as a fiend confin'd to tyrannize And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
On unreprievable condemned blood. If England to itself do rest but true. ExeuntTHE END
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BASTARD. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward, 1599
Where God He knows how we shall answer him; THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR
For in a night the best part of my pow'r, by William Shakespeare
As I upon advantage did remove, Dramatis Personae
Were in the Washes all unwarily JULIUS CAESAR, Roman statesman and general
Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The KING dies] SALISBURY. You breathe these dead OCTAVIUS, Triumvir after Caesar's death, later Augustus Caesar, first emperor of Rome
news MARK ANTONY, general and friend of Caesar, a Triumvir after his death LEPIDUS, third
in as dead an ear. My liege! my lord! But now a king-now thus. member of the Triumvirate
PRINCE HENRY. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. MARCUS BRUTUS, leader of the conspiracy against Caesar
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, CASSIUS, instigator of the conspiracy
When this was now a king, and now is clay? CASCA, conspirator against Caesar
BASTARD. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind TREBONIUS, " " "
To do the office for thee of revenge, CAIUS LIGARIUS, " " "
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven, DECIUS BRUTUS, " " "
As it on earth hath been thy servant still. METELLUS CIMBER, " " "
Now, now, you stars that move in your right spheres, CINNA, " " "
Where be your pow'rs? Show now your mended faiths, CALPURNIA, wife of Caesar
And instantly return with me again PORTIA, wife of Brutus
To push destruction and perpetual shame CICERO, senator
Out of the weak door of our fainting land. POPILIUS, "
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; POPILIUS LENA, "
The Dauphin rages at our very heels. FLAVIUS, tribune
SALISBURY. It seems you know not, then, so much as we: MARULLUS, tribune
The Cardinal Pandulph is within at rest, CATO, supportor of Brutus
Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, LUCILIUS, " " "
And brings from him such offers of our peace TITINIUS, " " "
As we with honour and respect may take, MESSALA, " " "
With purpose presently to leave this war. VOLUMNIUS, " " "
BASTARD. He will the rather do it when he sees ARTEMIDORUS, a teacher of rhetoric
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. CINNA, a poet
SALISBURY. Nay, 'tis in a manner done already; VARRO, servant to Brutus
For many carriages he hath dispatch'd CLITUS, " " "
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel CLAUDIO, " " "
To the disposing of the Cardinal; STRATO, " " "
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, LUCIUS, " " "
If you think meet, this afternoon will post DARDANIUS, " " "
To consummate this business happily. PINDARUS, servant to Cassius
BASTARD. Let it be so. And you, my noble Prince, The Ghost of Caesar
With other princes that may best be spar'd, A Soothsayer
Shall wait upon your father's funeral. A Poet
Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants Into the channel, till the lowest stream
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Exeunt all Commoners. See whether their basest metal be not moved;
BY PROJECT They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE This way will I. Disrobe the images
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
YOUR OR OTHERS MARULLUS. May we do so?
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED You know it is the feast of Lupercal.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY FLAVIUS. It is no matter; let no images
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> And drive away the vulgar from the streets;
SCENE: Rome, the conspirators' camp near Sardis, and the plains of Philippi. So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
ACT I. SCENE I. These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing
Rome. A street. Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,
Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners. Who else would soar above the view of men
FLAVIUS. Hence, home, you idle creatures, get you home. And keep us all in servile fearfulness. Exeunt.
Is this a holiday? What, know you not, SCENE II.
Being mechanical, you ought not walk A public place.
Upon a laboring day without the sign Flourish. Enter Caesar; Antony, for the course; Calpurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero,
Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? Brutus, Cassius, and Casca; a great crowd follows, among them a Soothsayer.
FIRST COMMONER. Why, sir, a carpenter. CAESAR. Calpurnia!
MARULLUS. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?What dost thou with thy best apparel on? CASCA. Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.
You, sir, what trade are you? Music ceases. CAESAR. Calpurnia!
SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a CALPURNIA. Here, my lord.
cobbler. CAESAR. Stand you directly in Antonio's way,When he doth run his course. Antonio!
MARULLUS. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. ANTONY. Caesar, my lord?
SECOND COMMONER. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience, which is CAESAR. Forget not in your speed, Antonio,
indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. MARULLUS. What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty To touch Calpurnia, for our elders say
knave, The barren, touched in this holy chase,
what trade? SECOND COMMONER. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be Shake off their sterile curse.
out, sir, I can mend you. ANTONY. I shall remember.
MARULLUS. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow! SECOND When Caesar says "Do this," it is perform'd.
COMMONER. Why, CAESAR. Set on, and leave no ceremony out. Flourish. SOOTHSAYER. Caesar!
sir, cobble you. CAESAR. Ha! Who calls?
FLAVIUS. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? CASCA. Bid every noise be still. Peace yet again!
SECOND COMMONER. Truly, Sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with no CAESAR. Who is it in the press that calls on me?
tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am indeed, sir, a surgeon to I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,
old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon Cry "Caesar." Speak, Caesar is turn'd to hear.
neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.
FLAVIUS. But wherefore art not in thy shop today? CAESAR. What man is that?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? BRUTUS. A soothsayer you beware the ides of March.
SECOND COMMONER. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes to get myself into more work. But CAESAR. Set him before me let me see his face.
indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. CASSIUS. Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.
MARULLUS. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him CAESAR. What say'st thou to me now? Speak once again.
to SOOTHSAYER. Beware the ides of March.
Rome CAESAR. He is a dreamer; let us leave him. Pass.
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? Sennet. Exeunt all but Brutus and Cassius. CASSIUS. Will you go see the order of the
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! O you hard hearts, you cruel men course?
of Rome, BRUTUS. Not I.
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft CASSIUS. I pray you, do.
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, BRUTUS. I am not gamesome; I do lack some part
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops, Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;
The livelong day with patient expectation I'll leave you.
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. CASSIUS. Brutus, I do observe you now of late;
And when you saw his chariot but appear, I have not from your eyes that gentleness
Have you not made an universal shout And show of love as I was wont to have;
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
To hear the replication of your sounds Over your friend that loves you.
Made in her concave shores? BRUTUS. Cassius,
And do you now put on your best attire? Be not deceived; if I have veil'd my look,
And do you now cull out a holiday? I turn the trouble of my countenance
And do you now strew flowers in his way Merely upon myself. Vexed I am
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? Of late with passions of some difference,
Be gone! Conceptions only proper to myself,
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviors;
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague But let not therefore my good friends be grievedAmong
That needs must light on this ingratitude. which number, Cassius, be you oneNor
FLAVIUS. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, construe any further my neglect
Assemble all the poor men of your sort, Than that poor Brutus with himself at war
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Forgets the shows of love to other men.
CASSIUS. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion,
By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?
BRUTUS. No, Cassius, for the eye sees not itself
But by reflection, by some other things.
CASSIUS. 'Tis just,
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye
That you might see your shadow. I have heard
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
BRUTUS. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?
CASSIUS. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear,
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I your glass
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus;
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester, if you know
That I do fawn on men and hug them hard
And after scandal them, or if you know
That I profess myself in banquetingTo all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
Flourish and shout. BRUTUS. What means this shouting? I do fear the people
Choose Caesar for their king.
CASSIUS. Ay, do you fear it?
Then must I think you would not have it so.
BRUTUS. I would not, Cassius, yet I love him well.
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honor in one eye and death i' the other
And I will look on both indifferently.
For let the gods so speed me as I love
The name of honor more than I fear death.
CASSIUS. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favor.
Well, honor is the subject of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life, but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as Caesar, so were you;
We both have fed as well, and we can both
Endure the winter's cold as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me, "Darest thou, Cassius, now
Leap in with me into this angry flood
And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in
And bade him follow. So indeed he did.
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews, throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point proposed,
Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink!
I, as Aeneas our great ancestor
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber
Did I the tired Caesar. And this man
Is now become a god, and Cassius is
A wretched creature and must bend his body
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And when the fit was on him I did mark
How he did shake. 'Tis true, this god did shake;
His coward lips did from their color fly,
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world
Did lose his luster. I did hear him groan.
Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans
Mark him and write his speeches in their books,
Alas, it cried, "Give me some drink, Titinius,"
As a sick girl. Ye gods! It doth amaze me
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world
And bear the palm alone. Shout. Flourish. BRUTUS. Another general shout!
I do believe that these applauses are
For some new honors that are heap'd on Caesar.
CASSIUS. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves that we are underlings.
Brutus and Caesar: what should be in that "Caesar"?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with 'em,
"Brutus" will start a spirit as soon as "Caesar."
Now, in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed!
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!
When went there by an age since the great flood
But it was famed with more than with one man?
When could they say till now that talk'd of RomeThat her wide walls encompass'd but one
man?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.
O, you and I have heard our fathers say
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome
As easily as a king.
BRUTUS. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to, I have some aim.
How I have thought of this and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
Be any further moved. What you have said
I will consider; what you have to say
I will with patience hear, and find a time
Both meet to hear and answer such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:
Brutus had rather be a villager
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.
CASSIUS. I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.
Re-enter Caesar and his Train.
BRUTUS. The games are done, and Caesar is returning.
CASSIUS. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded worthy note today.
BRUTUS. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius,
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train:
Calpurnia's cheek is pale, and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators.
CASSIUS. Casca will tell us what the matter is.
CAESAR. Antonio!
ANTONY. Caesar?
CAESAR. Let me have men about me that are fat, CASCA. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you i' the face again; but those that
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but for mine own part, it was
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; Greek to me. I could tell you more news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous. Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if could
ANTONY. Fear him not, Caesar; he's not dangerous; remember it.
He is a noble Roman and well given. CASSIUS. Will you sup with me tonight, Casca?
CAESAR. Would he were fatter! But I fear him not, CASCA. No, I am promised forth.
Yet if my name were liable to fear, CASSIUS. Will you dine with me tomorrow?
I do not know the man I should avoid CASCA. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating.
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much, CASSIUS. Good, I will expect you.
He is a great observer, and he looks CASCA. Do so, farewell, both. Exit. BRUTUS. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!
Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays, He was quick mettle when he went to school.
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music; CASSIUS. So is he now in execution
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort Of any bold or noble enterprise,
As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit However he puts on this tardy form.
That could be moved to smile at anything. This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
Such men as he be never at heart's ease Which gives men stomach to digest his words
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, With better appetite.
And therefore are they very dangerous. BRUTUS. And so it is. For this time I will leave you.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd Tomorrow, if you please to speak with me,
Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. I will come home to you, or, if you will,
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, Come home to me and I will wait for you.
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. CASSIUS. I will do so. Till then, think of the world.
Sennet. Exeunt Caesar and all his Train but Casca. CASCA. You pull'd me by the cloak; Exit Brutus. Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see
would you speak with me? BRUTUS. Ay, Casca, tell us what hath chanced today Thy honorable mettle may be wrought
That Caesar looks so sad. From that it is disposed; therefore it is meet
CASCA. Why, you were with him, were you not? That noble minds keep ever with their likes;
BRUTUS. I should not then ask Casca what had chanced. For who so firm that cannot be seduced?
CASCA. Why, there was a crown offered him, and being offered him, Caesar doth bear me hard, but he loves Brutus.
he put it by with the back of his hand, thus, and then the people fell ashouting. If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius,
BRUTUS. What was the second noise for? He should not humor me. I will this night,
CASCA. Why, for that too. In several hands, in at his windows throw,
CASSIUS. They shouted thrice. What was the last cry for? As if they came from several citizens,
CASCA. Why, for that too. Writings, all tending to the great opinion
BRUTUS. Was the crown offered him thrice? That Rome holds of his name, wherein obscurely
CASCA. Ay, marry, wast, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other, and atevery Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at.
putting by mine honest neighbors shouted. And after this let Caesar seat him sure;
CASSIUS. Who offered him the crown? For we will shake him, or worse days endure. Exit.
CASCA. Why, Antony. SCENE III.
BRUTUS. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. A street. Thunder and lightning.Enter, from opposite sides, Casca, with his sword drawn, and
CASCA. I can as well be hang'd as tell the manner of it. It was mere foolery; I did not Cicero.
mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown (yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas one of CICERO. Good even, Casca. Brought you Caesar home?
these coronets) and, as I told you, he put it by once. But for all that, to my thinking, Why are you breathless, and why stare you so?
he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again. But, CASCA. Are not you moved, when all the sway of earth
to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero,
third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he refused it, the rabblement I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
hooted and clapped their chopped hands and threw up their sweaty nightcaps and uttered Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused the crown that it had almost choked The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam
Caesar, for he swounded and fell down at it. And for mine own part, I durst not laugh for To be exalted with the threatening clouds,
fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air. But never till tonight, never till now,
CASSIUS. But, soft, I pray you, what, did Caesars wound? Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
CASCA. He fell down in the marketplace and foamed at mouth and was speechless. Either there is a civil strife in heaven,
BRUTUS. 'Tis very like. He hath the falling sickness. Or else the world too saucy with the gods
CASSIUS. No, Caesar hath it not, but you, and I, Incenses them to send destruction.
And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. CICERO. Why, saw you anything more wonderful?
CASCA. I know not what you mean by that, but I am sure Caesar fell down. If the tagrag CASCA. A common slave- you know him well by sightHeld
people did not clap him and hiss him according as he pleased and displeased them, as they up his left hand, which did flame and burn
use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man. Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand
BRUTUS. What said he when he came unto himself? Not sensible of fire remain'd unscorch'd.
CASCA. Marry, before he fell down, when he perceived the common herd was glad he refused Besides- I ha' not since put up my swordAgainst
the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An had been the Capitol I met a lion,
a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to Who glaz'd upon me and went surly by
hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, if he had Without annoying me. And there were drawn
done or said anything amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women
Three or four wenches where I stood cried, "Alas, good soul!" and forgave him with all Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw
their hearts. But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their Men all in fire walk up and down the streets.
mothers, they would have done no less. And yesterday the bird of night did sit
BRUTUS. And after that he came, thus sad, away? Even at noonday upon the marketplace,
CASCA. Ay. Howling and shrieking. When these prodigies
CASSIUS. Did Cicero say anything? Do so conjointly meet, let not men say
CASCA. Ay, he spoke Greek. "These are their reasons; they are natural":
CASSIUS. To what effect? For I believe they are portentous things
Unto the climate that they point upon. So every bondman in his own hand bears
CICERO. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time. The power to cancel his captivity.
But men may construe things after their fashion, CASSIUS. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf
Comes Caesar to the Capitol tomorrow? But that he sees the Romans are but sheep.
CASCA. He doth, for he did bid Antonio He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.
Send word to you he would be there tomorrow. Those that with haste will make a mighty fire
CICERO. Good then, Casca. This disturbed sky Begin it with weak straws. What trash is Rome,
Is not to walk in. What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves
CASCA. Farewell, Cicero. Exit Cicero. For the base matter to illuminate
Enter Cassius. So vile a thing as Caesar? But, O grief,
CASSIUS. Who's there? Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this
CASCA. A Roman. Before a willing bondman; then I know
CASSIUS. Casca, by your voice. My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,
CASCA. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this! And dangers are to me indifferent.
CASSIUS. A very pleasing night to honest men. CASCA. You speak to Casca, and to such a man
CASCA. Who ever knew the heavens menace so? That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand.
CASSIUS. Those that have known the earth so full of faults. For my part, I have walk'd Be factious for redress of all these griefs,
about the streets, And I will set this foot of mine as far
Submitting me unto the perilous night, As who goes farthest.
And thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, CASSIUS. There's a bargain made.
Have bared my bosom to the thunderstone; Now know you, Casca, I have moved already
And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans
The breast of heaven, I did present myself To undergo with me an enterprise
Even in the aim and very flash of it. Of honorable-dangerous consequence;
CASCA. But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens? And I do know by this, they stay for me
It is the part of men to fear and tremble In Pompey's Porch. For now, this fearful night,
When the most mighty gods by tokens send There is no stir or walking in the streets,
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. And the complexion of the element
CASSIUS. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life In favor's like the work we have in hand,
That should be in a Roman you do want, Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.
Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze Enter Cinna.
And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder CASCA. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.
To see the strange impatience of the heavens. CASSIUS. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait;
But if you would consider the true cause He is a friend. Cinna, where haste you so?
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, CINNA. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus Cimber?
Why birds and beasts from quality and kind, CASSIUS. No, it is Casca, one incorporate
Why old men, fools, and children calculate, To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna?
Why all these things change from their ordinance, CINNA. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this!
Their natures, and preformed faculties There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.
To monstrous quality, why, you shall find CASSIUS. Am I not stay'd for? Tell me.
That heaven hath infused them with these spirits CINNA. Yes, you are.
To make them instruments of fear and warningUnto some monstrous state. O Cassius, if you could
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man But win the noble Brutus to our partyCASSIUS.
Most like this dreadful night, Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper,
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars And look you lay it in the praetor's chair,Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this
As doth the lion in the Capitol, In at his window; set this up with wax
A man no mightier than thyself or me Upon old Brutus' statue. All this done,
In personal action, yet prodigious grown Repair to Pompey's Porch, where you shall find us.
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?
CASCA. 'Tis Caesar that you mean, is it not, Cassius? CINNA. All but Metellus Cimber, and he's gone
CASSIUS. Let it be who it is, for Romans now To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie
Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors. And so bestow these papers as you bade me.
But, woe the while! Our fathers' minds are dead, CASSIUS. That done, repair to Pompey's Theatre.
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits; Exit Cinna. Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day
Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. See Brutus at his house. Three parts of him
CASCA. Indeed they say the senators tomorrow Is ours already, and the man entire
Mean to establish Caesar as a king, Upon the next encounter yields him ours.
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land CASCA. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts,
In every place save here in Italy. And that which would appear offense in us,
CASSIUS. I know where I will wear this dagger then: His countenance, like richest alchemy,
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius. Will change to virtue and to worthiness.
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; CASSIUS. Him and his worth and our great need of him
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat. You have right well conceited. Let us go,
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, For it is after midnight, and ere day
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron We will awake him and be sure of him. Exeunt.
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I can shake off at pleasure. Thunder still. CASCA. So can I.
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ACT II. SCENE I. Re-enter Lucius.
Enter Brutus in his orchard. LUCIUS. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door,
BRUTUS. What, Lucius, ho! Who doth desire to see you.
I cannot, by the progress of the stars, BRUTUS. Is he alone?
Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say! LUCIUS. No, sir, there are more with him.
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. BRUTUS. Do you know them?
When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! What, Lucius! LUCIUS. No, sir, their hats are pluck'd about their ears, And half their faces buried in
Enter Lucius. their cloaks,
LUCIUS. Call'd you, my lord? That by no means I may discover them
BRUTUS. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius. By any mark of favor.
When it is lighted, come and call me here. BRUTUS. Let 'em enter. Exit Lucius. They are the faction. O Conspiracy,
LUCIUS. I will, my lord. Exit. BRUTUS. It must be by his death, and, for my part, Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him, When evils are most free? O, then, by day
But for the general. He would be crown'd: Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
How that might change his nature, there's the question. It is the bright day that brings To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, Conspiracy;
forth the adder Hide it in smiles and affability;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him that, For if thou path, thy native semblance on,
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him Not Erebus itself were dim enough
That at his will he may do danger with. To hide thee from prevention.
The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna,
Remorse from power, and, to speak truth of Caesar, Metellus Cimber, and Trebonius.
I have not known when his affections sway'd CASSIUS. I think we are too bold upon your rest.
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof Good morrow, Brutus, do we trouble you?
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, BRUTUS. I have been up this hour, awake all night.
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; Know I these men that come along with you?
But when he once attains the upmost round, CASSIUS. Yes, every man of them, and no man here
He then unto the ladder turns his back, But honors you, and every one doth wish
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees You had but that opinion of yourself
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may; Which every noble Roman bears of you.
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel This is Trebonius.
Will bear no color for the thing he is, BRUTUS. He is welcome hither.
Fashion it thus, that what he is, augmented, CASSIUS. This, Decius Brutus.
Would run to these and these extremities; BRUTUS. He is welcome too.
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg CASSIUS. This, Casca; this, Cinna; and this, Metellus Cimber. BRUTUS. They are all
Which hatch'd would as his kind grow mischievous, welcome.
And kill him in the shell. What watchful cares do interpose themselvesBetwixt your eyes and night?
Re-enter Lucius. CASSIUS. Shall I entreat a word? They whisper. DECIUS. Here lies the east. Doth not the
LUCIUS. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. day break here?
Searching the window for a flint I found CASCA. No.
This paper thus seal'd up, and I am sure CINNA. O, pardon, sir, it doth, and yongrey lines
It did not lie there when I went to bed.Gives him the letter. BRUTUS. Get you to bed again, it is That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
not day. CASCA. You shall confess that you are both deceived.
Is not tomorrow, boy, the ides of March? Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises,
LUCIUS. I know not, sir. Which is a great way growing on the south,
BRUTUS. Look in the calendar and bring me word. Weighing the youthful season of the year.
LUCIUS. I will, sir. Exit. BRUTUS. The exhalations whizzing in the air Some two months hence up higher toward the north
Give so much light that I may read by them. He first presents his fire, and the high east
Opens the letter and reads. "Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake and see thyself! Stands as the Capitol, directly here.
Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress!" BRUTUS. Give me your hands all over, one by one.
"Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!" CASSIUS. And let us swear our resolution.
Such instigations have been often dropp'd BRUTUS. No, not an oath. If not the face of men,
Where I have took them up. The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuseIf
"Shall Rome, etc." Thus must I piece it out. these be motives weak, break off betimes,
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What, Rome? And every man hence to his idle bed;
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome So let high-sighted tyranny range on
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,
"Speak, strike, redress!" Am I entreated As I am sure they do, bear fire enough
To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise, To kindle cowards and to steel with valor
If the redress will follow, thou receivest The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen,
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! What need we any spur but our own cause
Re-enter Lucius. To prick us to redress? What other bond
LUCIUS. Sir, March is wasted fifteen days. Than secret Romans that have spoke the word
Knocking within. BRUTUS. 'Tis good. Go to the gate, somebody knocks. And will not palter? And what other oath
Exit Lucius. Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar Than honesty to honesty engaged
I have not slept. That this shall be or we will fall for it?
Between the acting of a dreadful thing Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,
Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain
The even virtue of our enterprise,
Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits,
To think that or our cause or our performance
Did need an oath; when every drop of blood
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a several bastardy
If he do break the smallest particle
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.
CASSIUS. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think he will stand very strong with us.
CASCA. Let us not leave him out.
CINNA. No, by no means.
METELLUS. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion,
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds.
It shall be said his judgement ruled our hands;
Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,
But all be buried in his gravity.
BRUTUS. O, name him not; let us not break with him,
For he will never follow anything
That other men begin.
CASSIUS. Then leave him out.
CASCA. Indeed he is not fit.
DECIUS. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar?
CASSIUS. Decius, well urged. I think it is not meet
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Caesar,
Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him
A shrewd contriver; and you know his means,
If he improve them, may well stretch so far
As to annoy us all, which to prevent,
Let Antony and Caesar fall together.
BRUTUS. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,
To cut the head off and then hack the limbs
Like wrath in death and envy afterwards;
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar.
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar,
And in the spirit of men there is no blood.
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit,
And not dismember Caesar! But, alas,
Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends,
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds;And let our hearts, as subtle masters do,
Stir up their servants to an act of rage
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make
Our purpose necessary and not envious,
Which so appearing to the common eyes,
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him,
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm
When Caesar's head is off.
CASSIUS. Yet I fear him,
For in the ingrated love he bears to CaesarBRUTUS.
Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him.
If he love Caesar, all that he can do
Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar.
And that were much he should, for he is given
To sports, to wildness, and much company.
TREBONIUS. There is no fear in him-let him not die,
For he will live and laugh at this hereafter.
Clock strikes. BRUTUS. Peace, count the clock.
CASSIUS. The clock hath stricken three.
TREBONIUS. 'Tis time to part.
CASSIUS. But it is doubtful yet
Whether Caesar will come forth today or no,
For he is superstitious grown of late,
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.
It may be these apparent prodigies,
The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
And the persuasion of his augurers
May hold him from the Capitol today.
DECIUS. Never fear that. If he be so resolved,
I can o'ersway him, for he loves to hear
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers;
But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
He says he does, being then most flattered.
Let me work;
For I can give his humor the true bent,
And I will bring him to the Capitol.
CASSIUS. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
BRUTUS. By the eighth hour. Is that the utter most?
CINNA. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.
METELLUS. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey.
I wonder none of you have thought of him.
BRUTUS. Now, good Metellus, go along by him.
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him.
CASSIUS. The morning comes upon 's. We'll leave you, Brutus, And, friends, disperse
yourselves, but all remember
What you have said and show yourselves true Romans.
BRUTUS. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;
Let not our looks put on our purposes,
But bear it as our Roman actors do,
With untired spirits and formal constancy.
And so, good morrow to you every one.
Exeunt all but Brutus. Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter.
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber;
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.
Enter Portia.
PORTIA. Brutus, my lord!
BRUTUS. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
PORTIA. Nor for yours neither. have ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supper
You suddenly arose and walk'd about,
Musing and sighing, with your arms across;
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You stared upon me with ungentle looks.
I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head,And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot.
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not,
But with an angry waiter of your hand
Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did,
Fearing to strengthen that impatience
Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humor,
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
And, could it work so much upon your shape
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
BRUTUS. I am not well in health, and that is all.
PORTIA. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health,
He would embrace the means to come by it.
BRUTUS. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.
PORTIA. Is Brutus sick, and is it physical
To walk unbraced and suck up the humors
Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed
To dare the vile contagion of the night
And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air
To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus,
You have some sick offense within your mind,
Which by the right and virtue of my place Enter Caesar, in his nightgown.
I ought to know of; and, upon my knees, CAESAR. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace tonight.
I charm you, by my once commended beauty, Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out,
By all your vows of love and that great vow "Help, ho! They murther Caesar!" Who's within?
Which did incorporate and make us one, Enter a Servant.
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, SERVANT. My lord?
Why you are heavy and what men tonight CAESAR. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice,
Have had resort to you; for here have been And bring me their opinions of success.
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces SERVANT. I will, my lord. Exit.
Even from darkness. Enter Calpurnia.
BRUTUS. Kneel not, gentle Portia. CALPURNIA. What mean you, Caesar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your
PORTIA. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. house today.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, CAESAR. Caesar shall forth: the things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back;
Is it excepted I should know no secrets when they shall see
That appertain to you? Am I yourself The face of Caesar, they are vanished.
But, as it were, in sort or limitation, CALPURNIA. Caesar, I I stood on ceremonies,
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, Yet now they fright me. There is one within,
And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs Besides the things that we have heard and seen,
Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. A lioness hath whelped in the streets;
BRUTUS. You are my true and honorable wife, And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead;
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds,
That visit my sad heart. In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,
PORTIA. If this were true, then should I know this secret. I grant I am a woman, but Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol;
withal The noise of battle hurtled in the air,
A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife. Horses did neigh and dying men did groan,
I grant I am a woman, but withal And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.
A woman well reputed, Cato's daughter. O Caesar! These things are beyond all use,
Think you I am no stronger than my sex, And I do fear them.
Being so father'd and so husbanded? CAESAR. What can be avoided
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em. Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods?
I have made strong proof of my constancy, Yet Caesar shall go forth, for these predictions
Giving myself a voluntary wound Are to the world in general as to Caesar.
Here in the thigh. Can I bear that with patience CALPURNIA. When beggars die, there are no comets seen;
And not my husband's secrets? The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes. CAESAR. Cowards die many times
BRUTUS. O ye gods, before their deaths;
Render me worthy of this noble wife! Knocking within. The valiant never taste of death but once.
Hark, hark, one knocks. Portia, go in awhile, Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
And by and by thy bosom shall partake It seems to me most strange that men should fear
The secrets of my heart. Seeing that death, a necessary end,
All my engagements I will construe to thee, Will come when it will come.
All the charactery of my sad brows. Re-enter Servant.
Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia.] Lucius, who's that knocks? What say the augurers?
Re-enter Lucius with Ligarius. SERVANT. They would not have you to stir forth today.
LUCIUS. Here is a sick man that would speak with you. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,
BRUTUS. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. They could not find a heart within the beast.
Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius, how? CAESAR. The gods do this in shame of cowardice.Caesar should be a beast without a heart
LIGARIUS. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. If he should stay at home today for fear.
BRUTUS. O, what a time have you chose out, brave Caius, No, Caesar shall not. Danger knows full well
To wear a kerchief! Would you were not sick! That Caesar is more dangerous than he.
LIGARIUS. I am not sick, if Brutus have in handAny exploit worthy the name of honor. We are two lions litter'd in one day,
BRUTUS. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, And I the elder and more terrible.
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. And Caesar shall go forth.
LIGARIUS. By all the gods that Romans bow before, CALPURNIA. Alas, my lord,
I here discard my sickness! Soul of Rome! Your wisdom is consumed in confidence.
Brave son, derived from honorable loins! Do not go forth today. Call it my fear
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up That keeps you in the house and not your own.
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, We'll send Mark Antony to the Senate House,
And I will strive with things impossible, And he shall say you are not well today.
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.
BRUTUS. A piece of work that will make sick men whole. CAESAR. Mark Antony shall say I am not well,
LIGARIUS. But are not some whole that we must make sick? And, for thy humor, I will stay at home.
BRUTUS. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, Enter Decius.
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.
To whom it must be done. DECIUS. Caesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar!
LIGARIUS. Set on your foot, I come to fetch you to the Senate House.
And with a heart new-fired I follow you, CAESAR. And you are come in very happy time
To do I know not what; but it sufficeth To bear my greeting to the senators
That Brutus leads me on. And tell them that I will not come today.
BRUTUS. Follow me then. Exeunt. Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser:
SCENE II. I will not come today. Tell them so, Decius.
Caesar's house. Thunder and lightning. CALPURNIA. Say he is sick.
CAESAR. Shall Caesar send a lie? Enter Artemidorus, reading paper.
Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far ARTEMIDORUS. "Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca;
To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth? have
Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come. an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee
DECIUS. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, not; thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is
Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. bent against Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you. Security gives way to
CAESAR. The cause is in my will: I will not come, conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee!
That is enough to satisfy the Senate. Thy lover, Artemidorus." Here will I stand till Caesar pass along,
But, for your private satisfaction, And as a suitor will I give him this.
Because I love you, I will let you know. My heart laments that virtue cannot live
Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home; Out of the teeth of emulation.
She dreamt tonight she saw my statue, If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayest live;
Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. Exit.
Did run pure blood, and many lusty Romans SCENE IV.
Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus.
And these does she apply for warnings and portents Enter Portia and Lucius.
And evils imminent, and on her knee PORTIA. I prithee, boy, run to the Senate House;
Hath begg'd that I will stay at home today. Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone.
DECIUS. This dream is all amiss interpreted; Why dost thou stay?
It was a vision fair and fortunate. LUCIUS. To know my errand, madam.
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, PORTIA. I would have had thee there, and here again,
In which so many smiling Romans bathed, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck O constancy, be strong upon my side!
Reviving blood, and that great men shall press Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue!
For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. How hard it is for women to keep counsel!
CAESAR. And this way have you well expounded it. Art thou here yet?
DECIUS. I have, when you have heard what I can say. LUCIUS. Madam, what should I do?
And know it now, the Senate have concluded Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?
To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. And so return to you, and nothing else?
If you shall send them word you will not come, PORTIA. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock For he went sickly forth; and take good note
Apt to be render'd, for someone to say What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him.
"Break up the Senate till another time, Hark, boy, what noise is that?
When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams." LUCIUS. I hear none, madam.
If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper PORTIA. Prithee, listen well.
"Lo, Caesar is afraid"? I heard a bustling rumor like a fray,
Pardon me, Caesar, for my dear dear love And the wind brings it from the Capitol.
To your proceeding bids me tell you this, LUCIUS. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.
And reason to my love is liable. Enter the Soothsayer.
CAESAR. How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpurnia! PORTIA. Come hither, fellow;
I am ashamed I did yield to them. Which way hast thou been?SOOTHSAYER. At mine own house, good lady.
Give me my robe, for I will go. PORTIA. What is't o'clock?
Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, SOOTHSAYER. About the ninth hour, lady.
Trebonius, and Cinna. PORTIA. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?
And look where Publius is come to fetch me. SOOTHSAYER. Madam, not yet. I go to take my stand
PUBLIUS. Good morrow,Caesar.CAESAR. Welcome, Publius. To see him pass on to the Capitol.
What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? PORTIA. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?
Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, SOOTHSAYER. That I have, lady. If it will please Caesar
Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy To be so good to Caesar as to hear me,
As that same ague which hath made you lean. I shall beseech him to befriend himself.
What is't o'clock? PORTIA. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended towards him? SOOTHSAYER. None that I
BRUTUS. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight. know
CAESAR. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. will be, much that I fear may chance. Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow,
Enter Antony. The throng that follows Caesar at the heels,
See, Antony, that revels long o' nights, Of senators, of praetors, common suitors,
Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. Will crowd a feeble man almost to death.
ANTONY. So to most noble Caesar. I'll get me to a place more void and there
CAESAR. Bid them prepare within. Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. Exit. PORTIA. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a
I am to blame to be thus waited for. thing
Now, Cinna; now, Metellus; what, Trebonius, The heart of woman is! O Brutus,
I have an hour's talk in store for you; The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!
Remember that you call on me today; Sure, the boy heard me. Brutus hath a suit
Be near me, that I may remember you. That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint.
TREBONIUS. Caesar, I will. [Aside.] And so near will I be That your best friends shall Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord;
wish I had been further. Say I am merry. Come to me again,
CAESAR. Good friends, go in and taste some wine with me, And bring me word what he doth say to thee.
And we like friends will straightway go together. Exeunt severally.
BRUTUS. [Aside.] That every like is not the same, O Caesar, The heart of Brutus yearns to <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
think upon! Exeunt. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
SCENE III. BY PROJECT
A street near the Capitol.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. CAESAR. What, Brutus?
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE CASSIUS. Pardon, Caesar! Caesar, pardon!
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall
YOUR OR OTHERS To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED CAESAR. I could be well moved, if I were as you;
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ACT III. SCENE I. There is no fellow in the firmament.
Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above. The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks;
A crowd of people, among them Artemidorus and the Soothsayer. They are all fire and every one doth shine;
Flourish. Enter Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, But there's but one in all doth hold his place.
Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius, and others. So in the world, 'tis furnish'd well with men,
CAESAR. The ides of March are come. And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;
SOOTHSAYER. Ay, Caesar, but not gone. Yet in the number I do know but one
A Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule. That unassailable holds on his rank,
DECIUS. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er read, Unshaked of motion; and that I am he,
At your best leisure, this his humble suit. Let me a little show it, even in this;
ARTEMIDORUS. O Caesar, read mine first, for mine's a suit That touches Caesar nearer. That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd,
Read it, great Caesar. And constant do remain to keep him so.
CAESAR. What touches us ourself shall be last served. CINNA. O CaesarCAESAR.
ARTEMIDORUS. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus?
CAESAR. What, is the fellow mad? DECIUS. Great CaesarCAESAR.
PUBLIUS. Sirrah, give place. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?
CASSIUS. What, urge you your petitions in the street? CASCA. Speak, hands, for me!
Come to the Capitol. Casca first, then the other Conspirators
Caesar goes up to the Senate House, the rest follow. and Marcus Brutus stab Caesar.
POPILIUS. I wish your enterprise today may thrive. CAESAR. Et tu, Brute?- Then fall, Caesar! Dies.
CASSIUS. What enterprise, Popilius? CINNA. Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!
POPILIUS. Fare you well. Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.
Advances to Caesar. BRUTUS. What said Popilius Lena? CASSIUS. Some to the common pulpits and cry out
CASSIUS. He wish'd today our enterprise might thrive. "Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!"
I fear our purpose is discovered. BRUTUS. People and senators, be not affrighted,
BRUTUS. Look, how he makes to Caesar. Mark him. Fly not, stand still; ambition's debt is paid.
CASSIUS. Casca, CASCA. Go to the pulpit, Brutus.
Be sudden, for we fear prevention. DECIUS. And Cassius too.
Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, BRUTUS. Where's Publius?
Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back, CINNA. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.
For I will slay myself. METELLUS. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's Should chanceBRUTUS.
BRUTUS. Cassius, be constant. Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer,
Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes; There is no harm intended to your person,
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. Nor to no Roman else. So tell them, Publius.
CASSIUS. Trebonius knows his time, for, look you, Brutus, He draws Mark Antony out of the CASSIUS. And leave us, Publius, lest that the people
way.Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. DECIUS. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him Rushing on us should do your age some mischief.
And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. BRUTUS. Do so, and let no man abide this deed
BRUTUS. He is address'd; press near and second him. But we the doers.
CINNA. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. Re-enter Trebonius.CASSIUS. Where is Antony?
CAESAR. Are we all ready? What is now amiss TREBONIUS. Fled to his house amazed.
That Caesar and his Senate must redress? Men, wives, and children stare, cry out, and run
METELLUS. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar, Metellus Cimber throws As it were doomsday.
before BRUTUS. Fates, we will know your pleasures.
thy seat That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time
An humble heart. Kneels. CAESAR. I must prevent thee, Cimber. And drawing days out that men stand upon.
These couchings and these lowly courtesies CASSIUS. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life
Might fire the blood of ordinary men Cuts off so many years of fearing death.
And turn preordinance and first decree BRUTUS. Grant that, and then is death a benefit;
Into the law of children. Be not fond So are we Caesar's friends that have abridged
To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,
That will be thaw'd from the true quality And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood
With that which melteth fools- I mean sweet words, Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords;
Low-crooked court'sies, and base spaniel-fawning. Then walk we forth, even to the marketplace,
Thy brother by decree is banished. And waving our red weapons o'er our heads,
If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, Let's all cry, "Peace, freedom, and liberty!"
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. CASSIUS. Stoop then, and wash. How many ages hence
Know, Caesar doth not wrong, nor without cause Shall this our lofty scene be acted over
Will he be satisfied. In states unborn and accents yet unknown!
METELLUS. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, BRUTUS. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport,
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear That now on Pompey's basis lies along
For the repealing of my banish'd brother? No worthier than the dust!
BRUTUS. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar, CASSIUS. So oft as that shall be,
Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may So often shall the knot of us be call'd
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. The men that gave their country liberty.
DECIUS. What, shall we forth? Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus;
CASSIUS. Ay, every man away. Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;
Brutus shall lead, and we will grace his heels Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius.
With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. Gentlemen all- alas, what shall I say?
Enter a Servant. My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
BRUTUS. Soft, who comes here? A friend of Antony's. That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,
SERVANT. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel, Either a coward or a flatterer.
Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down, That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true!
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say: If then thy spirit look upon us now,
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving. To see thy Antony making his peace,
Say I love Brutus and I honor him; Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,
Say I fear'd Caesar, honor'd him, and loved him. Most noble! In the presence of thy corse?
If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,
May safely come to him and be resolved Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,
How Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, It would become me better than to close
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
So well as Brutus living, but will follow Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave hart,
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus Here didst thou fall, and here thy hunters stand,
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy Lethe.
With all true faith. So says my master Antony. O world, thou wast the forest to this hart,
BRUTUS. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman; And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee.
I never thought him worse. How like a deer strucken by many princes
Tell him, so please him come unto this place, Dost thou here lie!
He shall be satisfied and, by my honor, CASSIUS. Mark AntonyANTONY.
Depart untouch'd. Pardon me, Caius Cassius.
SERVANT. I'll fetch him presently. Exit. BRUTUS. I know that we shall have him well to The enemies of Caesar shall say this:
friend. Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.
CASSIUS. I wish we may, but yet have I a mind CASSIUS. I blame you not for praising Caesar so;
That fears him much, and my misgiving still But what compact mean you to have with us?
Falls shrewdly to the purpose. Will you be prick'd in number of our friends,
Re-enter Antony. Or shall we on, and not depend on you?
BRUTUS. But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony. ANTONY. Therefore I took your hands, but was indeed
ANTONY. O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low? Sway'd from the point by looking down on Caesar.
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Friends am I with you all and love you all,
Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well. Upon this hope that you shall give me reasons
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous.
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank. BRUTUS. Or else were this a savage spectacle.
If I myself, there is no hour so fit Our reasons are so full of good regard
As Caesar's death's hour, nor no instrument That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich You should be satisfied.
With the most noble blood of all this world. ANTONY. That's all I seek;
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, And am moreover suitor that I may
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Produce his body to the marketplace,
Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years, And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
I shall not find myself so apt to die; Speak in the order of his funeral.
No place will please me so, no means of death, BRUTUS. You shall, Mark Antony.
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off,The choice and master spirits of this age. CASSIUS. Brutus, a word with you.
BRUTUS. O Antony, beg not your death of us! [Aside to Brutus.] You know not what you do. Do not consent That Antony speak in his
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, funeral.
As, by our hands and this our present act Know you how much the people may be moved
You see we do, yet see you but our hands By that which he will utter?
And this the bleeding business they have done. BRUTUS. By your pardon,I will myself into the pulpit first,
Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful; And show the reason of our Caesar's death.
And pity to the general wrong of RomeAs What Antony shall speak, I will protest
fire drives out fire, so pity pityHath He speaks by leave and by permission,
done this deed on Caesar. For your part, And that we are contented Caesar shall
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony; Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.
Our arms in strength of malice, and our hearts It shall advantage more than do us wrong.
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in CASSIUS. I know not what may fall; I like it not.
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. BRUTUS. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body.
CASSIUS. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
In the disposing of new dignities. But speak all good you can devise of Caesar,
BRUTUS. Only be patient till we have appeased And say you do't by our permission,
The multitude, beside themselves with fear, Else shall you not have any hand at all
And then we will deliver you the cause About his funeral. And you shall speak
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, In the same pulpit whereto I am going,
Have thus proceeded. After my speech is ended.
ANTONY. I doubt not of your wisdom. ANTONY. Be it so,
Let each man render me his bloody hand. I do desire no more.
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you; BRUTUS. Prepare the body then, and follow us.
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand; Exeunt all but Antony. ANTONY. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! will not love his country? If any, speak, for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man ALL. None, Brutus, none.
That ever lived in the tide of times. BRUTUS. Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol, his glory not extenuated,
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy wherein he was worthy, nor his offenses enforced, for which he suffered death.
(Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips Enter Antony and others, with Caesar's body.
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue) Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death,
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth, as which of you
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife shall not? With this I depart- that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.
Blood and destruction shall be so in use, ALL. Live, Brutus, live, live!
And dreadful objects so familiar, FIRST CITIZEN. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. SECOND CITIZEN. Give him a
That mothers shall but smile when they behold statue with his ancestors.
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war; THIRD CITIZEN. Let him be Caesar.
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds, FOURTH CITIZEN. Caesar's better parts
And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge, Shall be crown'd in Brutus.
With Ate by his side come hot from hell, FIRST CITIZEN. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and clamors.
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice BRUTUS. My countrymenSECOND
Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war, CITIZEN. Peace! Silence! Brutus speaks.
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth FIRST CITIZEN. Peace, ho!
With carrion men, groaning for burial. BRUTUS. Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
Enter a Servant. And, for my sake, stay here with Antony.
You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not? Do grace to Caesar's corse, and grace his speech
SERVANT. I do, Mark Antony. Tending to Caesar's glories, which Mark Antony,
ANTONY. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. By our permission, is allow'd to make.
SERVANT. He did receive his letters, and is coming, I do entreat you, not a man depart,
And bid me say to you by word of mouthO Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. Exit. FIRST CITIZEN. Stay, ho, and let us hear Mark
Caesar! Sees the body. ANTONY. Thy heart is big; get thee apart and weep. Antony.
Passion, I see, is catching, for mine eyes, THIRD CITIZEN. Let him go up into the public chair;
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, We'll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.
Began to water. Is thy master coming? ANTONY. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you.
SERVANT. He lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome. Goes into the pulpit. FOURTH CITIZEN. What does he say of Brutus?
ANTONY. Post back with speed and tell him what hath chanced. Here is a mourning Rome, a THIRD CITIZEN. He says, for Brutus' sake,
dangerous Rome, He finds himself beholding to us all.
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet; FOURTH CITIZEN. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. FIRST CITIZEN. This
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet stay awhile, Caesar
Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse was a tyrant.
Into the marketplace. There shall I try, THIRD CITIZEN. Nay, that's certain.
In my oration, how the people take We are blest that Rome is rid of him.
The cruel issue of these bloody men, SECOND CITIZEN. Peace! Let us hear what Antony can say.
According to the which thou shalt discourse ANTONY. You gentle RomansALL.
To young Octavius of the state of things. Peace, ho! Let us hear him.
Lend me your hand. Exeunt with Caesar's body. ANTONY. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!
SCENE II. I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The Forum. The evil that men do lives after them,
Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. The good is oft interred with their bones;
CITIZENS. We will be satisfied! Let us be satisfied! So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
BRUTUS. Then follow me and give me audience, friends. Hath told you Caesar was ambitious;
Cassius, go you into the other street If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And part the numbers. And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here; Here, under leave of Brutus and the restFor
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;And public reasons shall be rendered Brutus is an honorable man;
Of Caesar's death. So are they all, all honorable menComeI to speak in Caesar's funeral.
FIRST CITIZEN. I will hear Brutus speak. He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
SECOND CITIZEN. I will hear Cassius and compare their reasons, When severally we hear But Brutus says he was ambitious,
them rendered. And Brutus is an honorable man.
Exit Cassius, with some Citizens. He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Brutus goes into the pulpit. Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
THIRD CITIZEN. The noble Brutus is ascended. Silence! Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
BRUTUS. Be patient till the last. When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. If there be any And Brutus is an honorable man.
in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Caesar You all did see that on the Lupercal
was no less than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
my answer: Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Caesar were living and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead to live all freemen? As Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, And sure he is an honorable man.
I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
his fortune, honor for his valor, and death for his ambition. Who is here so base that But here I am to speak what I do know.
would be a bondman? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that You all did love him once, not without cause;
would not be a Roman? If any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it,
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
And I must pause till it come back to me. If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no;
FIRST CITIZEN. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings. SECOND CITIZEN. If thou For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel.
consider rightly of the matter, Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!
Caesar has had great wrong. This was the most unkindest cut of all;
THIRD CITIZEN. Has he, masters? For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
I fear there will a worse come in his place. Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
FOURTH CITIZEN. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown; Therefore 'tis certain Quite vanquish'd him. Then burst his mighty heart,
he was not ambitious. And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
FIRST CITIZEN. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. SECOND CITIZEN. Poor soul, his Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
eyes are red as fire with weeping. THIRD CITIZEN. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
Antony. FOURTH CITIZEN. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
ANTONY. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Have stood against the world. Now lies he there, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
And none so poor to do him reverence. O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel
O masters! If I were disposed to stir The dint of pity. These are gracious drops.
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, Kind souls, what weep you when you but behold
I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Who, you all know, are honorable men. Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose FIRST CITIZEN. O piteous spectacle!
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, SECOND CITIZEN. O noble Caesar!
Than I will wrong such honorable men. THIRD CITIZEN. O woeful day!
But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar; FOURTH CITIZEN. O traitors villains!
I found it in his closet, 'tis his will. FIRST CITIZEN. O most bloody sight!
Let but the commons hear this testamentWhich, SECOND CITIZEN. We will be revenged.
pardon me, I do not mean to readAnd ALL. Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill!
they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds Slay! Let not a traitor live!
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, ANTONY. Stay, countrymen.
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, FIRST CITIZEN. Peace there! Hear the noble Antony.
And, dying, mention it within their wills, SECOND CITIZEN. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with him.
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy ANTONY. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of
Unto their issue. mutiny.
FOURTH CITIZEN. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. ALL. The will, the will! We They that have done this deed are honorable.
will hear Caesar's will. What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
ANTONY. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how That made them do it. They are wise and honorable,
Caesar loved you. And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts.
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, I am no orator, as Brutus is;
It will inflame you, it will make you mad. But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs, That love my friend, and that they know full well
For if you should, O, what would come of it! That gave me public leave to speak of him.
FOURTH CITIZEN. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
You shall read us the will, Caesar's will. Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
ANTONY. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? To stir men's blood. I only speak right on;
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
I fear I wrong the honorable men Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor dumb mouths,
Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar; I do fear it. And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
FOURTH CITIZEN. They were traitors. Honorable men! And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
ALL. The will! The testament! Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue
SECOND CITIZEN. They were villains, murtherers. The will! Read the will! In every wound of Caesar that should move
ANTONY. You will compel me then to read the will? The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Then make a ring about the corse of Caesar, ALL. We'll mutiny.
And let me show you him that made the will. FIRST CITIZEN. We'll burn the house of Brutus.
Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? THIRD CITIZEN. Away, then! Come, seek the conspirators.
ALL. Come down. ANTONY. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.
SECOND CITIZEN. Descend.He comes down from the pulpit. THIRD CITIZEN. You shall have ALL. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony!
leave. ANTONY. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what.
FOURTH CITIZEN. A ring, stand round. Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves?
FIRST CITIZEN. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. SECOND CITIZEN. Room for Alas, you know not; I must tell you then.
Antony, most noble Antony. You have forgot the will I told you of.
ANTONY. Nay, press not so upon me, stand far off. ALL. Most true, the will! Let's stay and hear the will.
ALL. Stand back; room, bear back! ANTONY. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal.To every Roman citizen he gives,
ANTONY. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.
You all do know this mantle. I remember SECOND CITIZEN. Most noble Caesar! We'll revenge his death. THIRD CITIZEN. O royal
The first time ever Caesar put it on; Caesar!
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, ANTONY. Hear me with patience.
That day he overcame the Nervii. ALL. Peace, ho!
Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through; ANTONY. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,
See what a rent the envious Casca made; His private arbors, and new-planted orchards,
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; On this side Tiber; he hath left them you,
And to your heirs forever- common pleasures, A house in Rome. Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a table.
To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. ANTONY. These many then shall die, their names are prick'd. OCTAVIUS. Your brother too
Here was a Caesar! When comes such another? must die; consent you, Lepidus? LEPIDUS. I do consentOCTAVIUS.
FIRST CITIZEN. Never, never. Come, away, away! Prick him down, Antony.
We'll burn his body in the holy place LEPIDUS. Upon condition Publius shall not live,
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony.
Take up the body. ANTONY. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.
SECOND CITIZEN. Go fetch fire. But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house,
THIRD CITIZEN. Pluck down benches. Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine
FOURTH CITIZEN. Pluck down forms, windows, anything. How to cut off some charge in legacies.
Exeunt Citizens with the body. ANTONY. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, LEPIDUS. What, shall I find you here?
Take thou what course thou wilt. OCTAVIUS. Or here, or at the Capitol. Exit Lepidus. ANTONY. This is a slight unmeritable
Enter a Servant. man,
How now, fellow? Meet to be sent on errands. Is it fit,
SERVANT. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. The three-fold world divided, he should stand
ANTONY. Where is he? One of the three to share it?
SERVANT. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. OCTAVIUS. So you thought him,
ANTONY. And thither will I straight to visit him. And took his voice who should be prick'd to die
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, In our black sentence and proscription.
And in this mood will give us anything. ANTONY. Octavius, I have seen more days than you,
SERVANT. I heard him say Brutus and Cassius And though we lay these honors on this man
Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads,
ANTONY. Be like they had some notice of the people, He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,
How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. Exeunt. To groan and sweat under the business,
SCENE III. Either led or driven, as we point the way;
A street. And having brought our treasure where we will,
Enter Cinna the poet. Then take we down his load and turn him off,
CINNA. I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar, Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears
And things unluckily charge my fantasy. And graze in commons.
I have no will to wander forth of doors, OCTAVIUS. You may do your will,
Yet something leads me forth. But he's a tried and valiant soldier.
Enter Citizens. ANTONY. So is my horse, Octavius, and for that
FIRST CITIZEN. What is your name? I do appoint him store of provender.
SECOND CITIZEN. Whither are you going? It is a creature that I teach to fight,
THIRD CITIZEN. Where do you dwell? To wind, to stop, to run directly on,
FOURTH CITIZEN. Are you a married man or a bachelor? His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit.
SECOND CITIZEN. Answer every man directly. And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so:
FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, and briefly. He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth;
FOURTH CITIZEN. Ay, and wisely. A barren-spirited fellow, one that feeds
THIRD CITIZEN. Ay, and truly, you were best. On objects, arts, and imitations,
CINNA. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man or a Which, out of use and staled by other men,
bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly, wisely and truly: wisely I say, Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him
I am a bachelor. SECOND CITIZEN. That's as much as to say they are fools that marry. But as a property. And now, Octavius,
You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed directly. CINNA. Directly, I am going to Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius
Caesar's funeral. Are levying powers; we must straight make head;
FIRST CITIZEN. As a friend or an enemy? Therefore let our alliance be combined,
CINNA. As a friend. Our best friends made, our means stretch'd;
SECOND CITIZEN. That matter is answered directly. And let us presently go sit in council,
FOURTH CITIZEN. For your dwelling, briefly. How covert matters may be best disclosed,
CINNA. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. And open perils surest answered.
THIRD CITIZEN. Your name, sir, truly. OCTAVIUS. Let us do so, for we are at the stake,
CINNA. Truly, my name is Cinna. And bay'd about with many enemies;
FIRST CITIZEN. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,
CINNA. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. Millions of mischiefs. Exeunt.
FOURTH CITIZEN. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses. SCENE II.
CINNA. I am not Cinna the conspirator. Camp near Sardis. Before Brutus' tent. Drum.
FOURTH CITIZEN. It is no matter, his name's Cinna. Pluck but his name out of his heart, Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and Soldiers; Titinius and Pindarus meet them.
and turn him going. BRUTUS. Stand, ho!
THIRD CITIZEN. Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, ho, firebrands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; LUCILIUS. Give the word, ho, and stand.
burn all. Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's, some to Ligarius'. Away, go! BRUTUS. What now, Lucilius, is Cassius near?
Exeunt.<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM LUCILIUS. He is at hand, and Pindarus is come
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SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR BRUTUS. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius,
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> How he received you. Let me be resolved.
ACT IV. SCENE I. LUCILIUS. With courtesy and with respect enough,
But not with such familiar instances, CASSIUS. Brutus, bait not me,
Nor with such free and friendly conference, I'll not endure it. You forget yourself
As he hath used of old. To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I,
BRUTUS. Thou hast described Older in practice, abler than yourself
A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius, To make conditions.
When love begins to sicken and decay BRUTUS. Go to, you are not, Cassius.
It useth an enforced ceremony. CASSIUS. I am.
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith; BRUTUS. I say you are not.
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, CASSIUS. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther.
But when they should endure the bloody spur, BRUTUS. Away, slight man!
They fall their crests and like deceitful jades CASSIUS. Is't possible?
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on? BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak.
LUCILIUS. They meant his night in Sard is to be quarter'd; The greater part, the horse in Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
general, Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
Are come with Cassius. Low march within. BRUTUS. Hark, he is arrived. CASSIUS. O gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this?
March gently on to meet him. BRUTUS. All this? Ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break. Go show your slaves how
Enter Cassius and his Powers. choleric you are,
CASSIUS. Stand, ho! And make your bondmen tremble. Must I bouge?
BRUTUS. Stand, ho! Speak the word along. Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
FIRST SOLDIER. Stand! Under your testy humor? By the gods,
SECOND SOLDIER. Stand! You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
THIRD SOLDIER. Stand! Though it do split you, for, from this day forth,
CASSIUS. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,
BRUTUS. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine enemies? When you are waspish.
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother? CASSIUS. Is it come to this?
CASSIUS. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs, BRUTUS. You say you are a better soldier:
And when you do themBRUTUS. Let it appear so, make your vaunting true,
Cassius, be content, And it shall please me well. For mine own part,
Speak your griefs softly, I do know you well. I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
Before the eyes of both our armies here, CASSIUS. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus.
Which should perceive nothing but love from us, I said, an elder soldier, not a better.
Let us not wrangle. Bid them move away; Did I say "better"?
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, BRUTUS. If you did, I care not.
And I will give you audience. CASSIUS. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. BRUTUS. Peace, peace!
CASSIUS. Pindarus, You
Bid our commanders lead their charges off durst not so have tempted him.
A little from this ground. CASSIUS. I durst not?
BRUTUS. Lucilius, do you the like, and let no man BRUTUS. No.
Come to our tent till we have done our conference. CASSIUS. What, durst not tempt him?
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. Exeunt. BRUTUS. For your life you durst not.
SCENE III. CASSIUS. Do not presume too much upon my love;
Brutus' tent. I may do that I shall be sorry for.
Enter Brutus and Cassius. BRUTUS. You have done that you should be sorry for.
CASSIUS. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this: There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats,
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians, That they pass by me as the idle wind
Wherein my letters, praying on his side, Which I respect not. I did send to you
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. For certain sums of gold, which you denied me,
BRUTUS. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. For I can raise no money by vile means.
CASSIUS. In such a time as this it is not meet By heaven, I had rather coin my heart
That every nice offense should bear his comment. And drop my blood for drachmas than to wring
BRUTUS. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm, By any indirection. I did send
To sell and mart your offices for gold To you for gold to pay my legions,
To undeservers. Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius?
CASSIUS. I an itching palm? Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so?
You know that you are Brutus that speaks this, When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
BRUTUS. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. Dash him to pieces!
CASSIUS. Chastisement? CASSIUS. I denied you not.
BRUTUS. Remember March, the ides of March remember. BRUTUS. You did.
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake? CASSIUS. I did not. He was but a fool
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab,And not for justice? What, shall one of us, That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart. A friend should bear his
That struck the foremost man of all this world friend's infirmities,
But for supporting robbers, shall we now But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes BRUTUS. I do not, till you practise them on me.
And sell the mighty space of our large honors CASSIUS. You love me not.
For so much trash as may be grasped thus? BRUTUS. I do not like your faults.
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, CASSIUS. A friendly eye could never see such faults.BRUTUS. A flatterer's would not, though
Than such a Roman. they do appear
As huge as high Olympus. And (her attendants absent) swallow'd fire.CASSIUS. And died so?
CASSIUS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, BRUTUS. Even so.
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, CASSIUS. O ye immortal gods!
For Cassius is aweary of the world: Re-enter Lucius, with wine and taper.
Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother; BRUTUS. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.
Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observed, In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. Drinks. CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that
Set in a notebook, learn'd and conn'd by rote, noble pledge.
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup;
My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, I cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. Drinks.
And here my naked breast; within, a heart BRUTUS. Come in, Titinius! Exit Lucius.
Dearer than Pluto's mine, richer than gold. Re-enter Titinius, with Messala.
If that thou best a Roman, take it forth; Welcome, good Messala.
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart. Now sit we close about this taper here,
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar, for I know, And call in question our necessities.
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. CASSIUS. Portia, art thou gone?
BRUTUS. Sheathe your dagger. BRUTUS. No more, I pray you.
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Messala, I have here received letters
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. That young Octavius and Mark Antony
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, Come down upon us with a mighty power,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire, Bending their expedition toward Philippi.
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark MESSALA. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenure.
And straight is cold again. BRUTUS. With what addition?
CASSIUS. Hath Cassius lived MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus
When grief and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him? Have put to death an hundred senators.
BRUTUS. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. BRUTUS. There in our letters do not well agree;
CASSIUS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. Mine speak of seventy senators that died
BRUTUS. And my heart too. By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
CASSIUS. O Brutus! CASSIUS. Cicero one!
BRUTUS. What's the matter? MESSALA. Cicero is dead,
CASSIUS. Have not you love enough to bear with me And by that order of proscription.
When that rash humor which my mother gave me Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
Makes me forgetful? BRUTUS. No, Messala.
BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth, MESSALA. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
When you are overearnest with your Brutus, BRUTUS. Nothing, Messala.
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. MESSALA. That, methinks, is strange.
POET. [Within.] Let me go in to see the generals. BRUTUS. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?
There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not meet MESSALA. No, my lord.
They be alone. BRUTUS. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
LUCILIUS. [Within.] You shall not come to them. MESSALA. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:
POET. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me. For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius, and Lucius. BRUTUS. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala.
CASSIUS. How now, what's the matter? With meditating that she must die once
POET. For shame, you generals! What do you mean? I have the patience to endure it now.
Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; MESSALA. Even so great men great losses should endure.
For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye. CASSIUS. I have as much of this in art as you,
CASSIUS. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme! But yet my nature could not bear it so.
BRUTUS. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence! BRUTUS. Well, to our work alive. What do you think
CASSIUS. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. Of marching to Philippi presently?
BRUTUS. I'll know his humor when he knows his time. CASSIUS. I do not think it good.
What should the wars do with these jigging fools? BRUTUS. Your reason?
Companion, hence! CASSIUS. This it is:
CASSIUS. Away, away, be gone! Exit Poet. BRUTUS. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the 'Tis better that the enemy seek us;
commanders So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Prepare to lodge their companies tonight. Doing himself offense, whilst we lying still
CASSIUS. And come yourselves and bring Messala with you Are full of rest, defense, and nimbleness.
Immediately to us. Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius. BRUTUS. Good reasons must of force give place to better.
BRUTUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine! Exit Lucius. The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground
CASSIUS. I did not think you could have been so angry. Do stand but in a forced affection,
BRUTUS. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. For they have grudged us contribution.
CASSIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use, The enemy, marching along by them,
If you give place to accidental evils. By them shall make a fuller number up,
BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged;
CASSIUS. Ha? Portia? From which advantage shall we cut him off
BRUTUS. She is dead. If at Philippi we do face him there,
CASSIUS. How 'scaped killing when I cross'd you so? These people at our back.
O insupportable and touching loss! CASSIUS. Hear me, good brother.
Upon what sickness? BRUTUS. Under your pardon. You must note beside
BRUTUS. Impatient of my absence, That we have tried the utmost of our friends,
And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:
Have made themselves so strong- for with her death The enemy increaseth every day;
That tidings came- with this she fell distract, We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a tide in the affairs of menWhich taken at the flood leads on to fortune; Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil
Omitted, all the voyage of their life That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Is bound in shallows and in miseries. Speak to me what thou art.
On such a full sea are we now afloat, GHOST. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
And we must take the current when it serves, BRUTUS. Why comest thou?
Or lose our ventures. GHOST. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
CASSIUS. Then, with your will, go on; BRUTUS. Well, then I shall see thee again?
We'll along ourselves and meet them at Philippi. GHOST. Ay, at Philippi.
BRUTUS. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, BRUTUS. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. Exit Ghost. Now I have taken heart thou
And nature must obey necessity, vanishest.
Which we will niggard with a little rest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.
There is no more to say? Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudio! Sirs, awake!
CASSIUS. No more. Good night. Claudio!
Early tomorrow will we rise and hence. LUCIUS. The strings, my lord, are false.
BRUTUS. Lucius! BRUTUS. He thinks he still is at his instrument.
Re-enter Lucius. Lucius, awake!
My gown. Exit Lucius. Farewell, good Messala; LUCIUS. My lord?
Good night, Titinius; noble, noble Cassius, BRUTUS. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out? LUCIUS. My lord, I do not
Good night and good repose. know that I did cry.
CASSIUS. O my dear brother! BRUTUS. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?
This was an ill beginning of the night. LUCIUS. Nothing, my lord.
Never come such division 'tween our souls! BRUTUS. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudio!
Let it not, Brutus. [To Varro.] Fellow thou, awake!
BRUTUS. Everything is well. VARRO. My lord?
CASSIUS. Good night, my lord. CLAUDIO. My lord?
BRUTUS. Good night, good brother. BRUTUS. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?
TITINIUS. MESSALA. Good night, Lord Brutus. VARRO. CLAUDIO. Did we, my lord?
BRUTUS. Farewell, everyone. BRUTUS. Ay, saw you anything?
Exeunt all but Brutus. VARRO. No, my lord, I saw nothing.
Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. CLAUDIO. Nor I, my lord.
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? BRUTUS. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius;
LUCIUS. Here in the tent. Bid him set on his powers betimes before,
BRUTUS. What, thou speak'st drowsily? And we will follow.
Poor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o'erwatch'd. VARRO. CLAUDIO. It shall be done, my lord. Exeunt.
Call Claudio and some other of my men, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
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Look Lucius, here's the book I sought for so; ACT V. SCENE I.
I put it in the pocket of my gown. The plains of Philippi.
Varro and Claudio lie down. LUCIUS. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army.
BRUTUS. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. OCTAVIUS. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered.
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, You said the enemy would not come down,
And touch thy instrument a strain or two? But keep the hills and upper regions.
LUCIUS. Ay, my lord, an't please you. It proves not so. Their battles are at hand;
BRUTUS. It does, my boy. They mean to warn us at Philippi here,
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. Answering before we do demand of them.
LUCIUS. It is my duty, sir. ANTONY. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know
BRUTUS. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; Wherefore they do it. They could be content
I know young bloods look for a time of rest. To visit other places, and come down
LUCIUS. I have slept, my lord, already. With fearful bravery, thinking by this face
BRUTUS. It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again; To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;
I will not hold thee long. If I do live, But 'tis not so.
I will be good to thee. Music, and a song. This is a sleepy tune. O murtherous slumber, Enter a Messenger.
Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy MESSENGER. Prepare you, generals.
That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night. The enemy comes on in gallant show;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; And something to be done immediately.
I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. ANTONY. Octavius, lead your battle softly on,
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down Upon the left hand of the even field.
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. Sits down. OCTAVIUS. Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left.
Enter the Ghost of Caesar.How ill this taper burns! Ha, who comes here? ANTONY. Why do you cross me in this exigent?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes OCTAVIUS. I do not cross you, but I will do so.
That shapes this monstrous apparition. March. Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army;Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, and others.
It comes upon me. Art thou anything? BRUTUS. They stand, and would have parley.
CASSIUS. Stand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk. Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.MESSALA. Believe not so.
OCTAVIUS. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? CASSIUS. I but believe it partly,
ANTONY. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. For I am fresh of spirit and resolved
Make forth, the generals would have some words. To meet all perils very constantly.
OCTAVIUS. Stir not until the signal not until the signal. BRUTUS. Words before blows. Is BRUTUS. Even so, Lucilius.
it so, countrymen? CASSIUS. Now, most noble Brutus,
OCTAVIUS. Not that we love words better, as you do. The gods today stand friendly that we may,
BRUTUS. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius. ANTONY. In your bad strokes, Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age!
Brutus, you give good words. Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain,
Crying "Long live! Hail, Caesar!" Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
CASSIUS. Antony, If we do lose this battle, then is this
The posture of your blows are yet unknown; The very last time we shall speak together.
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, What are you then determined to do?
And leave them honeyless. BRUTUS. Even by the rule of that philosophy
ANTONY. Not stingless too. By which I did blame Cato for the death
BRUTUS. O, yes, and soundless too, Which he did give himself- I know not how,
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, But I do find it cowardly and vile,
And very wisely threat before you sting. For fear of what might fall, so to prevent
ANTONY. Villains! You did not so when your vile daggers The time of life- arming myself with patience
Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar. To stay the providence of some high powers
You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like hounds, And bow'd like bondmen, kissing That govern us below.
Caesar's feet; CASSIUS. Then, if we lose this battle,
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind You are contented to be led in triumph
Strooke Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers! Thorough the streets of Rome?
CASSIUS. Flatterers? Now, Brutus, thank yourself. BRUTUS. No, Cassius, no. Think not, thou noble Roman,
This tongue had not offended so today, That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;
If Cassius might have ruled. He bears too great a mind. But this same day
OCTAVIUS. Come, come, the cause. If arguing make us sweat, The proof of it will turn to Must end that work the ides of March begun.
redder drops. And whether we shall meet again I know not.
Look, Therefore our everlasting farewell take.
I draw a sword against conspirators; Forever, and forever, farewell, Cassius!
When think you that the sword goes up again? If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds If not, why then this parting was well made.
Be well avenged, or till another Caesar CASSIUS. Forever and forever farewell, Brutus!
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed;
BRUTUS. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.
Unless thou bring'st them with thee. BRUTUS. Why then, lead on. O, that a man might know
OCTAVIUS. So I hope, The end of this day's business ere it come!
I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. But it sufficeth that the day will end,
BRUTUS. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, And then the end is known. Come, ho! Away! Exeunt.
Young man, thou couldst not die more honorable. SCENE II.
CASSIUS. A peevish school boy, worthless of such honor, The field of battle.
Join'd with a masker and a reveler! Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.
ANTONY. Old Cassius still! BRUTUS. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills
OCTAVIUS. Come, Antony, away! Unto the legions on the other side. Loud alarum. Let them set on at once, for I perceive
Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. But cold demeanor in Octavia's wing,
If you dare fight today, come to the field; And sudden push gives them the overthrow.
If not, when you have stomachs. Ride, ride, Messala. Let them all come down. Exeunt.
Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army. CASSIUS. Why, now, blow and, swell billow, and SCENE III.
swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. Another part of the field.
BRUTUS. Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you. Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius.
LUCILIUS. [Stands forth.] My lord? CASSIUS. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly!
Brutus and Lucilius converse apart. CASSIUS. Messala! Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy.
MESSALA. [Stands forth.] What says my general? This ensign here of mine was turning back;
CASSIUS. Messala, I slew the coward, and did take it from him.
This is my birthday, as this very day TITINIUS. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early,
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala. Who, having some advantage on Octavius,
Be thou my witness that, against my will, Took it too eagerly. His soldiers fell to spoil,
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed.
Upon one battle all our liberties. Enter Pindarus.
You know that I held Epicurus strong, PINDARUS. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off;
And his opinion. Now I change my mind, Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord;
And partly credit things that do presage. Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign CASSIUS. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius:
Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd, Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands, TITINIUS. They are, my lord.
Who to Philippi here consorted us. CASSIUS. Titinius, if thou lovest me,
This morning are they fled away and gone, Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him,
And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops
Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us, And here again, that I may rest assuredWhether yond troops are friend or enemy.
As we were sickly prey. Their shadows seem TITINIUS. I will be here again, even with a thought. Exit. CASSIUS. Go, Pindarus, get
A canopy most fatal, under which higher on that hill;
My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius, Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart.
And tell me what thou notest about the field. Kills himself.
Pindarus ascends the hill. This day I breathed first: time is come round, Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato,
And where I did begin, there shall I end; and others.
My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news? BRUTUS. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?
PINDARUS. [Above.] O my lord! MESSALA. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.
CASSIUS. What news? BRUTUS. Titinius' face is upward.
PINDARUS. [Above.] Titinius is enclosed round about CATO. He is slain.
With horsemen, that make to him on the spur; BRUTUS. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet!
Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords
Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too. In our own proper entrails. Low alarums. CATO. Brave Titinius!
He's ta'en [Shout.] And, hark! They shout for joy. Look whe'er he have not crown'd dead Cassius!
CASSIUS. Come down; behold no more. BRUTUS. Are yet two Romans living such as these?
O, coward that I am, to live so long, The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!
To see my best friend ta'en before my face! It is impossible that ever Rome
Pindarus descends. Come hither, sirrah. Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe moe tears
In Parthia did I take thee prisoner, To this dead man than you shall see me pay.
And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.
That whatsoever I did bid thee do, Come therefore, and to Thasos send his body;
Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath; His funerals shall not be in our camp,
Now be a freeman, and with this good sword, Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come,
That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. And come, young Cato; let us to the field.
Stand not to answer: here, take thou the hilts; Labio and Flavio, set our battles on.
And when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now, 'Tis three o'clock, and Romans, yet ere night
Guide thou the sword. [Pindarus stabs him.] Caesar, thou art revenged, We shall try fortune in a second fight. Exeunt.
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. Dies. PINDARUS. So, I am free, yet would not so SCENE IV.
have been, Another part of the field.
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, young Cato, Lucilius, and
Far from this country Pindarus shall run, others.
Where never Roman shall take note of him. Exit. BRUTUS. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!
Re-enter Titinius with Messala. CATO. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?
MESSALA. It is but change, Titinius, for Octavius I will proclaim my name about the field.
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend.
TITINIUS. These tidings would well comfort Cassius. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
MESSALA. Where did you leave him? BRUTUS. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;
TITINIUS. All disconsolate, Brutus, my country's friend; know me for Brutus! Exit. LUCILIUS. O young and noble Cato,
With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. art thou down?
MESSALA. Is not that he that lies upon the ground? Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius,
TITINIUS. He lies not like the living. O my heart! And mayst be honor'd, being Cato's son.
MESSALA. Is not that he? FIRST SOLDIER. Yield, or thou diest.
TITINIUS. No, this was he, Messala, LUCILIUS. Only I yield to die.
But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, [Offers money.] There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight: Kill Brutus, and be
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night, honor'd in his death.
So in his red blood Cassius' day is set, FIRST SOLDIER. We must not. A noble prisoner!
The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; SECOND SOLDIER. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en.
Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done! FIRST SOLDIER. I'll tell the news. Here comes the general.
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. Enter Antony.
MESSALA. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord.
O hateful error, melancholy's child, ANTONY. Where is he?
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men LUCILIUS. Safe, Antony, Brutus is safe enough.
The things that are not? O error, soon conceived, I dare assure thee that no enemy
Thou never comest unto a happy birth, Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus;
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee! The gods defend him from so great a shame!
TITINIUS. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus? When you do find him, or alive or dead,
MESSALA. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet He will be found like Brutus, like himself.
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report ANTONY. This is not Brutus, friend, but, I assure you,
Into his ears. I may say "thrusting" it, A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,
For piercing steel and darts envenomed Give him all kindness; I had rather have
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
As tidings of this sight. And see wheer Brutus be alive or dead,
TITINIUS. Hie you, Messala, And bring us word unto Octavius' tent
And I will seek for Pindarus the while. Exit Messala. Why didst thou send me forth, brave How everything is chanced. Exeunt.
Cassius? SCENE V.
Did I not meet thy friends? And did not they Another part of the field.Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and Volumnius.
Put on my brows this wreath of victory, BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. CLITUS. Statilius show'd the
And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts? Alas, thou hast misconstrued torchlight, but, my lord,
everything! He came not back. He is or ta'en or slain.
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; BRUTUS. Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word:
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. Whispers. CLITUS. What, I, my lord? No, not
Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. for all the world.
By your leave, gods, this is a Roman's part. BRUTUS. Peace then, no words.
CLITUS. I'll rather kill myself. And say to all the world, "This was a man!"
BRUTUS. Hark thee, Dardanius. Whispers. DARDANIUS. Shall I do such a deed? OCTAVIUS. According to his virtue let us use him
CLITUS. O Dardanius! With all respect and rites of burial.
DARDANIUS. O Clitus! Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie,
CLITUS. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? Most like a soldier, ordered honorably.
DARDANIUS. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. So call the field to rest, and let's away,
CLITUS. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, To part the glories of this happy day. Exeunt.
That it runs over even at his eyes. THE END
BRUTUS. Come hither, good Volumnius, list a word. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
VOLUMNIUS. What says my lord? SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
BRUTUS. Why, this, Volumnius: BY PROJECT
The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
Two several times by night; at Sardis once, ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
And this last night here in Philippi fields. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
I know my hour is come. YOUR OR OTHERS
VOLUMNIUS. Not so, my lord. PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
BRUTUS. Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius. COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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Our enemies have beat us to the pit; Low alarums. It is more worthy to leap in ourselves DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 1606
Thou know'st that we two went to school together; THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR
Even for that our love of old, I prithee, by William Shakespeare
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. Dramatis Personae
VOLUMNIUS. That's not an office for a friend, my lord. Lear, King of Britain.
Alarum still. CLITUS. Fly, fly, my lord, there is no tarrying here. King of France.
BRUTUS. Farewell to you, and you, and you, Volumnius. Duke of Burgundy.
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Duke of Cornwall.
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, Duke of Albany.
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life Earl of Kent.
I found no man but he was true to me. Earl of Gloucester.
I shall have glory by this losing day, Edgar, son of Gloucester.
More than Octavius and Mark Antony Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester.
By this vile conquest shall attain unto. Curan, a courtier.
So, fare you well at once, for Brutus' tongue Old Man, tenant to Gloucester.
Hath almost ended his life's history. Doctor.
Night hangs upon mine eyes, my bones would rest Lear's Fool.
That have but labor'd to attain this hour. Oswald, steward to Goneril.
Alarum. Cry within, "Fly, fly, fly!" CLITUS. Fly, my lord, fly. A Captain under Edmund's command.
BRUTUS. Hence! I will follow. Gentlemen.
Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius. I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. A Herald.
Thou art a fellow of a good respect; Servants to Cornwall.
Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in it. Goneril, daughter to Lear.
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, Regan, daughter to Lear.
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? Cordelia, daughter to Lear.
STRATO. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord. Knights attending on Lear, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers, Attendants.
BRUTUS. Farewell, good Strato. Runs on his sword. Caesar, now be still; <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. Dies. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Messala, BY PROJECT
Lucilius, and the Army. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
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Lucilius' saying true. Scene: - Britain.
OCTAVIUS. All that served Brutus, I will entertain them. ACT I. Scene I.
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? [King Lear's Palace.]
STRATO. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. [Kent and Glouceste converse. Edmund stands back.]
OCTAVIUS. Do so, good Messala. Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany thanCornwall.
MESSALA. How died my master, Strato? Glou. It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the
STRATO. I held the sword, and he did run on it.MESSALA. Octavius, then take him to follow kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for equalities are so weigh'd
thee that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety.
That did the latest service to my master. Kent. Is not this your son, my lord?
ANTONY. This was the noblest Roman of them all. Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often
All the conspirators, save only he, blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't.
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; Kent. I cannot conceive you.
He only, in a general honest thought Glou. Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon she grew
And common good to all, made one of them. round-womb'd, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her
His life was gentle, and the elements bed. Do you smell a fault?
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so
proper. Cor. Nothing.
Glou. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than Lear. Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again.
this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came something saucily into Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged.- Do you know this noble gentleman, According to my bond; no more nor less.
Edmund? Lear. How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,
Edm. [comes forward] No, my lord. Lest it may mar your fortunes.
Glou. My Lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable Cor. Good my lord,
friend. You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I
Edm. My services to your lordship. Return those duties back as are right fit,
Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better. Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
Sound a sennet. The King is coming. That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Enter one bearing a coronet; then Lear; then the Dukes of Albany and Cornwall; next, Half my love with him, half my care and duty.
Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, with Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
Followers. To love my father all.
Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. Glou. I shall, my liege. Lear. But goes thy heart with this?
Exeunt [Gloucester and Edmund]. Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Cor. Ay, good my lord.
Give me the map there. Know we have divided Lear. So young, and so untender?
In three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent Cor. So young, my
To shake all cares and business from our age, ut with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Conferring them on younger strengths while we Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, QUEEN ELIZABETH. Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. ANNE. No more than with my
We have this hour a constant will to publish soul I mourn for yours.
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife DORSET. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory!
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest ANNE. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!
daughter's love, DUCHESS. [To DORSET] Go thou to Richmond, and good
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, fortune guide thee!
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters [To ANNE] Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend
(Since now we will divest us both of rule, thee! [To QUEEN ELIZABETH] Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee!
Interest of territory, cares of state), I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!
Which of you shall we say doth love us most? Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
That we our largest bounty may extend And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen.
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, QUEEN ELIZABETH. Stay, yet look back with me unto the
Our eldest-born, speak first. Tower.
Gon. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls,
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; Rough cradle for such little pretty ones.
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e'er lov'd, or Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow
father found; For tender princes, use my babies well.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable. So foolish sorrows bids your stones farewell. Exeunt
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. SCENE 2.
Cor. [aside] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent. Lear. Of all these bounds, London. The palace
even from this line to this, Sound a sennet. Enter RICHARD, in pomp, as KING; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, RATCLIFF,
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, LOVEL, a
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, PAGE, and othersKING RICHARD. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham!
We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue BUCKINGHAM. My gracious sovereign?
Be this perpetual.- What says our second daughter, KING RICHARD. Give me thy hand.
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. [Here he ascendeth the throne. Sound] Thus high, by thy advice
Reg. Sir, I am madeOf the selfsame metal that my sister is, And thy assistance, is King Richard seated.
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart But shall we wear these glories for a day;
I find she names my very deed of love; Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
Only she comes too short, that I profess BUCKINGHAM. Still live they, and for ever let them last!
Myself an enemy to all other joys KING RICHARD. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses, To try if thou be current gold indeed.
And find I am alone felicitate Young Edward lives-think now what I would speak.
In your dear Highness' love. BUCKINGHAM. Say on, my loving lord.
Cor. [aside] Then poor Cordelia! KING RICHARD. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be King.
And yet not so; since I am sure my love's BUCKINGHAM. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.
More richer than my tongue. KING RICHARD. Ha! am I King? 'Tis so; but Edward lives.
Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever BUCKINGHAM. True, noble Prince.
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, KING RICHARD. O bitter consequence:
No less in space, validity, and pleasure That Edward still should live-true noble Prince!
Than that conferr'd on Goneril.- Now, our joy, Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.
Although the last, not least; to whose young love Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead.
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw What say'st thou now? Speak suddenly, be brief.
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. BUCKINGHAM. Your Grace may do your pleasure.
Cor. Nothing, my lord. KING RICHARD. Tut, tut, thou art all ice; thy kindness freezes. Say, have I thy consent
Lear. Nothing? that they shall die?
BUCKINGHAM. Give me some little breath, some pause, unto it.
dear Lord, BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, For which your honour and your
Before I positively speak in this. faith is pawn'd:
I will resolve you herein presently. Exit CATESBY. [Aside to another] The King is angry; Th' earldom of Hereford and the movables
see, he Which you have promised I shall possess.
gnaws his lip. KING RICHARD. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey
KING RICHARD. I will converse with iron-witted fools Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
[Descends from the throne] And unrespective boys; none are for me BUCKINGHAM. What says your Highness to my just request?
That look into me with considerate eyes. KING RICHARD. I do remember me: Henry the Sixth
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. Did prophesy that Richmond should be King,
Boy! When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
PAGE. My lord? A king!-perhapsBUCKINGHAM.
KING RICHARD. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting My lordKING
gold RICHARD. How chance the prophet could not at that
Will tempt unto a close exploit of death? time
PAGE. I know a discontented gentleman Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?
Whose humble means match not his haughty spirit. BUCKINGHAM. My lord, your promise for the earldomKING
Gold were as good as twenty orators, RICHARD. Richmond! When last I was at Exeter,
And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything. The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle
KING RICHARD. What is his name? And call'd it Rugemount, at which name I started,
PAGE. His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. Because a bard of Ireland told me once
KING RICHARD. I partly know the man. Go, call him hither, boy. Exit PAGE The I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
deep-revolving witty Buckingham BUCKINGHAM. My lordKING
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels. RICHARD. Ay, what's o'clock?
Hath he so long held out with me, untir'd, BUCKINGHAM. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind
And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so. Of what you promis'd me.
Enter STANLEY KING RICHARD. Well, but o'clock?
How now, Lord Stanley! What's the news? BUCKINGHAM. Upon the stroke of ten.
STANLEY. Know, my loving lord, KING RICHARD. Well, let it strike.
The Marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled BUCKINGHAM. Why let it strike?
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. [Stands apart] KING RICHARD. Come hither, KING RICHARD. Because that like a Jack thou keep'st the
Catesby. Rumour it abroad stroke
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I will take order for her keeping close. I am not in the giving vein to-day.
Inquire me out some mean poor gentleman, BUCKINGHAM. May it please you to resolve me in my suit.
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughterThe KING RICHARD. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.
boy is foolish, and I fear not him. Exeunt all but Buckingham BUCKINGHAM. And is it thus? Repays he my deep service
Look how thou dream'st! I say again, give out With such contempt? Made I him King for this?
That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die. O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone
About it; for it stands me much upon To Brecknock while my fearful head is on! Exit
To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. SCENE 3.
Exit CATESBY I must be married to my brother's daughter, London. The palace
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. Enter TYRRELTYRREL. The tyrannous and bloody act is done,
Murder her brothers, and then marry her! The most arch deed of piteous massacre
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in That ever yet this land was guilty of.
So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.Re-enter PAGE, with TYRREL To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Is thy name Tyrrel? Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
TYRREL. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. Melted with tenderness and mild compassion,
KING RICHARD. Art thou, indeed? Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story.
TYRREL. Prove me, my gracious lord. 'O, thus' quoth Dighton 'lay the gentle babes'-
KING RICHARD. Dar'st'thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? TYRREL. Please you; 'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest 'girdling one another
But I had rather kill two enemies. Within their alabaster innocent arms.
KING RICHARD. Why, then thou hast it. Two deep enemies, Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.
Are they that I would have thee deal upon. A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
TYRREL, I mean those bastards in the Tower. Which once,' quoth Forrest 'almost chang'd my mind;
TYRREL. Let me have open means to come to them, But, O, the devil'-there the villain stopp'd;
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. When Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered
KING RICHARD. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come The most replenished sweet work of nature
hither, Tyrrel. That from the prime creation e'er she framed.'
Go, by this token. Rise, and lend thine ear. [Whispers] There is no more but so: say it Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse
is done, They could not speak; and so I left them both,
And I will love thee and prefer thee for it. To bear this tidings to the bloody King.
TYRREL. I will dispatch it straight. Exit Enter KING RICHARD
Re-enter BUCKINGHAM And here he comes. All health, my sovereign lord!
BUCKINGHAM. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind KING RICHARD. Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news?
The late request that you did sound me in. TYRREL. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
KING RICHARD. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Beget your happiness, be happy then,
Richmond. For it is done.
BUCKINGHAM. I hear the news, my lord. KING RICHARD. But didst thou see them dead?
KING RICHARD. Stanley, he is your wife's son: well, look TYRREL. I did, my lord.
KING RICHARD. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.
TYRREL. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?
But where, to say the truth, I do not know. [Sitting down by her] QUEEN MARGARET. [Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be
KING RICHARD. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, most reverend,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Give mine the benefit of seniory,
Meantime, but think how I may do thee good And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
And be inheritor of thy desire. If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them] Tell o'er your woes again by
Farewell till then. viewing mine.
TYRREL. I humbly take my leave. Exit KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
close; I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.
And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night. DUCHESS. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, QUEEN MARGARET. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard
And by that knot looks proudly on the crown, kill'd him.
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
Enter RATCLIFF A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.
RATCLIFF. My lord! That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes
KING RICHARD. Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,
bluntly? That foul defacer of God's handiwork,
RATCLIFF. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond; That excellent grand tyrant of the earth
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves.
KING RICHARD. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. How do I thank thee that this carnal cur
Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting Preys on the issue of his mother's body
Is leaden servitor to dull delay; And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary. DUCHESS. O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes!
Then fiery expedition be my wing, God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! QUEEN MARGARET. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge,
Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield. And now I cloy me with beholding it.
We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward;
SCENE 4. The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward;
London. Before the palace Young York he is but boot, because both they
Enter old QUEEN MARGARET Match'd not the high perfection of my loss.
QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward;
And drop into the rotten mouth of death. And the beholders of this frantic play,
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd Th' adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
To watch the waning of mine enemies.A dire induction am I witness to, Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
And will to France, hoping the consequence Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. And send them thither. But at hand, at hand,
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here? Ensues his piteous and unpitied end.
[Retires] Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,
Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK To have him suddenly convey'd from hence.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
babes! That I may live and say 'The dog is dead.'
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, thou didst prophesy the time would
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air come
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, That I should wish for thee to help me curse
Hover about me with your airy wings That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad!
And hear your mother's lamentation. QUEEN MARGARET. I Call'd thee then vain flourish of my
QUEEN MARGARET. Hover about her; say that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to fortune;
aged night. I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen,
DUCHESS. So many miseries have craz'd my voice The presentation of but what I was,
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute. The flattering index of a direful pageant,
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? One heav'd a-high to be hurl'd down below,
QUEEN MARGARET. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, A mother only mock'd with two fair babes,
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. A dream of what thou wast, a garish flag
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
lambs A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble,
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? Where is thy husband now? Where be thy brothers?
QUEEN MARGARET. When holy Harry died, and my sweet Where be thy two sons? Wherein dost thou joy?
son. Who sues, and kneels, and says 'God save the Queen'?
DUCHESS. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, Woe's scene, world's shame, Where be the bending peers that flattered thee?
grave's due by life usurp'd, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Where be the thronging troops that followed thee?
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down] Unlawfully made drunk with Decline an this, and see what now thou art:
innocent blood. For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
grave For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues;
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat! For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For she that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me; Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one; A grievous burden was thy birth to me;
For she commanding all, obey'd of none. Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;
Thus hath the course of justice whirl'd about Thy school-days frightful, desp'rate, wild, and furious; Thy prime of manhood daring,
And left thee but a very prey to time, bold, and venturous;
Having no more but thought of what thou wast Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art. More mild, but yet more harmful-kind in hatred.
Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not What comfortable hour canst thou name
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? That ever grac'd me with thy company?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke, KING RICHARD. Faith, none but Humphrey Hour, that call'd
From which even here I slip my weary head your Grace
And leave the burden of it all on thee. To breakfast once forth of my company.
Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance; If I be so disgracious in your eye,
These English woes shall make me smile in France. Let me march on and not offend you, madam.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile And teach me how to curse Strike up the drum.
mine enemies! DUCHESS. I prithee hear me speak.
QUEEN MARGARET. Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the KING RICHARD. You speak too bitterly.
days; DUCHESS. Hear me a word;
Compare dead happiness with living woe; For I shall never speak to thee again.
Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, KING RICHARD. So.
And he that slew them fouler than he is. DUCHESS. Either thou wilt die by God's just ordinance
Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish
QUEEN ELIZABETH. My words are dull; O, quicken them And never more behold thy face again.
with thine! Therefore take with thee my most grievous curse,
QUEEN MARGARET. Thy woes will make them sharp and Which in the day of battle tire thee more
pierce like mine. Exit DUCHESS. Why should calamity be fun of words? Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Windy attorneys to their client woes, My prayers on the adverse party fight;
Airy succeeders of intestate joys, And there the little souls of Edward's children
Poor breathing orators of miseries, Whisper the spirits of thine enemies
Let them have scope; though what they will impart And promise them success and victory.
Help nothing else, yet do they case the heart. Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end.
DUCHESS. If so, then be not tongue-tied. Go with me, Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH. Though far more
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother cause, yet much less
My damned son that thy two sweet sons smother'd. spirit to curse
The trumpet sounds; be copious in exclaims. Abides in me; I say amen to her.
Enter KING RICHARD and his train, marching with KING RICHARD. Stay, madam, I must talk a word with you.
drums and trumpets QUEEN ELIZABETH. I have no moe sons of the royal blood
KING RICHARD. Who intercepts me in my expedition? For thee to slaughter. For my daughters, Richard,
DUCHESS. O, she that might have intercepted thee,By strangling thee in her accursed womb, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done! And therefore level not to hit their lives.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hidest thou that forehead with a golden KING RICHARD. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth.
crown Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.QUEEN ELIZABETH. And must she die for this? O, let her
Where't should be branded, if that right were right, live,
The slaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty,
And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? Slander myself as false to Edward's bed,
Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children? Throw over her the veil of infamy;
DUCHESS. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
Clarence? I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? KING RICHARD. Wrong not her birth; she is a royal
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Princess.
Grey? QUEEN ELIZABETH. To save her life I'll say she is not so. KING RICHARD. Her life is
DUCHESS. Where is kind Hastings? safest only in her birth.
KING RICHARD. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear these QUEEN ELIZABETH. And only in that safety died her
tell-tale women brothers.
Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I say! KING RICHARD. Lo, at their birth good stars were opposite. QUEEN ELIZABETH. No, to their
[Flourish. Alarums] Either be patient and entreat me fair, lives ill friends were
Or with the clamorous report of war contrary.
Thus will I drown your exclamations. KING RICHARD. All unavoided is the doom of destiny.
DUCHESS. Art thou my son? QUEEN ELIZABETH. True, when avoided grace makes destiny.
KING RICHARD. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself. My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
DUCHESS. Then patiently hear my impatience. If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
KING RICHARD. Madam, I have a touch of your condition KING RICHARD. You speak as if that I had slain my cousins. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Cousins,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof. indeed; and by their uncle
DUCHESS. O, let me speak! cozen'd
KING RICHARD. Do, then; but I'll not hear. Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
DUCHESS. I will be mild and gentle in my words. Whose hand soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
KING RICHARD. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. Thy head, an indirectly, gave direction.
DUCHESS. Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee, No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt
God knows, in torment and in agony. Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart
KING RICHARD. And came I not at last to comfort you? To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
DUCHESS. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well But that stiff use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desp'rate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
KING RICHARD. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!
QUEEN ELIZABETH. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven,
To be discover'd, that can do me good?
KING RICHARD. advancement of your children, gentle
lady.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?
KING RICHARD. Unto the dignity and height of Fortune,
The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Flatter my sorrow with report of it;
Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour,
Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
KING RICHARD. Even all I have-ay, and myself and all
Will I withal endow a child of thine;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs
Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
KING RICHARD. Then know, that from my soul I love thy
daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
soul.
KING RICHARD. What do you think?
QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou dost love my daughter from
thy soul.
So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers,
And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.
KING RICHARD. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning.
I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter
And do intend to make her Queen of England.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Well, then, who dost thou mean shall beher king?
KING RICHARD. Even he that makes her Queen. Who else
should be?
QUEEN ELIZABETH. What, thou?
KING RICHARD. Even so. How think you of it?
QUEEN ELIZABETH. How canst thou woo her?
KING RICHARD. That would I learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. And wilt thou learn of me?
KING RICHARD. Madam, with all my heart.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Send to her, by the man that slew her
brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave
'Edward' and 'York.' Then haply will she weep;
Therefore present to her-as sometimes Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's bloodA
handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;
Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
KING RICHARD. You mock me, madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. There is no other way;
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape
And not be Richard that hath done all this.
KING RICHARD. Say that I did all this for love of her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but
hate thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
KING RICHARD. Look what is done cannot be now amended.
Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours gives leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends I'll give it to your daughter.
If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love
Than is the doating title of a mother;
They are as children but one step below,
Even of your metal, of your very blood;
Of all one pain, save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
Your children were vexation to your youth;
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss you have is but a son being King,
And by that loss your daughter is made Queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall can home
To high promotions and great dignity.
The King, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see.
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl,
Advantaging their loan with interest
Of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart th' aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the Princes
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys.
And when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victoress, Caesar's Caesar.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. What were I best to say? Her father's
brother
Would be her lord? Or shall I say her uncle?
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee
That God, the law, my honour, and her love
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?
KING RICHARD. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Which she
shall purchase with
still-lasting war.
KING RICHARD. Tell her the King, that may command,
entreats.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. That at her hands which the King's
King forbids.
KING RICHARD. Say she shall be a high and mighty queen.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
KING RICHARD. Say I will love her everlastingly.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long shall that title 'ever' last? KING RICHARD. Sweetly in
force unto her fair life's end.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. But how long fairly shall her sweet life last?
KING RICHARD. As long as heaven and nature lengthens it.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. As long as hell and Richard likes of it. KING RICHARD. Say I, her
sovereign, am her subject low.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. But she, your subject, loathes such
sovereignty.
KING RICHARD. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. An honest tale speeds best being plainly told. yourself.
KING RICHARD. Then plainly to her tell my loving tale. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Yet thou didst kill my children.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. KING RICHARD. Your reasons KING RICHARD. But in your daughter's womb I bury them;
are too shallow and too quick. QUEEN ELIZABETH. O, no, my reasons are too deep and Where, in that nest of spicery, they will breed
deadToo Selves of themselves, to your recomforture.
deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will?
KING RICHARD. Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Harp on it KING RICHARD. And be a happy mother by the deed.
still shall I till heartstrings break. QUEEN ELIZABETH. I go. Write to me very shortly,
KING RICHARD. Now, by my George, my garter, and my And you shall understand from me her mind.
crownQUEEN KING RICHARD. Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell.
ELIZABETH. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third Kissing her. Exit QUEEN ELIZABETH Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman!
usurp'd. Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following
KING RICHARD. I swearQUEEN How now! what news?
ELIZABETH. By nothing; for this is no oath: RATCLIFF. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast
Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his lordly honour; Rideth a puissant navy; to our shores
Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory. Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back.
If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral;
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. And there they hull, expecting but the aid
KING RICHARD. Then, by my selfQUEEN Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore.
ELIZABETH. Thy self is self-misus'd. KING RICHARD. Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of
KING RICHARD. Now, by the worldQUEEN Norfolk.
ELIZABETH. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. Ratcliff, thyself-or Catesby; where is he?
KING RICHARD. My father's deathQUEEN CATESBY. Here, my good lord.
ELIZABETH. Thy life hath it dishonour'd. KING RICHARD. Catesby, fly to the Duke.
KING RICHARD. Why, then, by GodQUEEN CATESBY. I will my lord, with all convenient haste.
ELIZABETH. God's wrong is most of all. KING RICHARD. Ratcliff, come hither. Post to Salisbury;
If thou didst fear to break an oath with Him, When thou com'st thither- [To CATESBY] Dull,
The unity the King my husband made unmindfull villain,
Thou hadst not broken, nor my brothers died. Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the Duke?
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, CATESBY. First, mighty liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure, What from your Grace I
Th' imperial metal, circling now thy head, shall deliver to him.
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child; KING RICHARD. O, true, good Catesby. Bid him levy straight The greatest strength and
And both the Princes had been breathing here, power that he can make
Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
Thy broken faith hath made the prey for worms. CATESBY. I go. Exit RATCLIFF. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? KING
What canst thou swear by now? RICHARD. Why, what wouldst thou do there before I
KING RICHARD. The time to come. go?
QUEEN ELIZABETH. That thou hast wronged in the time RATCLIFF. Your Highness told me I should post before.
o'erpast; KING RICHARD. My mind is chang'd.
For I myself have many tears to wash Enter LORD STANLEY
Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee. STANLEY, what news with you?
The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd, STANLEY. None good, my liege, to please you with
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age; the hearing;
The parents live whose children thou hast butcheed, Nor none so bad but well may be reported.
Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. KING RICHARD. Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad!
Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast What need'st thou run so many miles about,
Misus'd ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'erpast.KING RICHARD. As I intend to prosper and repent, When thou mayest tell thy tale the nearest way?Once more, what news?
So thrive I in my dangerous affairs STANLEY. Richmond is on the seas.
Of hostile arms! Myself myself confound! KING RICHARD. There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-liver'd runagate, what
Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours! doth he there?
Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! STANLEY. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
Be opposite all planets of good luck KING RICHARD. Well, as you guess?
To my proceeding!-if, with dear heart's love, STANLEY. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton,
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, He makes for England here to claim the crown.
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter. KING RICHARD. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd?
In her consists my happiness and thine; Is the King dead, the empire unpossess'd?
Without her, follows to myself and thee, What heir of York is there alive but we?
Herself, the land, and many a Christian soul, And who is England's King but great York's heir?
Death, desolation, ruin, and decay. Then tell me what makes he upon the seas.
It cannot be avoided but by this; STANLEY. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
It will not be avoided but by this. KING RICHARD. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
Therefore, dear mother-I must call you soBe You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
the attorney of my love to her; Thou wilt revolt and fly to him, I fear.
Plead what I will be, not what I have been; STANLEY. No, my good lord; therefore mistrust me not.
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve. KING RICHARD. Where is thy power then, to beat him back?
Urge the necessity and state of times, Where be thy tenants and thy followers?
And be not peevish-fond in great designs. Are they not now upon the western shore,
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?
KING RICHARD. Ay, if the devil tempt you to do good. STANLEY. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Shall I forget myself to be myself? KING RICHARD. Cold friends to me. What do they in the
KING RICHARD. Ay, if your self's remembrance wrong north,
When they should serve their sovereign in the west? If I revolt, off goes young George's head;
STANLEY. They have not been commanded, mighty King. The fear of that holds off my present aid.
Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave, So, get thee gone; commend me to thy lord.
I'll muster up my friends and meet your Grace Withal say that the Queen hath heartily consented
Where and what time your Majesty shall please. He should espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
KING RICHARD. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with But tell me, where is princely Richmond now?
Richmond; CHRISTOPHER. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford west in Wales.
But I'll not trust thee. STANLEY. What men of name resort to him?
STANLEY. Most mighty sovereign, CHRISTOPHER. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier;
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful. SIR Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley,
I never was nor never will be false. OXFORD, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,
KING RICHARD. Go, then, and muster men. But leave behind And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew;
Your son, George Stanley. Look your heart be firm, And many other of great name and worth;
Or else his head's assurance is but frail. And towards London do they bend their power,
STANLEY. So deal with him as I prove true to you. Exit If by the way they be not fought withal.
Enter a MESSENGER STANLEY. Well, hie thee to thy lord; I kiss his hand;
MESSENGER. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, My letter will resolve him of my mind.
As I by friends am well advertised, Farewell. Exeunt
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THIRD MESSENGER. My lord, the army of great BuckinghamKING COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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THIRD MESSENGER. The news I have to tell your Majesty ACT V. SCENE 1.
Is that by sudden floods and fall of waters Salisbury. An open place
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd; Enter the SHERIFF and guard, with BUCKINGHAM, led to execution
And he himself wand'red away alone, BUCKINGHAM. Will not King Richard let me speak with
No man knows whither. him?
KING RICHARD. I cry thee mercy. SHERIFF. No, my good lord; therefore be patient.
There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. BUCKINGHAM. Hastings, and Edward's children, Grey, and
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Rivers,
Reward to him that brings the traitor in? Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
THIRD MESSENGER. Such proclamation hath been made, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
my Lord. By underhand corrupted foul injustice,
Enter another MESSENGER If that your moody discontented souls
FOURTH MESSENGER. Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Do through the clouds behold this present hour,
Dorset, Even for revenge mock my destruction!This is All-Souls' day, fellow, is it not?
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. SHERIFF. It is, my lord.
But this good comfort bring I to your HighnessTheBritaine navy is dispers'd by tempest. BUCKINGHAM. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's
Richmond in Dorsetshire sent out a boat doomsday.
Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks This is the day which in King Edward's time
If they were his assistants, yea or no; I wish'd might fall on me when I was found
Who answer'd him they came from Buckingham False to his children and his wife's allies;
Upon his party. He, mistrusting them, This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Britaine. By the false faith of him whom most I trusted;
KING RICHARD. March on, march on, since we are up in This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul
arms; Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs;
If not to fight with foreign enemies, That high All-Seer which I dallied with
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head
Re-enter CATESBY And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
CATESBY. My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is takenThat Thus doth He force the swords of wicked men
is the best news. That the Earl of Richmond To turn their own points in their masters' bosoms.
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck.
Is colder tidings, yet they must be told. 'When he' quoth she 'shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a
KING RICHARD. Away towards Salisbury! While we reason prophetess.'
here Come lead me, officers, to the block of shame;
A royal battle might be won and lost. Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. Exeunt
Some one take order Buckingham be brought SCENE 2.
To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. Camp near Tamworth
Flourish. Exeunt Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, SIR JAMES BLUNT, SIR WALTER HERBERT, and others, with
SCENE 5. drum and
LORD DERBY'S house colours
Enter STANLEY and SIR CHRISTOPHER URSWICK RICHMOND. Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,
STANLEY. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me: Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,
That in the sty of the most deadly boar Thus far into the bowels of the land
My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold; Have we march'd on without impediment;
And here receive we from our father Stanley RICHMOND. Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come,
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. gentlemen,
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, Let us consult upon to-morrow's business.
That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines, In to my tent; the dew is raw and cold.
Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough [They withdraw into the tent]
In your embowell'd bosoms-this foul swine Enter, to his-tent, KING RICHARD, NORFOLK,
Is now even in the centre of this isle, RATCLIFF, and CATESBY
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn. KING RICHARD. What is't o'clock?
From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. CATESBY. It's supper-time, my lord;
In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, It's nine o'clock.
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace KING RICHARD. I will not sup to-night.
By this one bloody trial of sharp war. Give me some ink and paper.
OXFORD. Every man's conscience is a thousand men, What, is my beaver easier than it was?
To fight against this guilty homicide. And all my armour laid into my tent?
HERBERT. I doubt not but his friends will turn to us. CATESBY. It is, my liege; and all things are in readiness. KING RICHARD. Good Norfolk,
BLUNT. He hath no friends but what are friends for fear, hie thee to thy charge;
Which in his dearest need will fly from him. Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.
RICHMOND. All for our vantage. Then in God's name march. NORFOLK. I go, my lord.
True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings; KING RICHARD. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. NORFOLK. I warrant you, my
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. Exeunt lord. Exit KING RICHARD. Catesby!
SCENE 3. CATESBY. My lord?
Bosworth Field KING RICHARD. Send out a pursuivant-at-arms
Enter KING RICHARD in arms, with NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power
the EARL of SURREYS and others Before sunrising, lest his son George fall
KING RICHARD. Here pitch our tent, even here in Bosworth Into the blind cave of eternal night. Exit CATESBY Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a
field. watch.
My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.
SURREY. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.
KING RICHARD. My Lord of Norfolk! Ratcliff!
NORFOLK. Here, most gracious liege. RATCLIFF. My lord?
KING RICHARD. Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we KING RICHARD. Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord
not? Northumberland?
NORFOLK. We must both give and take, my loving lord. RATCLIFF. Thomas the Earl of Surrey and himself,
KING RICHARD. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night; Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop
[Soldiers begin to set up the KING'S tent] But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.
Who hath descried the number of the traitors? KING RICHARD. So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine. I have not that alacrity of
NORFOLK. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. spirit
KING RICHARD. Why, our battalia trebles that account; Nor cheer of mind that I was wont to have.Set it down. Is ink and paper ready?
Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength, RATCLIFF. It is, my lord.
Which they upon the adverse faction want.Up with the tent! Come, noble gentlemen, KING RICHARD. Bid my guard watch; leave me.
Let us survey the vantage of the ground. RATCLIFF, about the mid of night come to my tent
Call for some men of sound direction. And help to arm me. Leave me, I say.
Let's lack no discipline, make no delay; Exit RATCLIFF. RICHARD sleeps
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. Exeunt Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent;
Enter, on the other side of the field, LORDS attending
RICHMOND, SIR WILLIAM BRANDON, OXFORD, DORSET, DERBY. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm!
and others. Some pitch RICHMOND'S tent RICHMOND. All comfort that the dark night can afford
RICHMOND. The weary sun hath made a golden set, Be to thy person, noble father-in-law!
And by the bright tract of his fiery car Tell me, how fares our loving mother?
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. DERBY. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother,
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. Who prays continually for Richmond's good.
Give me some ink and paper in my tent. So much for that. The silent hours steal on,
I'll draw the form and model of our battle, And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
Limit each leader to his several charge, In brief, for so the season bids us be,
And part in just proportion our small power. Prepare thy battle early in the morning,
My Lord of Oxford-you, Sir William BrandonAnd And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
you, Sir Walter Herbert-stay with me. Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.
The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; I, as I may-that which I would I cannotWith
Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, best advantage will deceive the time
And by the second hour in the morning And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms;
Desire the Earl to see me in my tent. But on thy side I may not be too forward,
Yet one thing more, good Captain, do for meWhere Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,
is Lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know? Be executed in his father's sight.
BLUNT. Unless I have mista'en his colours muchWhich Farewell; the leisure and the fearful time
well I am assur'd I have not doneHis Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love
regiment lies half a mile at least And ample interchange of sweet discourse
South from the mighty power of the King. Which so-long-sund'red friends should dwell upon.
RICHMOND. If without peril it be possible, God give us leisure for these rites of love!
Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with him Once more, adieu; be valiant, and speed well!
And give him from me this most needful note. RICHMOND. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment.
BLUNT. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it; I'll strive with troubled thoughts to take a nap,
And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow
When I should mount with wings of victory. Now fills thy sleep with perturbations.
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. To-morrow in the battle think on me,
Exeunt all but RICHMOND O Thou, whose captain I account myself, And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die.
Look on my forces with a gracious eye; [To RICHMOND] Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep; Dream of success and happy
Put in their hands Thy bruising irons of wrath, victory.
That they may crush down with a heavy fall Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.
The usurping helmets of our adversaries! Enter the GHOST of BUCKINGHAM
Make us Thy ministers of chastisement, GHOST. [To RICHARD] The first was I that help'd thee
That we may praise Thee in the victory! to the crown;
To Thee I do commend my watchful soul The last was I that felt thy tyranny.
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes. O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! [Sleeps] And die in terror of thy guiltiness!
Enter the GHOST Of YOUNG PRINCE EDWARD, Dream on, dream on of bloody deeds and death;
son to HENRY THE SIXTH Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!
GHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy on thy soul [To RICHMOND] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid; But cheer thy heart and be thou
to-morrow! not dismay'd:
Think how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth God and good angels fight on Richmond's side;
At Tewksbury; despair, therefore, and die! And Richard falls in height of all his pride.
[To RICHMOND] Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged [The GHOSTS vanish. RICHARD starts out of his dream] KING RICHARD. Give me another
souls horse.
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf. Bind up my wounds.
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.
Enter the GHOST of HENRY THE SIXTH O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
GHOST. [To RICHARD] When I was mortal, my anointed The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
body Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
By thee was punched full of deadly holes. What do I fear? Myself? There's none else by.
Think on the Tower and me. Despair, and die. Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.Is there a murderer here? No-yes, I am.
Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason whyLest
[To RICHMOND] Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror! I revenge. What, myself upon myself!
Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be King, Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep. Live and flourish! That I myself have done unto myself?
Enter the GHOST of CLARENCEGHOST. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy soul O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself
to-morrow! I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, Poor Clarence, by thy guile For hateful deeds committed by myself!
betray'd to death! I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not.
To-morrow in the battle think on me, Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.
And fall thy edgeless sword. Despair and die! My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
[To RICHMOND] Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, The wronged heirs of York do pray And every tongue brings in a several tale,
for thee. And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Good angels guard thy battle! Live and flourish! Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree;
Enter the GHOSTS of RIVERS, GREY, and VAUGHAN Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st degree;
GHOST OF RIVERS. [To RICHARD] Let me sit heavy in thy All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
soul to-morrow, Throng to the bar, crying all 'Guilty! guilty!'
Rivers that died at Pomfret! Despair and die! I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;
GHOST OF GREY. [To RICHARD] Think upon Grey, and let And if I die no soul will pity me:
thy soul despair! And wherefore should they, since that I myself
GHOST OF VAUGHAN. [To RICHARD] Think upon Vaughan, Find in myself no pity to myself?
and with guilty fear Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
Let fall thy lance. Despair and die! Came to my tent, and every one did threat
ALL. [To RICHMOND] Awake, and think our wrongs in To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
Richard's bosom Enter RATCLIFF
Will conquer him. Awake and win the day. RATCLIFF. My lord!
Enter the GHOST of HASTINGS KING RICHARD. Zounds, who is there?
GHOST. [To RICHARD] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, RATCLIFF. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock Hath twice done salutation to
And in a bloody battle end thy days! the morn;
Think on Lord Hastings. Despair and die. Your friends are up and buckle on their armour.
[To RICHMOND] Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake! KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream! What think'st thou-will our
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! friends prove all true?
Enter the GHOSTS of the two young PRINCES RATCLIFF. No doubt, my lord.
GHOSTS. [To RICHARD] Dream on thy cousins smothered in KING RICHARD. O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear.
the Tower. RATCLIFF. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.
Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, KING RICHARD By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! Have stuck more terror to the soul of Richard
Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair and die. Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers
[To RICHMOND] Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond.
wake in joy; 'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy! Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,
Live, and beget a happy race of kings! To see if any mean to shrink from me. Exeunt
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. Enter the LORDS to RICHMOND sitting in his tent
Enter the GHOST of LADY ANNE, his wife LORDS. Good morrow, Richmond!
GHOST. [To RICHARD] Richard, thy wife, that wretched RICHMOND. Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,
Anne thy wife That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
That never slept a quiet hour with thee LORDS. How have you slept, my lord?
RICHMOND. The sweetest sleep and fairest-boding dreams And thus my battle shall be ordered:
That ever ent'red in a drowsy head My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,
Have I since your departure had, my lords. Consisting equally of horse and foot;
Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd Our archers shall be placed in the midst.
Came to my tent and cried on victory. John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,
I promise you my soul is very jocund Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.
In the remembrance of so fair a dream. They thus directed, we will follow
How far into the morning is it, lords? In the main battle, whose puissance on either side
LORDS. Upon the stroke of four. Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.
RICHMOND. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction. This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou,
His ORATION to his SOLDIERS Norfolk?
More than I have said, loving countrymen, NORFOLK. A good direction, warlike sovereign.
The leisure and enforcement of the time This found I on my tent this morning.
Forbids to dwell upon; yet remember this: [He sheweth him a paper]
God and our good cause fight upon our side; KING RICHARD. [Reads]
The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, 'Jockey of Norfolk, be not so bold,
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.'
Richard except, those whom we fight against A thing devised by the enemy.
Had rather have us win than him they follow. Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge.
For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen, Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls;
A bloody tyrant and a homicide; Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe.Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
One that made means to come by what he hath, March on, join bravely, let us to it pell-mell;
And slaughtered those that were the means to help him; If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil His ORATION to his ARMY
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;One that hath ever been God's enemy. What shall I say more than I have inferr'd?
Then if you fight against God's enemy, Remember whom you are to cope withalA
God will in justice ward you as his soldiers; sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, A scum of Britaines, and base lackey peasants,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
If you do fight against your country's foes, To desperate adventures and assur'd destruction.
Your country's foes shall pay your pains the hire; You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; They would restrain the one, distain the other.
If you do free your children from the sword, And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,
Your children's children quits it in your age. Long kept in Britaine at our mother's cost?
Then, in the name of God and all these rights, A milk-sop, one that never in his life
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
The least of you shall share his part thereof. Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully; For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves.
God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! Exeunt If we be conquered, let men conquer us,
Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, attendants, And not these bastard Britaines, whom our fathers
and forces Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
KING RICHARD. What said Northumberland as touching And, in record, left them the heirs of shame.
Richmond? Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives,
RATCLIFF. That he was never trained up in arms. Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off] Hark! I hear their drum.
KING RICHARD. He said the truth; and what said Surrey Fight, gentlemen of England! Fight, bold yeomen!
then? Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
RATCLIFF. He smil'd, and said 'The better for our purpose.' KING He was in the right; and Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
so indeed it is. Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
[Clock strikes] Tell the clock there. Give me a calendar. Enter a MESSENGER
Who saw the sun to-day? What says Lord Stanley? Will he bring his power?
RATCLIFF. Not I, my lord. MESSENGER. My lord, he doth deny to come.
KING RICHARD. Then he disdains to shine; for by the book KING RICHARD. Off with his son George's head!
He should have brav'd the east an hour ago. NORFOLK. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh.
A black day will it be to somebody. After the battle let George Stanley die.
Ratcliff! KING RICHARD. A thousand hearts are great within my
RATCLIFF. My lord? bosom.
KING RICHARD. The sun will not be seen to-day; Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me Upon them! Victory sits on our helms. Exeunt
More than to Richmond? For the selfsame heaven SCENE 4.
That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. Another part of the field
Enter NORFOLK Alarum; excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces; to him CATESBY
NORFOLK. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. CATESBY. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!
KING RICHARD. Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse; The King enacts more wonders than a man,
Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power. Daring an opposite to every danger.
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. Escalus, Prince of Verona.
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost. Paris, a young Count, kinsman to the Prince.
Alarums. Enter KING RICHARD Montague, heads of two houses at variance with each other. Capulet, heads of two houses
KING RICHARD. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! at variance with each other. An old Man, of the Capulet family.
CATESBY. Withdraw, my lord! I'll help you to a horse. Romeo, son to Montague.
KING RICHARD. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet.
And I Will stand the hazard of the die. Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo.
I think there be six Richmonds in the field; Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo
Five have I slain to-day instead of him. Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet.
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! Exeunt Friar Laurence, Franciscan.
SCENE 5. Friar John, Franciscan.
Another part of the field Balthasar, servant to Romeo.
Alarum. Enter RICHARD and RICHMOND; they fight; RICHARD is slain. Retreat and flourish. Abram, servant to Montague.
Enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with other LORDSRICHMOND. God and your Sampson, servant to Capulet.
arms be prais'd, victorious friends; The day is ours, the bloody Gregory, servant to Capulet.
dog is dead. Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse.An Apothecary.
DERBY. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee! Three Musicians.
Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty An Officer.
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Lady Montague, wife to Montague.
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal. Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet.
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. Juliet, daughter to Capulet.
RICHMOND. Great God of heaven, say Amen to all! Nurse to Juliet.
But, teLL me is young George Stanley living. Citizens of Verona; Gentlemen and Gentlewomen of both houses; Maskers, Torchbearers,
DERBY. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, Pages, Guards, Watchmen, Servants, and Attendants.
Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. SCENE.--Verona; Mantua.
RICHMOND. What men of name are slain on either side? THE PROLOGUE
DERBY. John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers, Enter Chorus.
Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon. Chor. Two households, both alike in dignity,
RICHMOND. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
That in submission will return to us. Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
We will unite the white rose and the red. A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
That long have frown'd upon their emnity! Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
What traitor hears me, and says not Amen? The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; And the continuance of their parents' rage,
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire; The which if you with patient ears attend,
All this divided York and Lancaster, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
Divided in their dire division, [Exit.]
O, now let Richmond and Elizabeth, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
The true succeeders of each royal house, SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! BY PROJECT
And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so, GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace, ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, YOUR OR OTHERS
That would reduce these bloody days again PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
And make poor England weep in streams of blood! COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives againThat ACT I. Scene I.
she may long live here, God say Amen! Exeunt Verona. A public place.
THE END Enter Sampson and Gregory (with swords and bucklers) of the house of Capulet.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Samp. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Greg. No, for then we should be colliers.
BY PROJECT Samp. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Samp. I strike quickly, being moved.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR Greg. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
YOUR OR OTHERS Samp. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Greg. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Samp. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man or maid
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> of Montague's.
1595 Greg. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.
THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET Samp. 'Tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the
by William Shakespeare wall. Therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall and thrust his maids to the
Dramatis Personae wall.
Chorus. Greg. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. Samp. 'Tis all one. I will
show myself a tyrant. When I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids- I For this time all the rest depart away.
will cut off their heads. You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
Greg. The heads of the maids? And, Montague, come you this afternoon,To know our farther pleasure in this case,
Samp. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads. To old Freetown, our common judgment place.
Take it in what sense thou wilt. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
Greg. They must take it in sense that feel it. Exeunt [all but Montague, his Wife, and Benvolio]. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new
Samp. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of abroach?
flesh. Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor-John. Draw thy Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary
tool! Here comes two of the house of Montagues. And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
Enter two other Servingmen [Abram and Balthasar].Samp. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I I drew to part them. In the instant came
will back thee. The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Greg. How? turn thy back and run? Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
Samp. Fear me not. He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Greg. No, marry. I fear thee! Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
Samp. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. Samp. Nay, as they Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is disgrace to them, if they bear it. Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? M. Wife. O, where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day?
Samp. I do bite my thumb, sir. Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Samp. [aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay? Greg. [aside to Sampson] No. Peer'd forth the golden window of the East,
Samp. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Greg. Do you quarrel, sir? Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
Abr. Quarrel, sir? No, sir. That westward rooteth from the city's side,
Samp. But if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you. Abr. No better. So early walking did I see your son.
Samp. Well, sir. Towards him I made; but he was ware of me
Enter Benvolio. And stole into the covert of the wood.
Greg. [aside to Sampson] Say 'better.' Here comes one of my master's kinsmen. I- measuring his affections by my own,
Samp. Yes, better, sir. Which then most sought where most might not be found,
Abr. You lie. Being one too many by my weary selfPursu'
Samp. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. d my humour, not Pursuing his,
They fight. Ben. Part, fools! [Beats down their swords.] And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Put up your swords. You know not what you do. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
Enter Tybalt. With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
Turn thee Benvolio! look upon thy death. But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Ben. I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, Should in the farthest East bean to draw
Or manage it to part these men with me. The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word Away from light steals home my heavy son
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. And private in his chamber pens himself,
Have at thee, coward! They fight. Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight
Enter an officer, and three or four Citizens with clubs or And makes himself an artificial night.
partisans. Black and portentous must this humour prove
Officer. Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! beat them down! Citizens. Down with the Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Capulets! Down with the Montagues! Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Enter Old Capulet in his gown, and his Wife. Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him
Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Wife. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword? Mon. Both by myself and many other friend;
Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come But he, his own affections' counsellor,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Is to himself- I will not say how trueBut
Enter Old Montague and his Wife. to himself so secret and so close,
Mon. Thou villain Capulet!- Hold me not, let me go. So far from sounding and discovery,
M. Wife. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Enter Prince Escalus, with his Train. Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air
Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steelWill Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, We would as willingly give cure as know.
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage Enter Romeo.
With purple fountains issuing from your veins! Ben. See, where he comes. So please you step aside,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
And hear the sentence of your moved prince. To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away,
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word Exeunt [Montague and Wife]. Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Rom. Is the day so young?
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets Ben. But new struck nine.
And made Verona's ancient citizens Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments Was that my father that went hence so fast?
To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Cank'red with peace, to part your cank'red hate. Rom. Not having that which having makes them short.
If ever you disturb our streets again, Ben. In love?
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. Rom. OutBen.
Of love? What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Rom. Out of her favour where I am in love. Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
Ben. Alas that love, so gentle in his view, Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!Rom. Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt.
Should without eyes see pathways to his will! Scene II.
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? A Street.
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Enter Capulet, County Paris, and [Servant] -the Clown.Cap. But Montague is bound as well as
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. I,
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
O anything, of nothing first create! For men so old as we to keep the peace.
O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long.
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. My child is yet a stranger in the world,
Dost thou not laugh? She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Let two more summers wither in their pride
Rom. Good heart, at what? Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest She is the hopeful lady of my earth.
With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. My will to her consent is but a part.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; An she agree, within her scope of choice
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Lies my consent and fair according voice.
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
What is it else? A madness most discreet, Whereto I have invited many a guest,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Such as I love; and you among the store,
Farewell, my coz. One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
Ben. Soft! I will go along. At my poor house look to behold this night
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.
Rom. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
This is not Romeo, he's some other where. When well apparell'd April on the heel
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love? Of limping Winter treads, even such delight
Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee? Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Ben. Groan? Why, no; Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,
But sadly tell me who. And like her most whose merit most shall be;
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will. Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! May stand in number, though in reck'ning none.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Come, go with me. [To Servant, giving him a paper] Go, sirrah, trudge about
Ben. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd. Through fair Verona; find those persons out
Rom. A right good markman! And she's fair I love. Whose names are written there, and to them say,
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. My house and welcome on their pleasure stayExeunt
Rom. Well, in that hit you miss. She'll not be hit [Capulet and Paris].
With Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit, Serv. Find them out whose names are written here? It is written that the shoemaker should
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil and the
From Love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and
She will not stay the siege of loving terms, can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned. In
Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, good time!
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold. Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
O, she's rich in beauty; only poor Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. One pain is lessoned by another's anguish;
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? Rom. She hath, and in that Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
sparing makes huge waste; One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity. And the rank poison of the old will die.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
To merit bliss by making me despair. Ben. For what, I pray thee?
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Rom. For your broken shin.
Do I live dead that live to tell it now. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Ben. Be rul'd by me: forget to think of her. Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think! Shut up in Prison, kept without my food,
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes. Whipp'd and tormented and- God-den, good fellow.
Examine other beauties. Serv. God gi' go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?
Rom. 'Tis the way Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
To call hers (exquisite) in question more. Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book. But I pray, can you read anything you
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, see?
Being black puts us in mind they hide the fair. Rom. Ay, If I know the letters and the language.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry!
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. He reads.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters; Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said,
The lady widow of Vitruvio; When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Signior Placentio and His lovely nieces; Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
Mercutio and his brother Valentine; To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!
Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; Shake, quoth the dovehouse! 'Twas no need, I trow,
My fair niece Rosaline and Livia; To bid me trudge.
Signior Valentio and His cousin Tybalt; And since that time it is eleven years,
Lucio and the lively Helena.'[Gives back the paper.] A fair assembly. Whither should they For then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood,
come? Serv. Up. She could have run and waddled all about;For even the day before, she broke her brow;
Rom. Whither? And then my husband (God be with his soul!
Serv. To supper, to our house. 'A was a merry man) took up the child.
Rom. Whose house? 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
Serv. My master's. Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Rom. Indeed I should have ask'd you that before. Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidam,
Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you The pretty wretch left crying, and said 'Ay.'
be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! To see now how a jest shall come about!
Exit. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's I warrant, an I should live a thousand yeas,
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st; I never should forget it. 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he, And, pretty fool, it stinted,
With all the admired beauties of Verona. and said 'Ay.'
Go thither, and with unattainted eye Wife. Enough of this. I pray thee hold thy peace.
Compare her face with some that I shall show, Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye And yet, I warrant, it bad upon it brow
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; A bump as big as a young cock'rel's stone;
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die, A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! 'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face?
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. Wilt thou not, Jule?' It stinted, and said 'Ay.'
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye; Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd.
Your lady's love against some other maid An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. Wife. Marry, that 'marry' is
That I will show you shining at this feast, the very theme
And she shall scant show well that now seems best. I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, How stands your disposition to be married?
But to rejoice in splendour of my own. [Exeunt.] Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
Scene III. Nurse. An honour? Were not I thine only nurse,
Capulet's house. I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
Enter Capulet's Wife, and Nurse. Wife. Well, think of marriage now. Younger than you,
Wife. Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me. Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old, Are made already mothers. By my count,
I bade her come. What, lamb! what ladybird! I was your mother much upon these years
God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:
Enter Juliet. The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
Jul. How now? Who calls? Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man
Nurse. Your mother. As all the world- why he's a man of wax.
Jul. Madam, I am here. Wife. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
What is your will? Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith- a very flower.
Wife. This is the matter- Nurse, give leave awhile, Wife. What say you? Can you love the gentleman?
We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again; This night you shall behold him at our feast.
I have rememb'red me, thou's hear our counsel. Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age. And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. Examine every married lineament,
Wife. She's not fourteen. And see how one another lends content;
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teethAnd And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies
yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but fourShe Find written in the margent of his eyes,
is not fourteen. How long is it now This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To Lammastide? To beautify him only lacks a cover.
Wife. A fortnight and odd days. The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, For fair without the fair within to hide.
Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen. That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls!) That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; So shall you share all that he doth possess,
She was too good for me. But, as I said, By having him making yourself no less.
On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen; Nurse. No less? Nay, bigger! Women grow by men
That shall she, marry; I remember it well. Wife. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move;
And she was wean'd (I never shall forget it), But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Of all the days of the year, upon that day; Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Enter Servingman.
Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall. Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for,
My lord and you were then at Mantua. the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait. I
beseech you follow straight. Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Wife. We follow thee. Exit [Servingman]. Juliet, the County stays. Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Exeunt. Not half so big as a round little worm
Scene IV. Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
A street. Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers; Torchbearers.Rom. What, Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
Or shall we on without apology? And in this state she 'gallops night by night
Ben. The date is out of such prolixity. Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight;
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
After the prompter, for our entrance; Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
But, let them measure us by what they will, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Rom. Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling. Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Being but heavy, I will bear the light. Then dreams he of another benefice.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
Rom. Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. Of healths five fadom deep; and then anon
Mer. You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And soar with them above a common bound. And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound That plats the manes of horses in the night
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish, hairs,
Under love's heavy burthen do I sink. Which once untangled much misfortune bodes
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burthen loveToo This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
great oppression for a tender thing. That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Rom. Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, Making them women of good carriage.
Too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like thorn. This is sheRom.
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Thou talk'st of nothing.
Give me a case to put my visage in. Mer. True, I talk of dreams;
A visor for a visor! What care I Which are the children of an idle brain,
What curious eye doth quote deformities? Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. Which is as thin of substance as the air,
Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
But every man betake him to his legs. Even now the frozen bosom of the North
Rom. A torch for me! Let wantons light of heart And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; Turning his face to the dew-dropping South.
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves.
I'll be a candle-holder and look on; Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives
Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word! Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st With this night's revels and expire the term
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
Rom. Nay, that's not so. By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
Mer. I mean, sir, in delay But he that hath the steerage of my course
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen!
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Ben. Strike, drum.
Five times in that ere once in our five wits. They march about the stage. [Exeunt.]
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this masque; Scene V.
But 'tis no wit to go. Capulet's house.
Mer. Why, may one ask? Servingmen come forth with napkins.
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! he
Mer. And so did I. scrape a trencher!
Rom. Well, what was yours? 1.
Mer. That dreamers often lie. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd
Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. too, 'tis a foul thing.
Mer. O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. 2.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes Serv. Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cubbert, look to the plate. Good
In shape no bigger than an agate stone thou, save me a piece of marchpane and, as thou loves me, let the porter let in
On the forefinger of an alderman, Susan Grindstone and Nell. Anthony, and Potpan!
Drawn with a team of little atomies 3.
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Serv. Ay, boy, ready. 4.
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs, Serv. You are look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought for, in the great
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; chamber.
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web; 5.
Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys! Be brisk awhile, and the You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul!
longer liver take all. Exeunt. You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
6. You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Enter the Maskers, Enter, [with Servants,] Capulet, his Wife, Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
Juliet, Tybalt, and all the Guests Cap. Go to, go to!
and Gentlewomen to the Maskers. You are a saucy boy. Is't so, indeed?
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes This trick may chance to scathe you. I know what.
Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you. You must contrary me! Marry, 'tis time.-
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Well said, my hearts!- You are a princox- go!
Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, Be quiet, or- More light, more light!- For shame!
She I'll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now? I'll make you quiet; what!- Cheerly, my hearts!
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
That I have worn a visor and could tell Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
Such as would please. 'Tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone!You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall. Exit. Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest
musicians, play. hand
A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
Music plays, and they dance. More light, you knaves! and turn the tables up, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet, For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
For you and I are past our dancing days. And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
How long is't now since last yourself and I Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Were in a mask? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray'r.
2. Cap. By'r Lady, thirty years. Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!
Cap. What, man? 'Tis not so much, 'tis not so much! They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Rom. Then move not while my prayer's effect I take.
Some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kisses her.] Jul. Then have my lips the
2. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more! His son is elder, sir; sin that they have took.
His son is thirty. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!
Cap. Will you tell me that? Give me my sin again. [Kisses her.] Jul. You kiss by th' book.
His son was but a ward two years ago. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
Rom. [to a Servingman] What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Rom. What is her mother?
Serv. I know not, sir. Nurse. Marry, bachelor,
Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her mother is the lady of the house.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's earBeauty I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal.
too rich for use, for earth too dear! I tell you, he that can lay hold of her
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows Shall have the chinks.
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. Rom. Is she a Capulet?
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague. We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave Is it e'en so? Why then, I thank you all.
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, I thank you, honest gentlemen. Good night.
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? More torches here! [Exeunt Maskers.] Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay,
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, it waxes late;
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. I'll to my rest.
Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? Wherefore storm you so? Exeunt [all but Juliet and Nurse]. Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
A villain, that is hither come in spite Jul. What's he that now is going out of door?
To scorn at our solemnity this night. Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
Cap. Young Romeo is it? Jul. What's he that follows there, that would not dance?
Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. Nurse. I know not.
Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone. Jul. Go ask his name.- If he be married,
'A bears him like a portly gentleman, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth. The only son of your great enemy.
I would not for the wealth of all this town Jul. My only love, sprung from my only hate!
Here in my house do him disparagement. Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Therefore be patient, take no note of him. Prodigious birth of love it is to me
It is my will; the which if thou respect, That I must love a loathed enemy.
Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, Nurse. What's this? what's this?
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. Jul. A rhyme I learnt even now
Tyb. It fits when such a villain is a guest. Of one I danc'd withal.
I'll not endure him. One calls within, 'Juliet.' Nurse. Anon, anon!
Cap. He shall be endur'd. Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt.
What, goodman boy? I say he shall. Go to! <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
Am I the master here, or you? Go to!
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YOUR OR OTHERS Scene II.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Capulet's orchard.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Enter Romeo.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Enter Juliet above at a window.
PROLOGUE But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
Enter Chorus. It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!
Chor. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
And young affection gapes to be his heir; Who is already sick and pale with grief
That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Be not her maid, since she is envious.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again, Her vestal livery is but sick and green,And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; It is my lady; O, it is my love!
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, O that she knew she were!
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks. She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Being held a foe, he may not have access Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear, I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks.
And she as much in love, her means much less Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
To meet her new beloved anywhere;But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Having some business, do entreat her eyes
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
Exit. What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
ACT II. Scene I. The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Enter Romeo alone. Would through the airy region stream so bright
Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here? That birds would sing and think it were not night.
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
[Climbs the wall and leaps down within it.] O that I were a glove upon that hand,
Enter Benvolio with Mercutio. That I might touch that cheek!
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo! Jul. Ay me!
Mer. He is wise, Rom. She speaks.
And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
Ben. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall. As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
Call, good Mercutio. As is a winged messenger of heaven
Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too. Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh; When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied! And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove'; Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, Deny thy father and refuse thy name!
One nickname for her purblind son and heir, Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar maid! Rom. [aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is
He heareth not, he stirreth not, be moveth not; my enemy.
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, What's in a name? That which we call a rose
That in thy likeness thou appear to us! By any other name would smell as sweet.
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Mer. This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger him Retain that dear perfection which he owes
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Till she had laid it and conjur'd it down. Take all myself.
That were some spite; my invocation Rom. I take thee at thy word.
Is fair and honest: in his mistress' name, Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
I conjure only but to raise up him. Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees Jul. What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night,
To be consorted with the humorous night. So stumblest on my counsel?
Blind is his love and best befits the dark. Rom. By a name
Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. I know not how to tell thee who I am.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit Because it is an enemy to thee.
As maids call medlars when they laugh alone. Had I it written, I would tear the word.
O, Romeo, that she were, O that she were Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
An open et cetera, thou a pop'rin pear! Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound.
Romeo, good night. I'll to my truckle-bed; Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. And yet I wish but for the thing I have.
Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
And the place death, considering who thou art, The more I have, for both are infinite.
If any of my kinsmen find thee here. I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu!
Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold [Nurse] calls within. Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
love out, Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit.] Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt. Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee. Enter Juliet above.
Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
Than twenty of their swords! Look thou but sweet, If that thy bent of love be honourable,
And I am proof against their enmity. Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And but thou love me, let them find me here. And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
My life were better ended by their hate And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. Nurse. (within) Madam!
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? Jul. I come, anon.- But if thou meanest not well,
Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire. I do beseech theeNurse.
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. (within) Madam!
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as farAs that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, Jul. By-and-by I come.-
I would adventure for such merchandise. To cease thy suit and leave me to my grief.
Jul. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face; To-morrow will I send.Rom. So thrive my soulJul.
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek A thousand times good night! Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light!
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books;
Fain would I dwell on form- fain, fain deny But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.
What I have spoke; but farewell compliment! Enter Juliet again, [above].
Dost thou love me, I know thou wilt say 'Ay'; Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer's voice
And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st, To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Thou mayst prove false. At lovers' perjuries, Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud;
They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, With repetition of my Romeo's name.
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, Romeo!
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
And therefore thou mayst think my haviour light; Like softest music to attending ears!
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Jul. Romeo!
Than those that have more cunning to be strange. Rom. My dear?
I should have been more strange, I must confess, Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, Shall I send to thee?
My true-love passion. Therefore pardon me, Rom. By the hour of nine.
And not impute this yielding to light love, Jul. I will not fail. 'Tis twenty years till then.
Which the dark night hath so discovered. I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it.
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree topsJul. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
That monthly changes in her circled orb, Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Forgetting any other home but this.
Rom. What shall I swear by? Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee goneAnd
Jul. Do not swear at all; yet no farther than a wanton's bird,
Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, That lets it hop a little from her hand,
Which is the god of my idolatry, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And I'll believe thee. And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
Rom. If my heart's dear loveJul. So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, Rom. I would I were thy bird.
I have no joy of this contract to-night. Jul. Sweet, so would I.
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, [Exit.] Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
May prove a beauteous flow'r when next we meet. Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
Come to thy heart as that within my breast! His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Exit
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? Scene III.
Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. Friar Laurence's cell.
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; Enter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket.
And yet I would it were to give again. Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,
Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love? Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light;
Jul. But to be frank and give it thee again. And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels. Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Non, ere the sun advance his burning eye Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet.
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. And art thou chang'd? Pronounce this sentence then:
The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb. Women may fall when there's no strength in men.
What is her burying gave, that is her womb; Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
And from her womb children of divers kind Friar. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
We sucking on her natural bosom find; Rom. And bad'st me bury love.
Many for many virtues excellent, Friar. Not in a grave
None but for some, and yet all different. To lay one in, another out to have.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies Rom. I pray thee chide not. She whom I love now
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities; Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live The other did not so.
But to the earth some special good doth give; Friar. O, she knew well
Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. But come, young waverer, come go with me.
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
And vice sometime's by action dignified. For this alliance may so happy prove
Within the infant rind of this small flower To turn your households' rancour to pure love.
Poison hath residence, and medicine power; Rom. O, let us hence! I stand on sudden haste.
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses Friar. Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
with the heart.Two such opposed kings encamp them still Exeunt.Scene IV.
In man as well as herbs- grace and rude will; A street.
And where the worser is predominant, Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Enter Romeo. Came he not home to-night?
Rom. Good morrow, father. Ben. Not to his father's. I spoke with his man.
Friar. Benedicite! Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so that he will
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? sure run mad.
Young son, it argues a distempered head Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed. Hath sent a letter to his father's house.
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, Mer. A challenge, on my life.
And where care lodges sleep will never lie; Ben. Romeo will answer it.
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter.
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd with a white wench's black eye; shot
Thou art uprous'd with some distemp'rature; through the ear with a love song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind
Or if not so, then here I hit it rightOur bow-boy's butt-shaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?
Rom. That last is true-the sweeter rest was mine. Mer. More than Prince of Cats, I can tell you. O, he's the courageous captain of
Friar. God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline? compliments. He fights as you sing pricksong-keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No. me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom! the very butcher of a silk
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. button, a duellist, a duellist! a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and
Friar. That's my good son! But where hast thou been then? Rom. I'll tell thee ere thou second cause. Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverse! the hay.
ask it me again. Ben. The what?
I have been feasting with mine enemy, Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes- these new tuners of accent!
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a
That's by me wounded. Both our remedies lamentable thing, grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies,
Within thy help and holy physic lies. these fashion-mongers, these pardona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form that they
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones!
My intercession likewise steads my foe. Enter Romeo.
Friar. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift Ben. Here comes Romeo! here comes Romeo!
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now
Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet; wench (marry, she had a better love to berhyme her), Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypsy,
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, This be a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose.
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the
By holy marriage. When, and where, and how counterfeit fairly last night.
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? Mer. The slip, sir, the
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, slip. Can you not conceive?
That thou consent to marry us to-day. Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may
Friar. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here! strain courtesy.
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies Rom. Meaning, to cursy.
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine Rom. A most courteous exposition.
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
How much salt water thrown away in waste, Rom. Pink for flower.
To season love, that of it doth not taste! Mer. Right.
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Rom. Why, then is my pump well-flower'd.
Thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears. Mer. Well said! Follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that, when the
single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular. the gentlewoman is young; and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it
Rom. O single-sold jest, solely singular for the singleness! Mer. Come between us, good were an ill thing to be off'red to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. Rom. Nurse,
Benvolio! My wits faint. commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto theeNurse.
Rom. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs! or I'll cry a match. Mer. Nay, if our wits run the Good heart, and I faith I will tell her as much. Lord,
wild-goose chase, I am done; for thou hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits Lord! she will be a joyful woman.
than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose? Rom. Thou Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? Thou dost not mark me. Nurse. I will tell her, sir,
wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there for the goose. that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. Rom. Bid her devise
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not! Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. Rom. And is it not, And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell
then, well serv'd in to a sweet goose? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.
from an inch narrow to an ell broad! Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.
Rom. I stretch it out for that word 'broad,' which, added to the goose, proves thee far Rom. Go to! I say you shall.
and wide a broad goose. Nurse. This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall.
thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature. For this drivelling Within this hour my man shall be with thee
love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,
Ben. Stop there, stop there! Which to the high topgallant of my joy
Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. Ben. Thou wouldst else have Must be my convoy in the secret night.
made thy tale large. Farewell. Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.
Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd! I would have made it short; for I was come to the whole depth Farewell. Commend me to thy mistress.
of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer. Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
Rom. Here's goodly gear!Enter Nurse and her Man [Peter]. Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse?Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
Mer. A sail, a sail! Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
Ben. Two, two! a shirt and a smock. Rom. I warrant thee my man's as true as steel.
Nurse. Peter! Nurse. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little
Peter. Anon. prating thing- O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife
Nurse. My fan, Peter. aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her
Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face of the two. sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but I'll warrant you, when I say
Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin
Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. both with a letter?
Nurse. Is it good-den? Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? Both with an R.
Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the- No; I know it begins with some
noon. other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it
Nurse. Out upon you! What a man are you! would do you good to hear it.
Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse. By my troth, it is Rom. Commend me to thy lady.
well said. 'For himself to mar,' quoth 'a? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit Romeo.] Peter!
find the young Romeo? Peter. Anon.
Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before, and apace.
when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Exeunt.
Nurse. You say well. Scene V.
Mer. Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i' faith! wisely, wisely. Capulet's orchard.
Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. Ben. She will endite him to Enter Juliet.
some supper. Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho! In half an hour she 'promis'd to return.
Rom. What hast thou found? Perchance she cannot meet him. That's not so.
Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar O, she is lame! Love's heralds should be thoughts,
ere it be spent Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams
He walks by them and sings. Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.
An old hare hoar, Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,
And an old hare hoar, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Is very good meat in Lent; Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
But a hare that is hoar Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve
Is too much for a score Is three long hours; yet she is not come.
When it hoars ere it be spent. Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
Romeo, will you come to your father's? We'll to dinner thither. Rom. I will follow you. She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
Mer. Farewell, ancient lady. Farewell, My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
[sings] lady, lady, lady. And his to me,
Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio. Nurse. Marry, farewell! I Pray you, Sir, what saucy merchant But old folks, many feign as they were deadUnwieldy,
was this that was so full of his ropery? slow, heavy and pale as lead.
Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk and will speak more in a minute Enter Nurse [and Peter].
than he will stand to in a month. Nurse. An 'a speak anything against me, I'll take him O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?
down, an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty such jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.
skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his [Exit Peter.] Jul. Now, good sweet nurse- O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be
pleasure! Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure. If I had, my weapon should quickly sad, yet tell them merrily;
have been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news
good quarrel, and the law on my side. By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.
you, sir, a word; and, as I told you, my young lady bid me enquire you out. What she bid Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!
me say, I will keep to myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.
fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for Nay, come, I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse, speak.
Nurse. Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile? Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Do you not see that I am out of breath? Friar. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Jul. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
To say to me that thou art out of breath? Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that. This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance. Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Receive in either by this dear encounter.
Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. Romeo? Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
No, Brags of his substance, not of ornament.
not he. Though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a They are but beggars that can count their worth;
hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past But my true love is grown to such excess
compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you din'd at home? Friar. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
Jul. No, no. But all this did I know before. For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
What says he of our marriage? What of that? Till Holy Church incorporate two in one.
Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I! [Exeunt.]<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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"Where is your mother?"' ACT III. Scene I.
Nurse. O God's Lady dear! A public place.
Are you so hot? Marry come up, I trow. Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Men.
Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire.
Henceforward do your messages yourself. The day is hot, the Capulets abroad.
Jul. Here's such a coil! Come, what says Romeo? And if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,
Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
Jul. I have. Mer. Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern,
Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the
There stays a husband to make you a wife. operation of the second cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. Ben.
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks: Am I like such a fellow?
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to
Hie you to church; I must another way, be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Ben. And what to?
Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark. Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in
But you shall bear the burthen soon at night. his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other
Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a
Jul. Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath
Exeunt. been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrell'd with a man for
Scene VI. coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun.
Friar Laurence's cell. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter, with
Enter Friar [Laurence] and Romeo. another for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from
Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act quarrelling!
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not! Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee simple of my
Rom. Amen, amen! But come what sorrow can, life for an hour and a quarter.
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy Mer. The fee simple? O simple!
That one short minute gives me in her sight. Enter Tybalt and others.
Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Then love-devouring death do what he dareIt Mer. By my heel, I care not.
is enough I may but call her mine. Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Friar. These violent delights have violent ends Gentlemen, good den. A word with one of you.
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Mer. And but one word with one of us?
Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion.
And in the taste confounds the appetite. Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving
Therefore love moderately: long love doth so; Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Mer. Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? An thou make minstrels of us, look to
Enter Juliet. hear nothing but discords. Here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance.
Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot Zounds, consort! Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men.
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint. Either withdraw unto some private place
A lover may bestride the gossamer And reason coldly of your grievances,
That idles in the wanton summer air, Or else depart. Here all eyes gaze on us.
And yet not fall; so light is vanity. Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, Staying for thine to keep him company.
Enter Romeo. Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man. Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery. Shalt with him hence.
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower! Rom. This shall determine that.
Your worship in that sense may call him man. They fight. Tybalt falls. Ben. Romeo, away, be gone!
Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
No better term than this: thou art a villain. Stand not amaz'd. The Prince will doom thee death
Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage Rom. O, I am fortune's fool!
To such a greeting. Villain am I none. Ben. Why dost thou stay?
Therefore farewell. I see thou knowest me not. Exit Romeo.
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries Enter Citizens.Citizen. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. Tybalt, that murtherer, which way ran he?
Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee, Ben. There lies that Tybalt.
But love thee better than thou canst devise Citizen. Up, sir, go with me.
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love; I charge thee in the Prince's name obey.
And so good Capulet, which name I tender Enter Prince [attended], Old Montague, Capulet, their Wives,
As dearly as mine own, be satisfied. and [others].
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!Alla stoccata carries it away. [Draws.] Tybalt, you Prince. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
ratcatcher, will you walk? Ben. O noble Prince. I can discover all
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.
Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. That I mean to make bold There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears Cap. Wife. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!
ere it be out. O Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill'd
Tyb. I am for you. [Draws.] Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
Mer. Come, sir, your passado! For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.
[They fight.] Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. O cousin, cousin!
Gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage! Prince. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did stay.
Forbid this bandying in Verona streets. Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio! How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Tybalt under Romeo's arm thrusts Mercutio in, and flies Your high displeasure. All this- uttered
[with his Followers]. Mer. I am hurt. With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'dCould
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. not take truce with the unruly spleen
Is he gone and hath nothing? Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
Ben. What, art thou hurt? With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, 'tis enough. Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
[Exit Page.] Rom. Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much. Cold death aside and with the other sends
Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
'twill serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,
warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down
cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book their fatal points,
of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
Rom. I thought all for the best. An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,
They have made worms' meat of me. I have it, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And soundly too. Your houses! And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
[Exit. [supported by Benvolio]. Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally, Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
My very friend, hath got this mortal hurt And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
In my behalf- my reputation stain'd This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
With Tybalt's slander- Tybalt, that an hour Cap. Wife. He is a kinsman to the Montague;
Hath been my kinsman. O sweet Juliet, Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And in my temper soft'ned valour's steel And all those twenty could but kill one life.
Enter Benvolio. I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give.
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! Romeo slew Tybalt; Romeo must not live.
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, Prince. Romeo slew him; he slew Mercutio.
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
Rom. This day's black fate on moe days doth depend; Mon. Not Romeo, Prince; he was Mercutio's friend;
This but begins the woe others must end. His fault concludes but what the law should end,
Enter Tybalt. The life of Tybalt.
Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. Prince. And for that offence
Rom. Alive in triumph, and Mercutio slain? Immediately we do exile him hence.
Away to heaven respective lenity, I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now! My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
Now, Tybalt, take the 'villain' back again But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
Is but a little way above our heads, I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.
Therefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he is found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will.
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
Capulet's orchard.
Enter Juliet alone.
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging! Such a wagonerAs Phaeton would whip you to the West
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle till strange love, grown bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back.
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night;
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd. So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
Enter Nurse, with cords.
And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch?
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.
[Throws them down.] Jul. Ay me! what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands
Nurse. Ah, weraday! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
We are undone, lady, we are undone!
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse. Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo!
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
Jul. What devil art thou that dost torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but 'I,'
And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.
I am not I, if there be such an 'I';
Or those eyes shut that make thee answer 'I.'
If be be slain, say 'I'; or if not, 'no.'
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
(God save the mark!) here on his manly breast.
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.
Jul. O, break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once!
To prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman
That ever I should live to see thee dead!
Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaught'red, and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living, if those two are gone?
Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.
Jul. O God! Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?
Nurse. It did, it did! alas the day, it did!
Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'stA
damned saint, an honourable villain!
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
Nurse. There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah, where's my man? Give me some aqua vitae.
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue
For such a wish! He was not born to shame.
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit;
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? Jul. Shall I speak ill of him
that is my husband?
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name
When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband.
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring!
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband.
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murd'red me. I would forget it fain;
But O, it presses to my memory
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds!
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo- banished.'
That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there;
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why followed not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
But with a rearward following Tybalt's death,
'Romeo is banished'- to speak that word
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished'-
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
Where is my father and my mother, nurse?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse.
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? Mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for
Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil'd,
Both you and I, for Romeo is exil'd.
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse. I'll to my wedding bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber. I'll find Romeo
To comfort you. I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O, find him! give this ring to my true knight
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
Exeunt.
Scene III.
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar [Laurence].Friar. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.
Affliction is enanmour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. Father, what news? What is the Prince's doom
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand
That I yet know not?
Friar. Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company.
I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.
Rom. What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom?
Friar. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lipsNot
body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say 'death';
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death. Do not say 'banishment.'
Friar. Hence from Verona art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exile is death. Then 'banishment'
Is death misterm'd. Calling death 'banishment,'
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
Friar. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven and may look on her;
But Romeo may not. More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not- he is banished.
This may flies do, when I from this must fly;
They are free men, but I am banished.
And sayest thou yet that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But 'banished' to kill me- 'banished'?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howling attends it! How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
Friar. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak.
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Friar. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Rom. Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not. Talk no more.
Friar. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
Friar. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I
do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Knock [within]. Friar. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,
Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. Knock. Friar. Hark, how they knock! Who'sthere?
Romeo, arise;
Thou wilt be taken.- Stay awhile!- Stand up; Knock. Run to my study.- By-and-by!- God's
will,
What simpleness is this.- I come, I come! Knock. Who knocks so hard? Whence come you?
What's your will
Nurse. [within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand. I come from Lady Juliet.
Friar. Welcome then.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?
Friar. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse. O, he is even in my
mistress' case,
Just in her case!
Friar. O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament!
Nurse. Even so lies she,
Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Stand up, stand up! Stand, an you be a man.
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand!
Why should you fall into so deep an O?
Rom. (rises) NurseNurse.
Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.
Rom. Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murtherer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd but little from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she! and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?
Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
Rom. As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murther her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion. [Draws his dagger.] Friar. Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art;
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast.
Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why railest thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth and heaven and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit,
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. Par. Monday, my lord.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon.
Digressing from the valour of a man; Thursday let it be- a Thursday, tell her
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, She shall be married to this noble earl.
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Will you be ready? Do you like this haste?
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, We'll keep no great ado- a friend or two;
Misshapen in the conduct of them both, For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask, It may be thought we held him carelessly,
is get afire by thine own ignorance, Being our kinsman, if we revel much.
And thou dismemb'red with thine own defence. Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
What, rouse thee, man! Thy Juliet is alive, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead. Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, Cap. Well, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.
But thou slewest Tybalt. There art thou happy too. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed;
The law, that threat'ned death, becomes thy friend Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day.
And turns it to exile. There art thou happy. Farewell, My lord.- Light to my chamber, ho!
A pack of blessings light upon thy back; Afore me, It is so very very late
Happiness courts thee in her best array; That we may call it early by-and-by.
But, like a misbhav'd and sullen wench, Good night.
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love. ExeuntScene V.
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.Go get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Capulet's orchard.
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her. Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft, at the Window.
But look thou stay not till the watch be set, Jul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua, It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
Where thou shalt live till we can find a time That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear.
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.
Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn;
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
Go before, nurse. Commend me to thy lady, Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East.
And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto. Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
Romeo is coming. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night Jul. Yond light is not daylight; I know it, I.
To hear good counsel. O, what learning is! It is some meteor that the sun exhales
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. To be to thee this night a torchbearer
Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. And light thee on the way to Mantua.
Nurse. Here is a ring she bid me give you, sir. Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death.
this! I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
Friar. Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
watch be set, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence. Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat
Sojourn in Mantua. I'll find out your man, The vaulty heaven so high above our heads.
And he shall signify from time to time I have more care to stay than will to go.
Every good hap to you that chances here. Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
Give me thy hand. 'Tis late. Farewell; good night. How is't, my soul? Let's talk; it is not day.
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, Jul. It is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away!
It were a grief so brief to part with thee. It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Farewell. Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Exeunt. Some say the lark makes sweet division;
Scene IV. This doth not so, for she divideth us.
Capulet's house Some say the lark and loathed toad chang'd eyes;
Enter Old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris. O, now I would they had chang'd voices too,
Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
That we have had no time to move our daughter. Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day!
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, O, now be gone! More light and light it grows.
And so did I. Well, we were born to die. Rom. More light and light- more dark and dark our woes!
'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night. Enter Nurse.
I promise you, but for your company, Nurse. Madam!
I would have been abed an hour ago. Jul. Nurse?
Par. These times of woe afford no tune to woo. Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter. The day is broke; be wary, look about.
Lady. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. [Exit.] Rom. Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll descend.
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender He goeth down. Jul. Art thou gone so, my lord, my love, my friend?
Of my child's love. I think she will be rul'd I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not. For in a minute there are many days.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; O, by this count I shall be much in years
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love Ere I again behold my Romeo!
And bid her (mark you me?) on Wednesday nextBut, Rom. Farewell!
soft! what day is this? I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. He shall not make me there a joyful bride!
Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve Ere he that should be husband comes to woo.
For sweet discourses in our time to come. I pray you tell my lord and father, madam,
Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul! I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. Lady. Here comes your father. Tell him so yourself,
Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. And see how be will take it at your hands.
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! Enter Capulet and Nurse.
Exit. Cap. When the sun sets the air doth drizzle dew,
Jul. O Fortune, Fortune! all men call thee fickle. But for the sunset of my brother's son
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him It rains downright.
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, Fortune, How now? a conduit, girl? What, still in tears?
For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long Evermore show'ring? In one little body
But send him back. Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind:
Lady. [within] Ho, daughter! are you up? For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Jul. Who is't that calls? It is my lady mother. Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is
Is she not down so late, or up so early?What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs,
Enter Mother. Who, raging with thy tears and they with them,Without a sudden calm will overset
Lady. Why, how now, Juliet? Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?
Jul. Madam, I am not well. Have you delivered to her our decree?
Lady. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? Lady. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? I would the fool were married to her grave!
An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live. Cap. Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife.
Therefore have done. Some grief shows much of love; How? Will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?
But much of grief shows still some want of wit. Is she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
Lady. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Which you weep for. Jul. Not proud you have, but thankful that you have.
Jul. Feeling so the loss, Proud can I never be of what I hate,
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. But thankful even for hate that is meant love.
Lady. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death Cap. How, how, how, how, choplogic? What is this?
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. 'Proud'- and 'I thank you'- and 'I thank you not'-
Jul. What villain, madam? And yet 'not proud'? Mistress minion you,
Lady. That same villain Romeo. Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
Jul. [aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.- But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Lady. That is because the traitor murderer lives. Out, you green-sickness carrion I out, you baggage!
Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. You tallow-face!
Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! Lady. Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
Lady. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not. Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram I tell thee what- get thee to church a Thursday
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; Or never after look me in the face.
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. Speak not, reply not, do not answer me!
Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest
With Romeo till I behold him- deadIs That God had lent us but this only child;
my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd. But now I see this one is one too much,
Madam, if you could find out but a man And that we have a curse in having her.
To bear a poison, I would temper it; Out on her, hilding!
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Nurse. God in heaven bless her!
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
To hear him nam'd and cannot come to him, Cap. And why, my Lady Wisdom? Hold your tongue,
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Good Prudence. Smatter with your gossips, go!
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! Nurse. I speak no treason.
Lady. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. Cap. O, God-i-god-en!
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. Nurse. May not one speak?
Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time. Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool!
What are they, I beseech your ladyship? Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
Lady. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; For here we need it not.
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Lady. You are too hot.
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy Cap. God's bread I it makes me mad. Day, night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in
That thou expects not nor I look'd not for. company,
Jul. Madam, in happy time! What day is that? Waking or sleeping, still my care hath been
Lady. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn To have her match'd; and having now provided
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, A gentleman of princely parentage,
The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
Jul. Now by Saint Peter's Church, and Peter too, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a manAnd
then to have a wretched puling fool, Friar Laurence's cell.
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, Enter Friar, [Laurence] and County Paris.
To answer 'I'll not wed, I cannot love; Friar. On Thursday, sir? The time is very short.
I am too young, I pray you pardon me'! Par. My father Capulet will have it so,
But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you. And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me. Friar. You say you do not know the lady's mind.
Look to't, think on't; I do not use to jest. Uneven is the course; I like it not.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good. That she do give her sorrow so much sway,
Trust to't. Bethink you. I'll not be forsworn. Exit. Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the And in his wisdom hastes our marriage
clouds To stop the inundation of her tears,
That sees into the bottom of my grief? Which, too much minded by herself alone,
O sweet my mother, cast me not away! May be put from her by society.
Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Now do you know the reason of this haste.
Or if you do not, make the bridal bed Friar. [aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.- Look, sir, here comes the
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. lady toward my cell.
Lady. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word. Enter Juliet.
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit. Jul. O God!- O nurse, how shall this be Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife!
prevented? Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven. Par. That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.
How shall that faith return again to earth Jul. What must be shall be.
Unless that husband send it me from heavenBy leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me. Friar. That's a certain text.
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Par. Come you to make confession to this father?
Upon so soft a subject as myself! Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you.
What say'st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy? Par. Do not deny to him that you love me.Jul. I will confess to you that I love him.
Some comfort, nurse. Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.
Nurse. Faith, here it is. Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price,
Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.
Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Jul. The tears have got small victory by that,
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, For it was bad enough before their spite.
I think it best you married with the County. Par. Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report.
O, he's a lovely gentleman! Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
Romeo's a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam, And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast sland'red it.
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.
I think you are happy in this second match, Are you at leisure, holy father, now,
For it excels your first; or if it did not, Or shall I come to you at evening mass
Your first is dead- or 'twere as good he were Friar. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
As living here and you no use of him. My lord, we must entreat the time alone.
Jul. Speak'st thou this from thy heart? Par. God shield I should disturb devotion!
Nurse. And from my soul too; else beshrew them both. Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye.
Jul. Amen! Till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss. Exit. Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou
Nurse. What? hast done so,
Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Come weep with me- past hope, past cure, past help!
Go in; and tell my lady I am gone, Friar. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell, It strains me past the compass of my wits.
To make confession and to be absolv'd. I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit. Jul. Ancient damnation! O most On Thursday next be married to this County.
wicked fiend! Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare Do thou but call my resolution wise
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor! And with this knife I'll help it presently.
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
I'll to the friar to know his remedy. And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo's seal'd,
If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit. Shall be the label to another deed,
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DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Friar. Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,
ACT IV. Scene I. Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent. Enter Juliet.
If, rather than to marry County Paris Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look.
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Cap. How now, my headstrong? Where have you been gadding? Jul. Where I have learnt me
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake to
A thing like death to chide away this shame, repent the sin
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; Of disobedient opposition
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy. To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here
From off the battlements of yonder tower, To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you!
Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears, Cap. Send for the County. Go tell him of this.
Or shut me nightly in a charnel house, I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
O'ercover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; And gave him what becomed love I might,
Or bid me go into a new-made grave Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
And hide me with a dead man in his shroudThings Cap. Why, I am glad on't. This is well. Stand up.
that, to hear them told, have made me trembleAnd This is as't should be. Let me see the County.
I will do it without fear or doubt, Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar,
Friar. Hold, then. Go home, be merry, give consent All our whole city is much bound to him.
To marry Paris. Wednesday is to-morrow. Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; To help me sort such needful ornaments
Let not the nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?
Take thou this vial, being then in bed, Mother. No, not till Thursday. There is time enough.
And this distilled liquor drink thou off; Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. We'll to church to-morrow.
When presently through all thy veins shall run Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. Mother. We shall be short in our provision.
A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse 'Tis now near night.
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease; Cap. Tush, I will stir about,
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone.
To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho!
Like death when he shuts up the day of life; They are all forth; well, I will walk myself
Each part, depriv'd of supple government,Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; To County Paris, to prepare him up
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death Against to-morrow. My heart is wondrous light,
Thou shalt continue two-and-forty hours, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Exeunt.
Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes Scene III.
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead. Juliet's chamber.
Then, as the manner of our country is, Enter Juliet and Nurse.
In thy best robes uncovered on the bier Jul. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault I pray thee leave me to myself to-night;
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. For I have need of many orisons
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift; Which, well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin.
And hither shall he come; and he and I Enter Mother.
Will watch thy waking, and that very night Mother. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
And this shall free thee from this present shame, As are behooffull for our state to-morrow.
If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear So please you, let me now be left alone,
Abate thy valour in the acting it. And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
Jul. Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! For I am sure you have your hands full all
Friar. Hold! Get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this so sudden business.
In this resolve. I'll send a friar with speed Mother. Good night.
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.
Jul. Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father. Exeunt [Mother and Nurse.] Jul. Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.
Exeunt. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
Scene II. That almost freezes up the heat of life.
Capulet's house. I'll call them back again to comfort me.
Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Servingmen, Nurse!- What should she do here?
two or three. My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. Come, vial.
[Exit a Servingman.] Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. What if this mixture do not work at all?
Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?
Cap. How canst thou try them so? No, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.
Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers. Therefore he that Lays down a dagger. What if it be a poison which the friar
cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. Subtilly hath minist'red to have me dead,
Cap. Go, begone. Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd
Exit Servingman. We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. Because he married me before to Romeo?
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? I fear it is; and yet methinks it should not,
Nurse. Ay, forsooth. For he hath still been tried a holy man.
Cap. Well, be may chance to do some good on her. I will not entertain so bad a thought.
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
Come to redeem me? There's a fearful point! The County Paris hath set up his rest
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me!
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, Marry, and amen. How sound is she asleep!
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!
Or, if I live, is it not very like Ay, let the County take you in your bed!
The horrible conceit of death and night, He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?
Together with the terror of the placeAs [Draws aside the curtains.] What, dress'd, and in your clothes, and down again?
in a vault, an ancient receptacle I must needs wake you. Lady! lady! lady!
Where for this many hundred years the bones Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady's dead!
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; O weraday that ever I was born!
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Some aqua-vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!
Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say, Enter Mother.Mother. What noise is here?
At some hours in the night spirits resortAlack, Nurse. O lamentable day!
alack, is it not like that I, Mother. What is the matter?
So early waking- what with loathsome smells, Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day!
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, Mother. O me, O me! My child, my only life!
That living mortals, hearing them, run madO, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Help, help! Call help.
Environed with all these hideous fears, Enter Father.
And madly play with my forefathers' joints, Father. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud., Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd; she's dead! Alack the day!
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone Mother. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! Cap. Ha! let me see her. Out
As with a club dash out my desp'rate brains? alas! she's cold,
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his bodyUpon a rapier's point. Stay, Tybalt, stay! Life and these lips have long been separated.
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. Death lies on her like an untimely frost
She [drinks and] falls upon her bed within the curtains. Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Scene IV. Nurse. O lamentable day!
Capulet's house. Mother. O woful time!
Enter Lady of the House and Nurse. Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
Lady. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse. They call for dates and Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.
quinces in the pastry. Enter Friar [Laurence] and the County [Paris], with Musicians.
Enter Old Capulet. Friar. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow'd, The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
three o'clock. O son, the night before thy wedding day
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica; Hath Death lain with thy wife. See, there she lies,
Spare not for cost. Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go, Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
Get you to bed! Faith, you'll be sick to-morrow My daughter he hath wedded. I will die
For this night's watching. And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death's.
Cap. No, not a whit. What, I have watch'd ere now Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Lady. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; Mother. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
But I will watch you from such watching now. Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
Exeunt Lady and Nurse. Cap. A jealous hood, a jealous hood! In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
Enter three or four [Fellows, with spits and logs and baskets. But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
What is there? Now, fellow, But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
Fellow. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. And cruel Death hath catch'd it from my sight!
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit Fellow.] Sirrah, fetch drier Nurse. O woe? O woful, woful, woful day!
logs. Most lamentable day, most woful day
Call Peter; he will show thee where they are. That ever ever I did yet behold!
Fellow. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
And never trouble Peter for the matter. Never was seen so black a day as this.
Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! O woful day! O woful day!
Thou shalt be loggerhead. [Exit Fellow.] Good faith, 'tis day. The County will be here Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
with music straight, Most detestable Death, by thee beguil'd,
For so he said he would. Play music. I hear him near. By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! O love! O life! not life, but love in death
Enter Nurse. Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
Go waken Juliet; go and trim her up. Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now
I'll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste, To murther, murther our solemnity?
Make haste! The bridegroom he is come already: O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Make haste, I say. Dead art thou, dead! alack, my child is dead,
[Exeunt.] And with my child my joys are buried!
Scene V. Friar. Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion's cure lives not
Juliet's chamber. In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
[Enter Nurse.] Had part in this fair maid! now heaven hath all,
Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she. Why, lamb! why, lady! And all the better is it for the maid.
Fie, you slug-abed! Your part in her you could not keep from death,
Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! Why, bride! But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now! The most you sought was her promotion,
For 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd; SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd BY PROJECT
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For though fond nature bids us all lament, ACT V. Scene I.
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. Mantua. A street.
Cap. All things that we ordained festival Enter Romeo.
Turn from their office to black funeralOurinstruments to melancholy bells, Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast; My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change; My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse; And all this day an unaccustom'd spiritLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
And all things change them to the contrary. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead
Friar. Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; (Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think!)
And go, Sir Paris. Every one prepare And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips
To follow this fair corse unto her grave. That I reviv'd and was an emperor.
The heavens do low'r upon you for some ill; Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
Move them no more by crossing their high will. When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!
Exeunt. Manent Musicians [and Nurse]. Enter Romeo's Man Balthasar, booted.
Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone. Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, News from Verona! How now, Balthasar?
put up, put up! For well you know this is a pitiful case. [Exit.] Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
1. How doth my lady? Is my father well?
Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 2. How fares my Juliet? That I ask again,
Enter Peter. For nothing can be ill if she be well.
Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's ease'! O, an you will have me Man. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
live, play 'Heart's ease.' Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
Mus. Why 'Heart's ease'', Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My And her immortal part with angels lives.
heart is full of woe.' O, play me some merry dump to comfort me. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault
1. And presently took post to tell it you.
Mus. Not a dump we! 'Tis no time to play now. Pet. You will not then? 2. O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Mus. No. Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 3. Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Mus. What will you give us? Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give Rom. Is it e'en so? Then I defy you, stars!
you the Thou knowest my lodging. Get me ink and paper
minstrel. And hire posthorses. I will hence to-night.
4. Man. I do beseech you, sir, have patience.
Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. Pet. Then will I lay the Your looks are pale and wild and do import
serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you, Some misadventure.
I'll fa you. Do you note me? Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd.
5. Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.
Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us. 6. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Mus. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit. Pet. Then have at you with Man. No, my good lord.
my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me Rom. No matter. Get thee gone
like men. And hire those horses. I'll be with thee straight.
7. Exit [Balthasar]. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
'When griping grief the heart doth wound, Let's see for means. O mischief, thou art swift
And doleful dumps the mind oppress, To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
Then music with her silver sound'- I do remember an apothecary,
Why 'silver sound'? Why 'music with her silver sound'? And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
What say you, Simon Catling? In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. Pet. Pretty! What say You, Hugh Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks,
Rebeck? Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
1. And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
Mus. I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver. Pet. Pretty too! What An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
say you, James Soundpost? Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
2. A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer. I Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound' because musicians have no Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
gold for sounding. Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.
3. Noting this penury, to myself I said,
'Then music with her silver sound 'An if a man did need a poison now
With speedy help doth lend redress.' [Exit. Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same? 1. Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.'
Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. O, this same thought did but forerun my need,
Exeunt. And this same needy man must sell it me.
2. As I remember, this should be the house.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary!
Enter Apothecary.
Apoth. Who calls so loud? But thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me,
Rom. Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor. As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear Page. [aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone
As will disperse itself through all the veins Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. [Retires.] Par. Sweet flower, with flowers
That the life-weary taker mall fall dead, thy bridal bed I strew
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath (O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones)
As violently as hasty powder fir'd Which with sweet water nightly I will dew;
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans.
Apoth. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law The obsequies that I for thee will keep
Is death to any he that utters them. Nightly shall be to strew, thy grave and weep.Whistle Boy. The boy gives warning something
Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness doth approach.
And fearest to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, What cursed foot wanders this way to-night
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite?
Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back: What, with a torch? Muffle me, night, awhile. [Retires.]
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law; Enter Romeo, and Balthasar with a torch, a mattock,
The world affords no law to make thee rich;Then be not poor, but break it and take this. and a crow of iron.
Apoth. My poverty but not my will consents. Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
Rom. I pay thy poverty and not thy will. Hold, take this letter. Early in the morning
Apoth. Put this in any liquid thing you will See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
And drink it off, and if you had the strength Give me the light. Upon thy life I charge thee,
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. Whate'er thou hearest or seest, stand all aloof
Rom. There is thy gold- worse poison to men's souls, And do not interrupt me in my course.
Doing more murther in this loathsome world, Why I descend into this bed of death
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. Is partly to behold my lady's face,
I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
Farewell. Buy food and get thyself in flesh. A precious ring- a ring that I must use
Come, cordial and not poison, go with me In dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone.
To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
Exeunt. In what I farther shall intend to do,
Scene II. By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint
Verona. Friar Laurence's cell. And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.
Enter Friar John to Friar Laurence. The time and my intents are savage-wild,
John. Holy Franciscan friar, brother, ho! More fierce and more inexorable far
Enter Friar Laurence. Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
Laur. This same should be the voice of Friar John. Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Welcome from Mantua. What says Romeo? Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow.
John. Going to find a barefoot brother out, Bal. [aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout.
One of our order, to associate me His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires.] Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb
Here in this city visiting the sick, of death,
And finding him, the searchers of the town, Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Suspecting that we both were in a house Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,
Where the infectious pestilence did reign, And in despite I'll cram thee with more food.
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth, Romeo opens the tomb. Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. That murd'red my love's cousin- with which grief
Laur. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? It is supposed the fair creature diedAnd
John. I could not send it- here it is againNor here is come to do some villanous shame
get a messenger to bring it thee, To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.
So fearful were they of infection. Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!
Laur. Unhappy fortune! By my brotherhood, Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death?
The letter was not nice, but full of charge, Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.
Of dear import; and the neglecting it Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence, Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I hither.
Get me an iron crow and bring it straight Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man.
Unto my cell. Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone;
John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit. Laur. Now, must I to the monument alone. Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake. But not another sin upon my head
She will beshrew me much that Romeo By urging me to fury. O, be gone!
Hath had no notice of these accidents; By heaven, I love thee better than myself,
But I will write again to Mantua, For I come hither arm'd against myself.
And keep her at my cell till Romeo comePoor Stay not, be gone. Live, and hereafter say
living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! Exit. A madman's mercy bid thee run away.
Scene III. Par. I do defy thy, conjuration
Verona. A churchyard; in it the monument of the Capulets. And apprehend thee for a felon here.
Enter Paris and his Page with flowers and [a torch]. Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!
Par. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof. They fight. Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. [Exit. Paris falls.] Par. O, I am slain! If thou be merciful,
Under yond yew tree lay thee all along, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.] Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground. face.
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves) What said my man when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? [Enters the tomb.] Romeo! O, pale! Who else?
He told me Paris should have married Juliet. What, Paris too?
Said he not so? or did I dream it so? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs.
To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, Juliet rises. Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord?
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I do remember well where I should be,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave. And there I am. Where is my Romeo?
A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red youth, Friar. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.
This vault a feasting presence full of light. A greater power than we can contradict
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.[Lays him in the tomb.] How oft when men are at Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.
the point of death Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
Have they been merry! which their keepers call And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee
A lightning before death. O, how may I Among a sisterhood of holy nuns.Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Exit [Friar]. What's here? A cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?
Thou art not conquer'd. Beauty's ensign yet Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
And death's pale flag is not advanced there. To help me after? I will kiss thy lips.
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? Haply some poison yet doth hang on them
O, what more favour can I do to thee To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses him.] Thy lips are warm!
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain Chief Watch. [within] Lead, boy. Which way?
To sunder his that was thine enemy? Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!
Forgive me, cousin.' Ah, dear Juliet, [Snatches Romeo's dagger.] This is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die.
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe She stabs herself and falls [on Romeo's body].
That unsubstantial Death is amorous, Enter [Paris's] Boy and Watch.
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Boy. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn. Chief Watch. 'the ground is
Thee here in dark to be his paramour? bloody. Search about the churchyard. Go, some of you; whoe'er you find attach.
For fear of that I still will stay with thee [Exeunt some of the Watch.] Pitiful sight! here lies the County slain;
And never from this palace of dim night And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,
Depart again. Here, here will I remain Who here hath lain this two days buried.
With worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here Go, tell the Prince; run to the Capulets;
Will I set up my everlasting rest Raise up the Montagues; some others search.
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars [Exeunt others of the Watch.] We see the ground whereon these woes do lie,
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! But the true ground of all these piteous woes
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you We cannot without circumstance descry.
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss Enter [some of the Watch,] with Romeo's Man [Balthasar].
A dateless bargain to engrossing death! 2. Watch. Here's Romeo's man. We found him in the churchyard. Chief Watch. Hold him in
Come, bitter conduct; come, unsavoury guide! safety till the Prince come hither.
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on Enter Friar [Laurence] and another Watchman.
The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark! 3. Watch. Here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps. We took this mattock and this
Here's to my love! [Drinks.] O true apothecary! spade from him
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Falls. As he was coming from this churchyard side.
Enter Friar [Laurence], with lanthorn, crow, and spade. Chief Watch. A great suspicion! Stay the friar too.
Friar. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Enter the Prince [and Attendants].
Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? Prince. What misadventure is so early up,
Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. That calls our person from our morning rest?
Friar. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, Enter Capulet and his Wife [with others].
What torch is yond that vainly lends his light Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?
To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern, Wife. The people in the street cry 'Romeo,'
It burneth in the Capels' monument. Some 'Juliet,' and some 'Paris'; and all run,
Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, With open outcry, toward our monument.
One that you love. Prince. What fear is this which startles in our ears?
Friar. Who is it? Chief Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet,
Bal. Romeo. dead before,
Friar. How long hath he been there? Warm and new kill'd.
Bal. Full half an hour. Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. Chief Watch. Here is a friar,
Friar. Go with me to the vault. and slaughter'd Romeo's man, With instruments upon them fit to open
Bal. I dare not, sir. These dead men's tombs.
My master knows not but I am gone hence, Cap. O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!
And fearfully did menace me with death This dagger hath mista'en, for, lo, his house
If I did stay to look on his intents. Is empty on the back of Montague,
Friar. Stay then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me. And it missheathed in my daughter's bosom!
O, much I fear some ill unthrifty thing. Wife. O me! this sight of death is as a bell
Bal. As I did sleep under this yew tree here, That warns my old age to a sepulchre.
I dreamt my master and another fought, Enter Montague [and others].
And that my master slew him. Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up
Friar. Romeo! To see thy son and heir more early down.
Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night!
The stony entrance of this sepulchre? Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath.
What mean these masterless and gory swords What further woe conspires against mine age?
Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words,
Mon. O thou untaught! what manners is in this,To press before thy father to a grave? Their course of love, the tidings of her death;
Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, And here he writes that he did buy a poison
Till we can clear these ambiguities Of a poor pothecary, and therewithal
And know their spring, their head, their true descent; Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.
And then will I be general of your woes Where be these enemies? Capulet, Montage,
And lead you even to death. Meantime forbear, See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!
And let mischance be slave to patience. And I, for winking at you, discords too,
Bring forth the parties of suspicion. Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish'd.
Friar. I am the greatest, able to do least, Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand.
Yet most suspected, as the time and place This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Doth make against me, of this direful murther; Can I demand.
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Mon. But I can give thee more;
Myself condemned and myself excus'd. For I will raise her Statue in pure gold,
Prince. Then say it once what thou dost know in this. That whiles Verona by that name is known,
Friar. I will be brief, for my short date of breath There shall no figure at such rate be set
Is not so long as is a tedious tale. As that of true and faithful Juliet.
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; Cap. As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's liePoor
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife. sacrifices of our enmity!
I married them; and their stol'n marriage day Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it brings.
Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city; Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;
You, to remove that siege of grief from her, For never was a story of more woe
Betroth'd and would have married her perforce Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
To County Paris. Then comes she to me Exeunt omnes.
And with wild looks bid me devise some mean THE END
To rid her from this second marriage, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
Or in my cell there would she kill herself. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
Then gave I her (so tutored by my art) BY PROJECT
A sleeping potion; which so took effect GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
As I intended, for it wrought on her ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
The form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
That he should hither come as this dire night YOUR OR OTHERS
To help to take her from her borrowed grave, PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
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But he which bore my letter, Friar John, SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
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Return'd my letter back. Then all alone 1594
At the prefixed hour of her waking THE TAMING OF THE SHREW
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; by William Shakespeare
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell Dramatis Personae
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo. Persons in the Induction
But when I came, some minute ere the time A LORD
Of her awaking, here untimely lay CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker
The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. HOSTESS
She wakes; and I entreated her come forth PAGE
And bear this work of heaven with patience; PLAYERS
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb, HUNTSMEN
And she, too desperate, would not go with me, SERVANTS
But, as it seems, did violence on herself. BAPTISTA MINOLA, a gentleman of Padua
All this I know, and to the marriage VINCENTIO, a Merchant of Pisa
Her nurse is privy; and if aught in this LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katherina
Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time, Suitors to Bianca
Unto the rigour of severest law. GREMIO
Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man. HORTENSIO
Where's Romeo's man? What can he say in this? Servants to Lucentio
Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death; TRANIO
And then in post he came from Mantua BIONDELLO
To this same place, to this same monument. Servants to Petruchio
This letter he early bid me give his father, GRUMIO
And threat'ned me with death, going in the vault, CURTIS
If I departed not and left him there. A PEDANT
Prince. Give me the letter. I will look on it. Daughters to Baptista
Where is the County's page that rais'd the watch? KATHERINA, the shrew
Sirrah, what made your master in this place? BIANCA
Boy. He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; A WIDOW
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did. Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio
Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; SCENE:
And by-and-by my master drew on him; Padua, and PETRUCHIO'S house in the countrySC_1
And then I ran away to call the watch. INDUCTION. SCENE I.
 Before an alehouse on a heath [SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds] Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that soundsExit
Enter HOSTESS and SLY SERVANT Belike some noble gentleman that means,
SLY. I'll pheeze you, in faith. Travelling some journey, to repose him here.
HOSTESS. A pair of stocks, you rogue! Re-enter a SERVINGMAN
SLY. Y'are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues. Look in the chronicles: we came in with How now! who is it?
Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa! SERVANT. An't please your honour, players
HOSTESS. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? SLY. No, not a denier. Go by, That offer service to your lordship.
Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm thee. LORD. Bid them come near.
HOSTESS. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. Exit Enter PLAYERS
SLY. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law. I'll not budge an inch, Now, fellows, you are welcome.
boy; let him come, and kindly. PLAYERS. We thank your honour.
[Falls asleep] LORD. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?
Wind horns. Enter a LORD from bunting, with his train PLAYER. So please your lordship to accept our duty.
LORD. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds; LORD. With all my heart. This fellow I remember
Brach Merriman, the poor cur, is emboss'd; Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son;
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part
At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault? Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. PLAYER. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.
FIRST HUNTSMAN. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; LORD. 'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.
He cried upon it at the merest loss, Well, you are come to me in happy time,
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent; The rather for I have some sport in hand
Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
LORD. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet, There is a lord will hear you play to-night;
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But I am doubtful of your modesties,
But sup them well, and look unto them all; Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,
To-morrow I intend to hunt again. For yet his honour never heard a play,
FIRST HUNTSMAN. I will, my lord. You break into some merry passion
LORD. What's here? One dead, or drunk? And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,
See, doth he breathe? If you should smile, he grows impatient.
SECOND HUNTSMAN. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale, This were a bed PLAYER. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,
but Were he the veriest antic in the world.
cold to sleep so soundly. LORD. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
LORD. O monstrous beast, how like a swine he lies! And give them friendly welcome every one;
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! Let them want nothing that my house affords.
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. Exit one with the PLAYERS Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page,
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady;
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,
A most delicious banquet by his bed, And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance.
And brave attendants near him when he wakes, Tell him from me- as he will win my loveHe
Would not the beggar then forget himself? bear himself with honourable action,
FIRST HUNTSMAN. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. SECOND HUNTSMAN. It Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies
would Unto their lords, by them accomplished;
seem strange unto him when he wak'd. LORD. Even as a flatt'ring dream or worthless fancy. Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
Then take him up, and manage well the jest: With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, And say 'What is't your honour will command,
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures; Wherein your lady and your humble wife
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, May show her duty and make known her love?'
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet; And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
Procure me music ready when he wakes, And with declining head into his bosom,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound; Bid him shed tears, as being overjoyed
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, To see her noble lord restor'd to health,
And with a low submissive reverence Who for this seven years hath esteemed him
Say 'What is it your honour will command?' No better than a poor and loathsome beggar.
Let one attend him with a silver basin And if the boy have not a woman's gift
Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers; To rain a shower of commanded tears,
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, An onion will do well for such a shift,
And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?' Which, in a napkin being close convey'd,
Some one be ready with a costly suit, Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
And ask him what apparel he will wear; See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse, Anon I'll give thee more instructions. Exit a SERVINGMAN I know the boy will well usurp
And that his lady mourns at his disease; the grace,
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic, Voice, gait, and action, of a gentlewoman;
And, when he says he is, say that he dreams, I long to hear him call the drunkard 'husband';
For he is nothing but a mighty lord. And how my men will stay themselves from laughter
This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; When they do homage to this simple peasant.
It will be pastime passing excellent, I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence
If it be husbanded with modesty. May well abate the over-merry spleen,
FIRST HUNTSMAN. My lord, I warrant you we will play our part As he shall think by our Which otherwise would grow into extremes. ExeuntSC_2
true diligence SCENE II.
He is no less than what we say he is. A bedchamber in the LORD'S house
LORD. Take him up gently, and to bed with him;And each one to his office when he wakes. Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin
and ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD O, that once more you knew but what you are!
SLY. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
FIRST SERVANT. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? SECOND SERVANT. Will't Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.
please your honour taste of these conserves? THIRD SERVANT. What raiment will your SLY. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
honour But did I never speak of all that time?
wear to-day? SLY. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship.' I ne'er FIRST SERVANT. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words;
drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef. Ne'er For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door;
than legs, nor no more shoes than feet- nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes And rail upon the hostess of the house,
as my toes look through the overleather. LORD. Heaven cease this idle humour in your And say you would present her at the leet,
honour! Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts.
O, that a mighty man of such descent, Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Of such possessions, and so high esteem, SLY. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
Should be infused with so foul a spirit! THIRD SERVANT. Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid, Nor no such men as you
SLY. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton have
Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now reckon'd up,
by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;
for the lying'st knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale] And twenty more such names and men as these,
Here'sTHIRD Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
SERVANT. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn! SLY. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
SECOND SERVANT. O, this is it that makes your servants droop! LORD. Hence comes it that ALL. Amen.
your kindred shuns your house, Enter the PAGE as a lady, with ATTENDANTS
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. SLY. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth! PAGE. How fares my noble lord?
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, SLY. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. Where is my wife?
Look how thy servants do attend on thee, PAGE. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her?
Each in his office ready at thy beck. SLY. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?
Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music] And twenty caged nightingales do sing. My men should call me 'lord'; I am your goodman.
Or wilt thou sleep? We'll have thee to a couch PAGE. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed I am your wife in all obedience.
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. SLY. I know it well. What must I call her?
Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground. LORD. Madam.
Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp'd, SLY. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. LORD. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.
Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar SLY. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd
Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt? And slept above some fifteen year or more.
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them PAGE. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
And fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth. Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.
FIRST SERVANT. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags; ay, SLY. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.
fleeter than the roe. Exeunt SERVANTS Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.
SECOND SERVANT. Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee PAGE. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
straight To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Adonis painted by a running brook, Or, if not so, until the sun be set.
And Cytherea all in sedges hid, For your physicians have expressly charg'd,
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath In peril to incur your former malady,
Even as the waving sedges play wi' th' wind. That I should yet absent me from your bed.
LORD. We'll show thee lo as she was a maid I hope this reason stands for my excuse.
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd, SLY. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into
As lively painted as the deed was done. my dreams again. I will therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the blood.
THIRD SERVANT. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Enter a MESSENGER
Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds MESSENGER. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, comedy;
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. For so your doctors hold it very meet,
LORD. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord. Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
Than any woman in this waning age. Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
FIRST SERVANT. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee Like envious floods And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
o'er-run her lovely face, Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
She was the fairest creature in the world; SLY. Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a comonty a
And yet she is inferior to none. Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?
SLY. Am I a lord and have I such a lady? PAGE. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
Or do I dream? Or have I dream'd till now? SLY. What, household stuff?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; PAGE. It is a kind of history.
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things. SLY. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world slip;-we shall
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed, ne'er be younger.
And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly. [They sit down]
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; A flourish of trumpets announces the play<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE
And once again, a pot o' th' smallest ale.SECOND SERVANT. Will't please your Mightiness to COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
wash your hands? O, how we joy to see SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
your wit restor'd! BY PROJECT
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. HORTENSIO. Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you, Unless you were of
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE gentler,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR milder mould.KATHERINA. I' faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;
YOUR OR OTHERS Iwis it is not halfway to her heart;
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED But if it were, doubt not her care should be
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SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR And paint your face, and use you like a fool.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> HORTENSIO. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!
ACT I. SCENE I. GREMIO. And me, too, good Lord!
Padua. A public place TRANIO. Husht, master! Here's some good pastime toward;
Enter LUCENTIO and his man TRANIO That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.
LUCENTIO. Tranio, since for the great desire I had LUCENTIO. But in the other's silence do I see
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.
I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, Peace, Tranio!
The pleasant garden of great Italy, TRANIO. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.
And by my father's love and leave am arm'd BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
With his good will and thy good company, What I have said- Bianca, get you in;
My trusty servant well approv'd in all, And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,
Here let us breathe, and haply institute For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.
A course of learning and ingenious studies. KATHERINA. A pretty peat! it is best
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.
Gave me my being and my father first, BIANCA. Sister, content you in my discontent.
A merchant of great traffic through the world, Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe;
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii; My books and instruments shall be my company,
Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence, On them to look, and practise by myself.
It shall become to serve all hopes conceiv'd, LUCENTIO. Hark, Tranio, thou mayst hear Minerva speak!
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds. HORTENSIO. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, Sorry am I that our good will effects
Virtue and that part of philosophy Bianca's grief.
Will I apply that treats of happiness GREMIO. Why will you mew her up,
By virtue specially to be achiev'd. Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,
Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left And make her bear the penance of her tongue?
And am to Padua come as he that leaves BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd.
A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep, Go in, Bianca. Exit BIANCA And for I know she taketh most delight
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. In music, instruments, and poetry,
TRANIO. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine; Schoolmasters will I keep within my house
I am in all affected as yourself; Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,
Glad that you thus continue your resolve Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. Prefer them hither; for to cunning men
Only, good master, while we do admire I will be very kind, and liberal
This virtue and this moral discipline, To mine own children in good bringing-up;
Let's be no Stoics nor no stocks, I pray, And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks For I have more to commune with Bianca. Exit KATHERINA. Why, and I trust I may go too,
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd. may I not?
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, What! shall I be appointed hours, as though, belike,
And practise rhetoric in your common talk; I knew not what to take and what to leave? Ha! Exit GREMIO. You may go to the devil's
Music and poesy use to quicken you; dam; your gifts are so good here's none will hold you. There! Love is not so great,
The mathematics and the metaphysics, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake's dough
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you. on both sides. Farewell; yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en; light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her father.
In brief, sir, study what you most affect. HORTENSIO. SO Will I, Signior Gremio; but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our
LUCENTIO. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both- that we may
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love- to
We could at once put us in readiness, labour and effect one thing specially.
And take a lodging fit to entertain GREMIO. What's that, I pray?
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. HORTENSIO. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.
Enter BAPTISTA with his two daughters, KATHERINA GREMIO. A husband? a devil.
and BIANCA; GREMIO, a pantaloon; HORTENSIO, HORTENSIO. I say a husband.
suitor to BIANCA. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by GREMIO. I say a devil. Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father be very rich, any man
But stay awhile; what company is this? is so very a fool to be married to hell? HORTENSIO. Tush, Gremio! Though it pass your
TRANIO. Master, some show to welcome us to town. patience and mine to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the
BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, importune me no farther, world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough.
For how I firmly am resolv'd you know; GREMIO. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition: to be
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter whipp'd at the high cross every morning. HORTENSIO. Faith, as you say, there's small
Before I have a husband for the elder. choice in rotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be
If either of you both love Katherina, so far forth friendly maintain'd till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband
Because I know you well and love you well, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to't afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you, Signior Gremio?
GREMIO. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me. GREMIO. I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid the house of her!
KATHERINA. [To BAPTISTA] I pray you, sir, is it your will To make a stale of me amongst Come on.
these mates? Exeunt GREMIO and HORTENSIO TRANIO. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold? LUCENTIO. Tranio, be so because Lucentio loves;
LUCENTIO. O Tranio, till I found it to be true, And let me be a slave t' achieve that maid
I never thought it possible or likely. Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.
But see! while idly I stood looking on, Enter BIONDELLO.
I found the effect of love in idleness; Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?
And now in plainness do confess to thee, BIONDELLO. Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio
That art to me as secret and as dearAs Anna to the Queen of Carthage wasTranio, stol'n your clothes?
I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, Or you stol'n his? or both? Pray, what's the news?
If I achieve not this young modest girl. LUCENTIO. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest,
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; And therefore frame your manners to the time.Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. Puts my apparel and my count'nance on,
TRANIO. Master, it is no time to chide you now; And I for my escape have put on his;
Affection is not rated from the heart; For in a quarrel since I came ashore
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so: I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried.
'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.' Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,
LUCENTIO. Gramercies, lad. Go forward; this contents; While I make way from hence to save my life.
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. You understand me?
TRANIO. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid. BIONDELLO. I, sir? Ne'er a whit.
Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. LUCENTIO. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:
LUCENTIO. O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio.
Such as the daughter of Agenor had, BIONDELLO. The better for him; would I were so too!
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, TRANIO. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after, That Lucentio indeed had
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. Baptista's youngest daughter.
TRANIO. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how her sister But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master's, I advise You use your manners discreetly
Began to scold and raise up such a storm in all kind of companies. When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? But in all places else your master Lucentio.
LUCENTIO. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, LUCENTIO. Tranio, let's go.
And with her breath she did perfume the air; One thing more rests, that thyself executeTo
Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. make one among these wooers. If thou ask me whySufficeth,
TRANIO. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his trance. my reasons are both good and weighty. Exeunt
I pray, awake, sir. If you love the maid, The Presenters above speak
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands: FIRST SERVANT. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play. SLY. Yes, by Saint Anne do I.
Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd A good matter, surely; comes there any more of it?
That, till the father rid his hands of her, PAGE. My lord, 'tis but begun.
Master, your love must live a maid at home; SLY. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, Would 'twere done! [They sit and mark]
Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. SCENE II.
LUCENTIO. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! Padua. Before HORTENSIO'S house
But art thou not advis'd he took some care Enter PETRUCHIO and his man GRUMIO
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? PETRUCHIO. Verona, for a while I take my leave,
TRANIO. Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now 'tis plotted. To see my friends in Padua; but of all
LUCENTIO. I have it, Tranio. My best beloved and approved friend,
TRANIO. Master, for my hand, Hortensio; and I trow this is his house.
Both our inventions meet and jump in one. Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.
LUCENTIO. Tell me thine first. GRUMIO. Knock, sir! Whom should I knock?
TRANIO. You will be schoolmaster, Is there any man has rebus'd your worship?
And undertake the teaching of the maidThat' PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.
s your device. GRUMIO. Knock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir?
LUCENTIO. It is. May it be done? PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate,
TRANIO. Not possible; for who shall bear your part And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son; GRUMIO. My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first, And then I know after
Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends, who comes by the worst.
Visit his countrymen, and banquet them? PETRUCHIO. Will it not be?
LUCENTIO. Basta, content thee, for I have it full. Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock I'll ring it;
We have not yet been seen in any house, I'll try how you can sol-fa, and sing it.
Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces [He wrings him by the ears] GRUMIO. Help, masters, help! My master is mad.
For man or master. Then it follows thus: PETRUCHIO. Now knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, Enter HORTENSIO
Keep house and port and servants, as I should; HORTENSIO. How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio and my good friend
I will some other be- some Florentine, Petruchio!
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. How do you all at Verona?
'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so. Tranio, at once PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?
Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak. 'Con tutto il cuore ben trovato' may I say.
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; HORTENSIO. Alla nostra casa ben venuto,
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio.
TRANIO. So had you need. [They exchange habits] In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel.
And I am tied to be obedientFor GRUMIO. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause
so your father charg'd me at our parting: for me to leave his service- look you, sir: he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir.
'Be serviceable to my son' quoth he, Well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I see, two
Although I think 'twas in another senseI and thirty, a pip out?
am content to be Lucentio, Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first,
Because so well I love Lucentio. Then had not Grumio come by the worst.
PETRUCHIO. A senseless villain! Good Hortensio, HORTENSIO. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, For in Baptista's keep my treasure is.
And could not get him for my heart to do it. He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
GRUMIO. Knock at the gate? O heavens! Spake you not these words plain: 'Sirrah knock me His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca;
here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly'? And come you now with 'knocking And her withholds from me, and other more,
at the gate'? PETRUCHIO. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. Suitors to her and rivals in my love;
HORTENSIO. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge;Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him Supposing it a thing impossibleFor
and you, those defects I have before rehears'dThat
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. ever Katherina will be woo'd.
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,
Blows you to Padua here from old Verona? That none shall have access unto Bianca
PETRUCHIO. Such wind as scatters young men through the world To seek their fortunes Till Katherine the curst have got a husband.
farther than at home, GRUMIO. Katherine the curst!A title for a maid of all titles the worst.
Where small experience grows. But in a few, HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: And offer me disguis'd in sober robes
Antonio, my father, is deceas'd, To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
And I have thrust myself into this maze, Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca;
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may; That so I may by this device at least
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, Have leave and leisure to make love to her,
And so am come abroad to see the world. And unsuspected court her by herself.
HORTENSIO. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee Enter GREMIO with LUCENTIO disguised as CAMBIO
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? GRUMIO. Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their
Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel, heads together! Master, master, look about you. Who goes there, ha?
And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich, HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile.
And very rich; but th'art too much my friend, GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous!
And I'll not wish thee to her. [They stand aside] GREMIO. O, very well; I have perus'd the note.
PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly boundAll
Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know books of love, see that at any hand;
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, And see you read no other lectures to her.
As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, You understand me- over and beside
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, Signior Baptista's liberality,
As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too,
As Socrates' Xanthippe or a worseShe And let me have them very well perfum'd;
moves me not, or not removes, at least, For she is sweeter than perfume itself
Affection's edge in me, were she as rough To whom they go to. What will you read to her?
As are the swelling Adriatic seas. LUCENTIO. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; As for my patron, stand you so assur'd,
If wealthily, then happily in Padua. As firmly as yourself were still in place;
GRUMIO. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is. Why, give him gold Yea, and perhaps with more successful words
enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.
her head, though she has as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why, nothing comes GREMIO. O this learning, what a thing it is!
amiss, so money comes withal. GRUMIO. O this woodcock, what an ass it is!
HORTENSIO. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in, PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah!
I will continue that I broach'd in jest. HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum! [Coming forward] God save you, Signior Gremio!
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio.
With wealth enough, and young and beauteous; Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman; I promis'd to enquire carefully
Her only fault, and that is faults enough, About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;
Is- that she is intolerable curst, And by good fortune I have lighted well
And shrewd and froward so beyond all measure On this young man; for learning and behaviour
That, were my state far worser than it is, Fit for her turn, well read in poetry
I would not wed her for a mine of gold. And other books- good ones, I warrant ye.
PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect. Tell me her father's name, HORTENSIO. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman
and 'tis enough; Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
For I will board her though she chide as loud A fine musician to instruct our mistress;
As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. So shall I no whit be behind in duty
HORTENSIO. Her father is Baptista Minola, To fair Bianca, so beloved of me.
An affable and courteous gentleman; GREMIO. Beloved of me- and that my deeds shall prove.
Her name is Katherina Minola, GRUMIO. And that his bags shall prove.
Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. HORTENSIO. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love.
PETRUCHIO. I know her father, though I know not her; Listen to me, and if you speak me fair
And he knew my deceased father well. I'll tell you news indifferent good for either.
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met,
And therefore let me be thus bold with you Upon agreement from us to his liking,
To give you over at this first encounter, Will undertake to woo curst Katherine;
Unless you will accompany me thither. Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.
GRUMIO. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O' my word, and she knew him GREMIO. So said, so done, is well.
as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him. She may perhaps Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?
call him half a score knaves or so. Why, that's nothing; and he begin once, he'll rail in PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold;
his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir: an she stand him but a little, he will throw a If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see GREMIO. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman?
withal than a cat. You know him not, sir. PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son.
My father dead, my fortune lives for me; The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,
And I do hope good days and long to see. Her father keeps from all access of suitors,
GREMIO. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange! But if you have a stomach, to't And will not promise her to any man
a God's name; Until the elder sister first be wed.
You shall have me assisting you in all. The younger then is free, and not before.
But will you woo this wild-cat? TRANIO. If it be so, sir, that you are the man
PETRUCHIO. Will I live? Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest;
GRUMIO. Will he woo her? Ay, or I'll hang her. And if you break the ice, and do this feat,
PETRUCHIO. Why came I hither but to that intent? Achieve the elder, set the younger free
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? For our access- whose hap shall be to have her
Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.
Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, HORTENSIO. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive;
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? And since you do profess to be a suitor,
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?Have I not in a pitched battle heard To whom we all rest generally beholding.
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? TRANIO. Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, Please ye we may contrive this afternoon,And quaff carouses to our mistress' health;
That gives not half so great a blow to hear And do as adversaries do in lawStrive
As will a chestnut in a fariner's fire? mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs. GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone. HORTENSIO. The motion's
GRUMIO. For he fears none. good indeed, and be it so.
GREMIO. Hortensio, hark: Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. Exeunt
This gentleman is happily arriv'd, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
HORTENSIO. I promis'd we would be contributors BY PROJECT
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
GREMIO. And so we will- provided that he win her. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
GRUMIO. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled as LUCENTIO, and BIONDELLO YOUR OR OTHERS
TRANIO. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold, PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
BIONDELLO. He that has the two fair daughters; is't he you mean? TRANIO. Even he, DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Biondello. ACT Il. SCENE I.
GREMIO. Hark you, sir, you mean not her toTRANIO. Padua. BAPTISTA'S house
Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do? Enter KATHERINA and BIANCA
PETRUCHIO. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. TRANIO. I love no chiders, sir. BIANCA. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,
Biondello, let's away. To make a bondmaid and a slave of meThat
LUCENTIO. [Aside] Well begun, Tranio. I disdain; but for these other gawds,
HORTENSIO. Sir, a word ere you go. Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;
TRANIO. And if I be, sir, is it any offence? Or what you will command me will I do,
GREMIO. No; if without more words you will get you hence. TRANIO. Why, sir, I pray, are So well I know my duty to my elders.
not the streets as free KATHERINA. Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell
For me as for you? Whom thou lov'st best. See thou dissemble not.
GREMIO. But so is not she. BIANCA. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive
TRANIO. For what reason, I beseech you? I never yet beheld that special face
GREMIO. For this reason, if you'll know, Which I could fancy more than any other.
That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. KATHERINA. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio?
HORTENSIO. That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio. BIANCA. If you affect him, sister, here I swear
TRANIO. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen, I'll plead for you myself but you shall have him.
Do me this right- hear me with patience. KATHERINA. O then, belike, you fancy riches more:
Baptista is a noble gentleman, You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
To whom my father is not all unknown, BIANCA. Is it for him you do envy me so?
And, were his daughter fairer than she is, Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive
She may more suitors have, and me for one. You have but jested with me all this while.
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
Then well one more may fair Bianca have; KATHERINA. [Strikes her] If that be jest, then an the rest was so.
And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one, Enter BAPTISTA
Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. BAPTISTA. Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence? Bianca, stand aside- poor
GREMIO. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all! girl! she weeps.
LUCENTIO. Sir, give him head; I know he'll prove a jade. [He unbinds her] Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.
PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
HORTENSIO. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
TRANIO. No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two: KATHERINA. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd.
The one as famous for a scolding tongue [Flies after BIANCA] BAPTISTA. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.
As is the other for beauteous modesty. Exit BIANCA KATHERINA. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see
PETRUCHIO. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. She is your treasure, she must have a husband;
GREMIO. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules, I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. And for your love to her lead apes in hell.
PETRUCHIO. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth: Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep,
Till I can find occasion of revenge. Exit KATHERINA BAPTISTA. Was ever gentleman thus To my daughters; and tell them both
griev'd as I? These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.
But who comes here? Exit SERVANT leading HORTENSIO carrying the lute
Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit of a mean man; PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO and LUCENTIO with the books
as a We will go walk a little in the orchard,
musician; and TRANIO, as LUCENTIO, with his boy, BIONDELLO, bearing a lute and books And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
GREMIO. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
BAPTISTA. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. PETRUCHIO. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
God save you, gentlemen! And every day I cannot come to woo.
PETRUCHIO. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katherina, fair and You knew my father well, and in him me,
virtuous? Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
BAPTISTA. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katherina. Which I have bettered rather than decreas'd.
GREMIO. You are too blunt; go to it orderly. Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,
PETRUCHIO. You wrong me, Signior Gremio; give me leave. What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, BAPTISTA. After my death, the one half of my lands
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit,Her affability and bashful modesty, And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.PETRUCHIO. And for that dowry, I'll assure her of
Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
Am bold to show myself a forward guest In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Let specialities be therefore drawn between us,
Of that report which I so oft have heard. That covenants may be kept on either hand.
And, for an entrance to my entertainment, BAPTISTA. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,
I do present you with a man of mine, That is, her love; for that is all in all.
[Presenting HORTENSIO] Cunning in music and the mathematics, PETRUCHIO. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,
To instruct her fully in those sciences, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
Whereof I know she is not ignorant. And where two raging fires meet together,
Accept of him, or else you do me wrongHis They do consume the thing that feeds their fury.
name is Licio, born in Mantua. Though little fire grows great with little wind,
BAPTISTA. Y'are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake; Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all.
But for my daughter Katherine, this I know, So I to her, and so she yields to me;
She is not for your turn, the more my grief. For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.
PETRUCHIO. I see you do not mean to part with her; BAPTISTA. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed
Or else you like not of my company. But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.
BAPTISTA. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. PETRUCHIO. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name? That shake not though they blow perpetually.
PETRUCHIO. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son, Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broke
A man well known throughout all Italy. BAPTISTA. How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale? HORTENSIO. For fear, I
BAPTISTA. I know him well; you are welcome for his sake. promise
GREMIO. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, you, if I look pale.
Let us that are poor petitioners speak too. BAPTISTA. What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
Bacare! you are marvellous forward. HORTENSIO. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier:
PETRUCHIO. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio! I would fain be doing. GREMIO. I doubt it not, Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure BAPTISTA. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? HORTENSIO. Why, no; for she
of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you hath broke the lute to me.
than any, freely give unto you this young scholar [Presenting LUCENTIO] that hath been I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering,
music and mathematics. His name is Cambio. Pray accept his service. When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
BAPTISTA. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio. [To TRANIO] But, 'Frets, call you these?' quoth she 'I'll fume with them.' And with that word she struck
gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to know the cause of your me on the head,
coming? And through the instrument my pate made way;
TRANIO. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own And there I stood amazed for a while,
That, being a stranger in this city here, As on a pillory, looking through the lute,
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, While she did call me rascal fiddler
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me As she had studied to misuse me so.
In the preferment of the eldest sister. PETRUCHIO. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
This liberty is all that I requestThat, I love her ten times more than e'er I did.
upon knowledge of my parentage, O, how I long to have some chat with her!
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, BAPTISTA. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited;
And free access and favour as the rest. Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;
And toward the education of your daughters She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.
I here bestow a simple instrument, Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books. Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
If you accept them, then their worth is great. PETRUCHIO. I pray you do. Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO I'll attend her here,
BAPTISTA. Lucentio is your name? Of whence, I pray? And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
TRANIO. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. Say that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain
BAPTISTA. A mighty man of Pisa. By report She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.
I know him well. You are very welcome, sir. Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear
Take you the lute, and you the set of books; As morning roses newly wash'd with dew.
You shall go see your pupils presently. Say she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Holla, within! Then I'll commend her volubility,
Enter a SERVANT And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers.
When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
But here she comes; :Lnd.now, Petruchio, speak. Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Enter KATHERINA Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
Good morrow, Kate- for that's your name, I hear. But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers;
KATHERINA. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katherine With gentle conference, soft and affable.
that do talk of me. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
PETRUCHIO. You lie, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and O sland'rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
sometimes Kate the curst; Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, O, let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt.
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, KATHERINA. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.
Take this of me, Kate of my consolationHearing PETRUCHIO. Did ever Dian so become a grove
thy mildness prais'd in every town, As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.KATHERINA. Mov'd! in good time! Let him that mov'd KATHERINA. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
you hither Remove you hence. I knew PETRUCHIO. It is extempore, from my mother wit.
you at the first KATHERINA. A witty mother! witless else her son.
You were a moveable. PETRUCHIO. Am I not wise?
PETRUCHIO. Why, what's a moveable? KATHERINA. Yes, keep you warm.
KATHERINA. A join'd-stool. PETRUCHIO. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed. And therefore, setting all this
PETRUCHIO. Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me. chat aside,
KATHERINA. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. Thus in plain terms: your father hath consentedThat you shall be my wife your dowry greed on;
PETRUCHIO. Women are made to bear, and so are you. And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
KATHERINA. No such jade as you, if me you mean. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
PETRUCHIO. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee! For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
For, knowing thee to be but young and lightKATHERINA. Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,
Too light for such a swain as you to catch; Thou must be married to no man but me;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,
PETRUCHIO. Should be! should- buzz! And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
KATHERINA. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. Conformable as other household Kates.
PETRUCHIO. O, slow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take thee? KATHERINA. Ay, for a turtle, Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO
as he takes a buzzard. Here comes your father. Never make denial;
PETRUCHIO. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry. KATHERINA. If I be waspish, I must and will have Katherine to my wife.
best beware my sting. BAPTISTA. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? PETRUCHIO. How but
PETRUCHIO. My remedy is then to pluck it out. well, sir? how but well?
KATHERINA. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. It were impossible I should speed amiss.
PETRUCHIO. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. BAPTISTA. Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps? KATHERINA. Call you me
KATHERINA. In his tongue. daughter? Now I promise you
PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue? You have show'd a tender fatherly regard
KATHERINA. Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell. To wish me wed to one half lunatic,
PETRUCHIO. What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,
gentleman. That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
KATHERINA. That I'll try. [She strikes him] PETRUCHIO. I swear I'll cuff you, if you PETRUCHIO. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world
strike again. That talk'd of her have talk'd amiss of her.
KATHERINA. So may you lose your arms. If she be curst, it is for policy,
If you strike me, you are no gentleman; For,she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
And if no gentleman, why then no arms. She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
PETRUCHIO. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books! For patience she will prove a second Grissel,
KATHERINA. What is your crest- a coxcomb? And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.
PETRUCHIO. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. And, to conclude, we have 'greed so well together
KATHERINA. No cock of mine: you crow too like a craven. That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
PETRUCHIO. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. KATHERINA. It is my KATHERINA. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
fashion, GREMIO. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee hang'd first. TRANIO. Is this your
when I see a crab. speeding? Nay, then good-night our part! PETRUCHIO. Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her
PETRUCHIO. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. KATHERINA. There is, there for myself; If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?
is. 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
PETRUCHIO. Then show it me. That she shall still be curst in company.
KATHERINA. Had I a glass I would. I tell you 'tis incredible to believe.
PETRUCHIO. What, you mean my face? How much she loves me- O, the kindest Kate!
KATHERINA. Well aim'd of such a young one. She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
PETRUCHIO. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,
KATHERINA. Yet you are wither'd. That in a twink she won me to her love.
PETRUCHIO. 'Tis with cares. O, you are novices! 'Tis a world to see,
KATHERINA. I care not. How tame, when men and women are alone,
PETRUCHIO. Nay, hear you, Kate- in sooth, you scape not so. KATHERINA. I chafe you, if I A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.
tarry; let me go. Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice,
PETRUCHIO. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day.
'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen, Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;
And now I find report a very liar; I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.
BAPTISTA. I know not what to say; but give me your hands. God send you joy, Petruchio! If you should die before him, where's her dower?
'Tis a match. TRANIO. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young.
GREMIO, TRANIO. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. GREMIO. And may not young men die as well as old?
PETRUCHIO. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu. BAPTISTA. Well, gentlemen,
I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace; I am thus resolv'd: on Sunday next you know
We will have rings and things, and fine array; My daughter Katherine is to be married;
And kiss me, Kate; we will be married a Sunday. Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca
Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA severally GREMIO. Was ever match clapp'd up so Be bride to you, if you make this assurance;
suddenly? If not, to Signior Gremio.
BAPTISTA. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a And so I take my leave, and thank you both.
desperate mart. GREMIO. Adieu, good neighbour. Exit BAPTISTA Now, I fear thee not.
TRANIO. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you; Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. To give thee all, and in his waning age
BAPTISTA. The gain I seek is quiet in the match. Set foot under thy table. Tut, a toy!
GREMIO. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. Exit TRANIO. A vengeance on your crafty
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter: withered hide!
Now is the day we long have looked for; Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten.
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 'Tis in my head to do my master good:
TRANIO. And I am one that love Bianca more I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio
Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess. Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio;
GREMIO. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. And that's a wonder- fathers commonly
TRANIO. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze. Do get their children; but in this case of wooing
GREMIO. But thine doth fry. A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.
Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth. Exit
TRANIO. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
BAPTISTA. Content you, gentlemen; I will compound this strife. 'Tis deeds must win the SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
prize, and he of both BY PROJECT
That can assure my daughter greatest dowerShall have my Bianca's love. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
GREMIO. First, as you know, my house within the city READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
Is richly furnished with plate and gold, YOUR OR OTHERS
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>ACT III. SCENE I.
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Padua. BAPTISTA'S house
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, Enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, HORTENSIO as LICIO, and BIANCA
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work; LUCENTIO. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.
Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
To house or housekeeping. Then at my farm Her sister Katherine welcome'd you withal?
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is
Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, The patroness of heavenly harmony.
And all things answerable to this portion. Then give me leave to have prerogative;
Myself am struck in years, I must confess; And when in music we have spent an hour,
And if I die to-morrow this is hers, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.
If whilst I live she will be only mine. LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far
TRANIO. That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me: To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
I am my father's heir and only son; Was it not to refresh the mind of man
If I may have your daughter to my wife, After his studies or his usual pain?
I'll leave her houses three or four as good Then give me leave to read philosophy,
Within rich Pisa's walls as any one And while I pause serve in your harmony.
Old Signior Gremio has in Padua; HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do
Besides two thousand ducats by the year me double wrong
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. To strive for that which resteth in my choice.
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio? I arn no breeching scholar in the schools,
GREMIO. Two thousand ducats by the year of land! I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,
[Aside] My land amounts not to so much in all.- But learn my lessons as I please myself.
That she shall have, besides an argosy And to cut off all strife: here sit we down;
That now is lying in Marseilles road. Take you your instrument, play you the whiles!
What, have I chok'd you with an argosy? His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd.
TRANIO. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less HORTENSIO. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses, LUCENTIO. That will be never- tune your instrument.
And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her, BIANCA. Where left we last?
And twice as much whate'er thou off'rest next. LUCENTIO. Here, madam:
GREMIO. Nay, I have off'red all; I have no more; 'Hic ibat Simois, hic est Sigeia tellus,
And she can have no more than all I have; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'
If you like me, she shall have me and mine. BIANCA. Construe them.
TRANIO. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world LUCENTIO. 'Hic ibat' as I told you before- 'Simois' I am Lucentio- 'hic est' son unto
By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied. Vincentio of Pisa- 'Sigeia tellus' disguised thus to get your love- 'Hic steterat' and
BAPTISTA. I must confess your offer is the best; that Lucentio that comes a-wooing- 'Priami' is my man Tranio- 'regia' bearing my port-
And let your father make her the assurance, 'celsa senis' that we might beguile the old pantaloon. HORTENSIO. Madam, my instrument's
She is your own. Else, you must pardon me; in tune.
BIANCA. Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
LUCENTIO. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;
BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois' I know you not- 'hic est And, to be noted for a merry man,
Sigeia tellus' I trust you not- 'Hic steterat Priami' take heed he hear us not- 'regia' He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
presume not- 'celsa senis' despair not. Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns;
HORTENSIO. Madam, 'tis now in tune. Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
LUCENTIO. All but the bass. Now must the world point at poor Katherine,
HORTENSIO. The bass is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. [Aside] How fiery and And say 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
forward our pedant is! If it would please him come and marry her!'
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love. TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
BIANCA. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Whatever fortune stays him from his word.
LUCENTIO. Mistrust it not- for sure, AEacides Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.
BIANCA. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though!
I should be arguing still upon that doubt; Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you. to weep,
Good master, take it not unkindly, pray, For such an injury would vex a very saint;
That I have been thus pleasant with you both. Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.
HORTENSIO. [To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave Enter BIONDELLO
awhile; Master, master! News, and such old news as you never heard of! BAPTISTA. Is it new and
My lessons make no music in three Parts. old too? How may that be?
LUCENTIO. Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait, BIONDELLO. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming? BAPTISTA. Is he come?
[Aside] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, BIONDELLO. Why, no, sir.
Our fine musician groweth amorous. BAPTISTA. What then?
HORTENSIO. Madam, before you touch the instrument BIONDELLO. He is coming.
To learn the order of my fingering, BAPTISTA. When will he be here?
I must begin with rudiments of art, BIONDELLO. When he stands where I am and sees you there.
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, TRANIO. But, say, what to thine old news?
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming- in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old
Than hath been taught by any of my trade; breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another
And there it is in writing fairly drawn. lac'd; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, andchapeless; with
BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with an old motley saddle and
HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess'd with the glanders and like to mose in the
BIANCA. [Reads]'"Gamut" I am, the ground of all accord- chine, troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped
"A re" to plead Hortensio's passion- with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoil'd with the
"B mi" Bianca, take him for thy lord- staggers, begnawn with the bots, sway'd in the back and shoulder-shotten, near-legg'd
"C fa ut" that loves with all affection- before, and with a half-cheek'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather which, being
"D sol re" one clef, two notes have I- restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with
"E la mi" show pity or I die.' knots; one girth six times piec'd, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two
Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not! letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with
Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice pack-thread.
To change true rules for odd inventions. BAPTISTA. Who comes with him?
Enter a SERVANT BIONDELLO. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like the horse- with a linen
SERVANT. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books And help to dress your sister's stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gart'red with a red and blue list;
chamber up. an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather; a monster, a very
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman's lackey.
BIANCA. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be gone. TRANIO. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Exeunt BIANCA and SERVANT LUCENTIO. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell'd.
Exit BAPTISTA. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.
HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not.
Methinks he looks as though he were in love. BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes?
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came?
To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every staleSeize BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came.
thee that list. If once I find thee ranging, BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes with him on his back. BAPTISTA. Why, that's all
HORTENSIO will be quit with thee by changing. Exit one.
SCENE II. BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy,
Padua. Before BAPTISTA'So house I hold you a penny,
Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO as LUCENTIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO as A horse and a man
CAMBIO, and Is more than one,
ATTENDANTS And yet not many.
BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day That Katherine and Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO
Petruchio should be married, PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who's at home?
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir.
What will be said? What mockery will it be PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well.
To want the bridegroom when the priest attends BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not.
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage! TRANIO. Not so well apparell'd
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? As I wish you were.
KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd To give my hand, oppos'd PETRUCHIO. Were it better, I should rush in thus.
against my heart, But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen, How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;
Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure. And wherefore gaze this goodly company
As if they saw some wondrous monument, 'Now take them up,' quoth he 'if any list.'
Some comet or unusual prodigy? TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again?
BAPTISTA. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day. GREMIO. Trembled and shook, for why he stamp'd and swore
First were we sad, fearing you would not come; As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. But after many ceremonies done
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if
An eye-sore to our solemn festival! He had been abroad, carousing to his mates
TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel,
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, And threw the sops all in the sexton's face,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself? Having no other reason
PETRUCHIO. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear; But that his beard grew thin and hungerly
Sufficeth I am come to keep my word, And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
Though in some part enforced to digress, This done, he took the bride about the neck,
Which at more leisure I will so excuse And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack
As you shall well be satisfied withal. That at the parting all the church did echo.
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her; And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; Such a mad marriage never was before.
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music plays]
PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her. Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO,
BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. GRUMIO, and train
PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words; To me she's married, not PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains. I know you think to dine
unto my clothes. with me to-day,
Could I repair what she will wear in me And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer
As I can change these poor accoutrements, But so it is- my haste doth call me hence,
'Twere well for Kate and better for myself. And therefore here I mean to take my leave.
But what a fool am I to chat with you, BAPTISTA. Is't possible you will away to-night?
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride PETRUCHIO. I must away to-day before night come.
And seal the title with a lovely kiss! Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,
Exeunt PETRUCHIO and PETRUCHIO TRANIO. He hath some meaning in his mad attire. You would entreat me rather go than stay.
We will persuade him, be it possible, And, honest company, I thank you all
To put on better ere he go to church. That have beheld me give away myself
BAPTISTA. I'll after him and see the event of this.Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO, BIONDELLO, To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.
and ATTENDENTS TRANIO. But to her love concerneth us Dine with my father, drink a health to me.For I must hence; and farewell to you all.
to ad TRANIO. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
Her father's liking; which to bring to pass, PETRUCHIO. It may not be.
As I before imparted to your worship, GREMIO. Let me entreat you.
I am to get a man- whate'er he be PETRUCHIO. It cannot be.
It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turnAnd KATHERINA. Let me entreat you.
he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, PETRUCHIO. I am content.
And make assurance here in Padua KATHERINA. Are you content to stay?
Of greater sums than I have promised. PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay;
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
And marry sweet Bianca with consent. KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay.
LUCENTIO. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse.
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, GRUMIO. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses. KATHERINA. Nay, then,
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself.
I'll keep mine own despite of all the world. The door is open, sir; there lies your way;
TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into You may be jogging whiles your boots are green;
And watch our vantage in this business; For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself.
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, 'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom
The narrow-prying father, Minola, That take it on you at the first so roundly.
The quaint musician, amorous LicioAll PETRUCHIO. O Kate, content thee; prithee be not angry.
for my master's sake, Lucentio. KATHERINA. I will be angry; what hast thou to do?
Re-enter GREMIO Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.
Signior Gremio, came you from the church? GREMIO. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
GREMIO. As willingly as e'er I came from school. KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner.
TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? I see a woman may be made a fool
GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? 'Tis a groom indeed, If she had not a spirit to resist.
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. PETRUCHIO. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, 'tis impossible. Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
GREMIO. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
TRANIO. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. Carouse full measure to her maidenhead;
GREMIO. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him! Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves.
I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Should ask if Katherine should be his wife, Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
'Ay, by gogs-wouns' quoth he, and swore so loud I will be master of what is mine ownShe
That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book; is my goods, my chattels, she is my house,
And as he stoop'd again to take it up, My household stuff, my field, my barn,
This mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing,
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest. And here she stands; touch her whoever dare;
I'll bring mine action on the proudest he GRUMIO. There. [Striking him] CURTIS. This 'tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, GRUMIO. And therefore 'tis call'd a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to knock at your
Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves; car and beseech list'ning. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. riding behind my mistressCURTIS.
Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate; I'll buckler thee against a Both of one horse?
million. GRUMIO. What's that to thee?
Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, and GRUMIO BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of CURTIS. Why, a horse.
quiet GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale. But hadst thou not cross'd me, thou shouldst have heard how
ones. her horse fell and she under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how
GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. TRANIO. Of all mad matches, she was bemoil'd, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he beat me because her
never was the like. horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me, how he swore, how she
LUCENTIO. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? pray'd that never pray'd before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle was
BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. burst, how I lost my crupper- with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in
GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd to thy grave.
BAPTISTA. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the CURTIS. By this reck'ning he is more shrew than she.
places at the table, GRUMIO. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But
You know there wants no junkets at the feast. what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop,
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place; and the rest; let their heads be sleekly comb'd, their blue coats brush'd and their
And let Bianca take her sister's room. garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to
TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? touch a hair of my mastcr's horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?
BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go. CURTIS. They are.
Exeunt GRUMIO. Call them forth.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM CURTIS. Do you hear, ho? You must meet my master, to countenance my mistress.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED GRUMIO. Why, she hath a face of her own.
BY PROJECT CURTIS. Who knows not that?
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. GRUMIO. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her. CURTIS. I call them
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE forth to credit her.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR GRUMIO. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.
YOUR OR OTHERS Enter four or five SERVINGMEN
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED NATHANIEL. Welcome home, Grumio!
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY PHILIP. How now, Grumio!
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR JOSEPH. What, Grumio!
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> NICHOLAS. Fellow Grumio!
ACT IV. SCENE I. NATHANIEL. How now, old lad!
PETRUCHIO'S country house GRUMIO. Welcome, you!- how now, you!- what, you!- fellow, you!- and thus much for
Enter GRUMIO greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?
GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was ever man NATHANIEL. All things is ready. How near is our master?
so beaten? Was ever man so ray'd? Was ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a GRUMIO. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be notCock' s passion, silence! I
fire,and they are coming after to warm them. Now were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very hear my master.Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA
lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, PETRUCHIO. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
ere I should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse!
for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis! Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?
Enter CURTIS ALL SERVANTS. Here, here, sir; here, sir.
CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly? PETRUCHIO. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
GRUMIO. A piece of ice. If thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms!
with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?
CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
GRUMIO. O, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water. GRUMIO. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.
CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? PETRUCHIO. YOU peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge! Did I not bid thee meet
GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou know'st winter tames man, me
woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd my old master, and my new mistress, and myself, in the park
fellow Curtis. CURTIS. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast. And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?
GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot, and so long am I at the least. GRUMIO. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made,
But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand- she And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' heel;
being now at hand- thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot There was no link to colour Peter's hat,
office? And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing;
CURTIS. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me how goes the world? GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;
in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
master and mistress are almost frozen to death. Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
CURTIS. There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news? GRUMIO. Why, 'Jack boy! PETRUCHIO. Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.
ho, boy!' and as much news as thou wilt. CURTIS. Come, you are so full of cony-catching! Exeunt some of the SERVINGMEN
GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where's the cook? Is supper [Sings] Where is the life that late I led?
ready, the house trimm'd, rushes strew'd, cobwebs swept, the serving-men in their new Where are those-
fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the jacks Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud!
fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets laid, and everything in order? Re-enter SERVANTS with supper
CURTIS. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news. Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
GRUMIO. First know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fall'n out. Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when?
CURTIS. How? [Sings] It was the friar of orders grey,
GRUMIO. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale. As he forth walked on his way-
CURTIS. Let's ha't, good Grumio. Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry;
GRUMIO. Lend thine ear. Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.
CURTIS. Here. [Strikes him] Be merry, Kate. Some water, here, what, ho!
Enter one with water HORTENSIO. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence, Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: [They stand aside]
Exit SERVINGMAN One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with. Enter BIANCA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water? LUCENTIO. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. BIANCA. What, master, read you, First resolve me that.
You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? [Strikes him] KATHERINA. Patience, I pray LUCENTIO. I read that I profess, 'The Art to Love.'
you; 'twas a fault unwilling. PETRUCHIO. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! BIANCA. And may you prove, sir, master of your art!
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. LUCENTIO. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I? [They retire] HORTENSIO. Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,
What's this? Mutton? You that durst swear that your Mistress Blanca
FIRST SERVANT. Ay. Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio.
PETRUCHIO. Who brought it? TRANIO. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!
PETER. I. I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
PETRUCHIO. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. HORTENSIO. Mistake no more; I am not Licio.
What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook? Nor a musician as I seem to be;
How durst you villains bring it from the dresser But one that scorn to live in this disguise
And serve it thus to me that love it not? For such a one as leaves a gentleman
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all; And makes a god of such a cullion.
[Throws the meat, etc., at them] You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves! Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.
What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight. TRANIO. Signior Hortensio, I have often heardOf your entire affection to Bianca;
Exeunt SERVANTS KATHERINA. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
The meat was well, if you were so contented. I will with you, if you be so contented,
PETRUCHIO. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away, And I expressly am forbid to Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.
touch it; HORTENSIO. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio, Here is my hand, and here I
For it engenders choler, planteth anger; firmly vow
And better 'twere that both of us did fast, Never to woo her more, but do forswear her,
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, As one unworthy all the former favours
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended. That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.
And for this night we'll fast for company. TRANIO. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. Exeunt Never to marry with her though she would entreat;
Re-enter SERVANTS severally Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!
NATHANIEL. Peter, didst ever see the like? HORTENSIO. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn! For me, that I may surely keep
PETER. He kills her in her own humour. mine oath,
Re-enter CURTIS I will be married to a wealtlly widow
GRUMIO. Where is he? Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd me
CURTIS. In her chamber. Making a sermon of continency to her, And rails, and swears, and As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard.
rates, that she, poor soul, And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak. Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
And sits as one new risen from a dream. Shall win my love; and so I take my leave,
Away, away! for he is coming hither. Exeunt In resolution as I swore before. Exit TRANIO. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
Re-enter PETRUCHIO As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!
PETRUCHIO. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love,
And 'tis my hope to end successfully. And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty. BIANCA. Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorg'd, TRANIO. Mistress, we have.
For then she never looks upon her lure. LUCENTIO. Then we are rid of Licio.
Another way I have to man my haggard, TRANIO. I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,
To make her come, and know her keeper's call, That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day.
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites BIANCA. God give him joy!
That bate and beat, and will not be obedient. TRANIO. Ay, and he'll tame her.
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; BIANCA. He says so, Tranio.
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; TRANIO. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.
As with the meat, some undeserved fault BIANCA. The taming-school! What, is there such a place?
I'll find about the making of the bed; TRANIO. Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets; To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend Enter BIONDELLO
That all is done in reverend care of herAnd, BIONDELLO. O master, master, have watch'd so long
in conclusion, she shall watch all night; That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied
And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl An ancient angel coming down the hill
And with the clamour keep her still awake. Will serve the turn.
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness, TRANIO. What is he, Biondello?
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour. BIONDELLO. Master, a mercatante or a pedant,
He that knows better how to tame a shrew, I know not what; but formal in apparel,
Now let him speak; 'tis charity to show. Exit In gait and countenance surely like a father.
SCENE II. LUCENTIO. And what of him, Tranio?
Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house TRANIO. If he be credulous and trust my tale,
Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and HORTENSIO as LICIO I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio,
TRANIO. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca Doth fancy any other but And give assurance to Baptista Minola
Lucentio? As if he were the right Vincentio.
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. Take in your love, and then let me alone.
Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA GRUMIO. What say you to a neat's foot?
Enter a PEDANT KATHERINA. 'Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.
PEDANT. God save you, sir! GRUMIO. I fear it is too choleric a meat.
TRANIO. And you, sir; you are welcome. How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd?
Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest? KATHERINA. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.
PEDANT. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two; GRUMIO. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
But then up farther, and as far as Rome; What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. KATHERINA. A dish that I do love to feed upon.
TRANIO. What countryman, I pray? GRUMIO. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
PEDANT. Of Mantua. KATHERINA. Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.
TRANIO. Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid, GRUMIO. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of
And come to Padua, careless of your life! Grumio.
PEDANT. My life, sir! How, I pray? For that goes hard. KATHERINA. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.
TRANIO. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua GRUMIO. Why then the mustard without the beef.
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause? KATHERINA. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,
Your ships are stay'd at Venice; and the Duke, [Beats him] That feed'st me with the very name of meat.
For private quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him, Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly. That triumph thus upon my misery!
'Tis marvel- but that you are but newly come, Go, get thee gone, I say.
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. Enter PETRUCHIO, and HORTENSIO with meatPETRUCHIO. How fares my Kate? What,
PEDANT. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so!For I have bills for money by exchange sweeting, all amort?
From Florence, and must here deliver them. HORTENSIO. Mistress, what cheer?
TRANIO. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, KATHERINA. Faith, as cold as can be.
This will I do, and this I will advise youFirst, PETRUCHIO. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. Here, love, thou seest how
tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? diligent I am,
PEDANT. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee.
Pisa renowned for grave citizens. I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
TRANIO. Among them know you one Vincentio? What, not a word? Nay, then thou lov'st it not,
PEDANT. I know him not, but I have heard of him, And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
A merchant of incomparable wealth. Here, take away this dish.
TRANIO. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, KATHERINA. I pray you, let it stand.
In count'nance somewhat doth resemble you. PETRUCHIO. The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
BIONDELLO. [Aside] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one. And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
TRANIO. To save your life in this extremity, KATHERINA. I thank you, sir.
This favour will I do you for his sake; HORTENSIO. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes Come, Mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.
That you are like to Sir Vincentio. PETRUCHIO. [Aside] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.- Much good do it unto thy
His name and credit shall you undertake, gentle heart!
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd; Kate, eat apace. And now, my honey love,
Look that you take upon you as you should. Will we return unto thy father's house
You understand me, sir. So shall you stay And revel it as bravely as the best,
Till you have done your business in the city. With silken coats and caps, and golden rings,
If this be court'sy, sir, accept of it. With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things,
PEDANT. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever With scarfs and fans and double change of brav'ry.
The patron of my life and liberty. With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry.
TRANIO. Then go with me to make the matter good. What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure,
This, by the way, I let you understand: To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.
My father is here look'd for every day Enter TAILOR
To pass assurance of a dow'r in marriage Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here. Lay forth the gown.
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you. Enter HABERDASHER
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. Exeunt What news with you, sir?
SCENE III. HABERDASHER. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
PETRUCHIO'S house PETRUCHIO. Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
Enter KATHERINA and GRUMIO A velvet dish. Fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy;
GRUMIO. No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life. Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
KATHERINA. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears. What, did he marry me to A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap.
famish Away with it. Come, let me have a bigger.
me? KATHERINA. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,
Beggars that come unto my father's door And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
Upon entreaty have a present alms; PETRUCHIO. When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity; And not till then.
But I, who never knew how to entreat, HORTENSIO. [Aside] That will not be in haste.
Nor never needed that I should entreat, KATHERINA. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;
Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed; Your betters have endur'd me say my mind,
And that which spites me more than all these wantsHe And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
does it under name of perfect love; My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, Or else my heart, concealing it, will break;
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. And rather than it shall, I will be free
I prithee go and get me some repast; Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
I care not what, so it be wholesome food. PETRUCHIO. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie; PETRUCHIO. [Aside] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.- Go take it hence; be
I love thee well in that thou lik'st it not. gone, and say no more.
KATHERINA. Love me or love me not, I like the cap; HORTENSIO. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow;
And it I will have, or I will have none. Exit HABERDASHER PETRUCHIO. Thy gown? Why, ay. Take no unkindness of his hasty words.
Come, tailor, let us see't. O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? Away, I say; commend me to thy master. Exit TAILOR PETRUCHIO. Well, come, my Kate; we
What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon. will unto your father's Even in these honest mean habiliments;
What, up and down, carv'd like an appletart? Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
Like to a censer in a barber's shop. And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
Why, what a devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
HORTENSIO. [Aside] I see she's like to have neither cap nor gown. TAILOR. You bid me make What, is the jay more precious than the lark
it orderly and well, Because his feathers are more beautiful?
According to the fashion and the time. Or is the adder better than the eel
PETRUCHIO. Marry, and did; but if you be rememb'red, Because his painted skin contents the eye?
I did not bid you mar it to the time. O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
Go, hop me over every kennel home, For this poor furniture and mean array.
For you shall hop without my custom, sir. If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me;
I'll none of it; hence! make your best of it. And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith
KATHERINA. I never saw a better fashion'd gown, To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable; Go call my men, and let us straight to him;
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. And bring our horses unto Long-lane end;
PETRUCHIO. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.TAILOR. She says your worship There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.
means to make a puppet of her. PETRUCHIO. O monstrous Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock,
arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou And well we may come there by dinner-time.
thimble, KATHERINA. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two,
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there.
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thouBrav' PETRUCHIO. It shall be seven ere I go to horse.Look what I speak, or do, or think to do,
d in mine own house with a skein of thread! You are still crossing it. Sirs, let 't alone;
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard It shall be what o'clock I say it is.
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! HORTENSIO. Why, so this gallant will command the sun.
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. Exeunt
TAILOR. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made SCENE IV.
Just as my master had direction. Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house
Grumio gave order how it should be done. Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and the PEDANT dressed like VINCENTIO
GRUMIO. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. TRANIO. Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call? PEDANT. Ay, what else? And,
TAILOR. But how did you desire it should be made? but I be deceived,
GRUMIO. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. Signior Baptista may remember me
TAILOR. But did you not request to have it cut? Near twenty years ago in Genoa,
GRUMIO. Thou hast fac'd many things. Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.
TAILOR. I have. TRANIO. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,
GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast brav'd many men; brave not me. I will neither be fac'd nor With such austerity as longeth to a father.
brav'd. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it Enter BIONDELLO
to pieces. Ergo, thou liest. PEDANT. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;
TAILOR. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. 'Twere good he were school'd.
PETRUCHIO. Read it. TRANIO. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
GRUMIO. The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so. Now do your duty throughly, I advise you.
TAILOR. [Reads] 'Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown'- Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.
GRUMIO. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it and beat me BIONDELLO. Tut, fear not me.
to death with a bottom of brown bread; I said a gown. TRANIO. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?
PETRUCHIO. Proceed. BIONDELLO. I told him that your father was at Venice,
TAILOR. [Reads] 'With a small compass'd cape'- And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.
GRUMIO. I confess the cape. TRANIO. Th'art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.
TAILOR. [Reads] 'With a trunk sleeve'- Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.
GRUMIO. I confess two sleeves. Enter BAPTISTA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO
TAILOR. [Reads] 'The sleeves curiously cut.' Signior Baptista, you are happily met.
PETRUCHIO. Ay, there's the villainy. [To To the PEDANT] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of; I pray you stand good father
GRUMIO. Error i' th' bill, sir; error i' th' bill! I commanded the sleeves should be cut to me now;
out, and sew'd up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
in a thimble. TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where, thou PEDANT. Soft, son!
shouldst know it. Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua
GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy meteyard, and spare not To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
me. Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
HORTENSIO. God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds. PETRUCHIO. Well, sir, in Of love between your daughter and himself;
brief, the gown is not for me. And- for the good report I hear of you,
GRUMIO. You are i' th' right, sir; 'tis for my mistress. And for the love he beareth to your daughter,
PETRUCHIO. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. And she to him- to stay him not too long,
GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress' gown for thy master's use! I am content, in a good father's care,
PETRUCHIO. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? To have him match'd; and, if you please to like
GRUMIO. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for. Take up my mistress' gown to No worse than I, upon some agreement
his master's use! Me shall you find ready and willing
O fie, fie, fie! With one consent to have her so bestow'd;
For curious I cannot be with you, KATHERINA. I know it is the sun that shines so bright.
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. PETRUCHIO. Now by my mother's son, and that's myself,
BAPTISTA. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say. It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
Your plainness and your shortness please me well. Or ere I journey to your father's house.
Right true it is your son Lucentio here Go on and fetch our horses back again.
Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!
Or both dissemble deeply their affections; HORTENSIO. Say as he says, or we shall never go.
And therefore, if you say no more than this, KATHERINA. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
That like a father you will deal with him, And be it moon, or sun, or what you please;
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, And if you please to call it a rush-candle,
The match is made, and all is doneYour Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.
son shall have my daughter with consent. PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon.
TRANIO. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best KATHERINA. I know it is the moon.
We be affied, and such assurance ta'en PETRUCHIO. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.
As shall with either part's agreement stand? KATHERINA. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun;
BAPTISTA. Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know But sun it is not, when you say it is not;
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants; And the moon changes even as your mind.
Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still, What you will have it nam'd, even that it is,
And happily we might be interrupted. And so it shall be so for Katherine.
TRANIO. Then at my lodging, an it like you. HORTENSIO. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won.
There doth my father lie; and there this night PETRUCHIO. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, And not unluckily against
We'll pass the business privately and well. the bias.
Send for your daughter by your servant here; But, soft! Company is coming here.Enter VINCENTIO
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.The worst is this, that at so slender warning [To VINCENTIO] Good-morrow, gentle mistress; where away?- Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell
You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. me truly too,
BAPTISTA. It likes me well. Cambio, hie you home, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
And bid Bianca make her ready straight; Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
And, if you will, tell what hath happenedLucentio' What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty
s father is arriv'd in Padua, As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Exit LUCENTIO BIONDELLO. I pray the gods she Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.
may, with all my heart. Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.
TRANIO. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. HORTENSIO. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. KATHERINA. Young
Exit BIONDELLO Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? budding
Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer; virgin, fair and fresh and sweet, Whither away, or where is thy abode?
Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa. Happy the parents of so fair a child;
BAPTISTA. I follow you. Exeunt Happier the man whom favourable stars
Re-enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and BIONDELLO Allots thee for his lovely bed-fellow.
BIONDELLO. Cambio. PETRUCHIO. Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not mad!
LUCENTIO. What say'st thou, Biondello? This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, withered,
BIONDELLO. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.
LUCENTIO. Biondello, what of that? KATHERINA. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or moral of That have been so bedazzled with the sun
his signs and tokens. That everything I look on seemeth green;
LUCENTIO. I pray thee moralize them. Now I perceive thou art a reverend father.
BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.
son. PETRUCHIO. Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known
LUCENTIO. And what of him? Which way thou travellest- if along with us,
BIONDELLO. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. LUCENTIO. And then? We shall be joyful of thy company.
BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command at all hours. VINCENTIO. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
LUCENTIO. And what of all this? That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me,
BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa,
counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum; And bound I am to Padua, there to visit
to th' church take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses. A son of mine, which long I have not seen.
If this be not that you look for, I have more to say, PETRUCHIO. What is his name?
But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. VINCENTIO. Lucentio, gentle sir.
LUCENTIO. Hear'st thou, Biondello? PETRUCHIO. Happily met; the happier for thy son.
BIONDELLO. I cannot tarry. I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the And now by law, as well as reverend age,
garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master I may entitle thee my loving father:
hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke's to bid the priest be ready to come against you The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
come with your appendix. Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
Exit Nor be not grieved- she is of good esteem,
LUCENTIO. I may and will, if she be so contented. Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
She will be pleas'd; then wherefore should I doubt? Beside, so qualified as may beseem
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her; The spouse of any noble gentleman.
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. Exit Let me embrace with old Vincentio;
SCENE V. And wander we to see thy honest son,
A public road Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.
Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and SERVANTS VINCENTIO. But is this true; or is it else your pleasure, Like pleasant travellers, to
PETRUCHIO. Come on, a God's name; once more toward our father's. Good Lord, how bright break a jest
and goodly shines the moon! Upon the company you overtake?
KATHERINA. The moon? The sun! It is not moonlight now. HORTENSIO. I do assure thee, father, so it is.
PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon that shines so bright. PETRUCHIO. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.
Exeunt all but HORTENSIO HORTENSIO. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
Have to my widow; and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. Exit
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ACT V. SCENE I.
Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S house
Enter BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and BIANCA; GREMIO is out before
BIONDELLO. Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready. LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello;
but they may chance to need the at home, therefore leave us.
BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I'll see the church a your back, and then come back to my master's
as soon as I can.
Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO GREMIO. I marvel Cambio comes not all this
while.
Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, VINCENTIO, GRUMIO,and ATTENDANTS
PETRUCHIO. Sir, here's the door; this is Lucentio's house; My father's bears more toward
the market-place;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
VINCENTIO. You shall not choose but drink before you go;
I think I shall command your welcome here,
And by all likelihood some cheer is toward. [Knocks] GREMIO. They're busy within; you
were best knock louder.
[PEDANT looks out of the window] PEDANT. What's he that knocks as he would beat down the
gate? VINCENTIO. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
PEDANT. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.
VINCENTIO. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal?
PEDANT. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need none so long as I live.
PETRUCHIO. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? To leave
frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that his father is come from
Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him.
PEDANT. Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the window.
VINCENTIO. Art thou his father?
PEDANT. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her. PETRUCHIO. [To VINCENTIO]
Why,
how now, gentleman!
Why, this is flat knavery to take upon you another man's name. PEDANT. Lay hands on the
villain; I believe 'a means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.
Re-enter BIONDELLO
BIONDELLO. I have seen them in the church together. God send 'em good shipping! But who
is here? Mine old master, Vicentio! Now we are undone and brought to nothing.
VINCENTIO. [Seeing BIONDELLO] Come hither, crack-hemp.
BIONDELLO. I hope I may choose, sir.
VINCENTIO. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me? BIONDELLO. Forgot you!
No,
sir. I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life.
VINCENTIO. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father,
Vincentio?
BIONDELLO. What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks out of
the window.
VINCENTIO. Is't so, indeed? [He beats BIONDELLO] BIONDELLO. Help, help, help! Here's a
madman will murder me. Exit
PEDANT. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! Exit from above PETRUCHIO. Prithee, Kate,
let's stand aside and see the end of this controversy. [They stand aside]
Re-enter PEDANT below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and SERVANTS
TRANIO. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?
VINCENTIO. What am I, sir? Nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine villain! A
silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am
undone! While I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the
university.
TRANIO. How now! what's the matter?
BAPTISTA. What, is the man lunatic?
TRANIO. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a
madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I
am able to maintain it.
VINCENTIO. Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo. BAPTISTA. You mistake,
sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his name?
VINCENTIO. His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since he was
three years old, and his name is Tranio. PEDANT. Away, away, mad ass! His name is
Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vicentio.
VINCENTIO. Lucentio! O, he hath murd'red his master! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in
the Duke's name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio?
TRANIO. Call forth an officer.
Enter one with an OFFICER
Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see that he be
forthcoming.
VINCENTIO. Carry me to the gaol!
GREMIO. Stay, Officer; he shall not go to prison.
BAPTISTA. Talk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison. GREMIO. Take heed,
Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catch'd in this business; I dare swear this is the
right Vincentio. PEDANT. Swear if thou dar'st.
GREMIO. Nay, I dare not swear it.
TRANIO. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.
GREMIO. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
BAPTISTA. Away with the dotard; to the gaol with him!
VINCENTIO. Thus strangers may be hal'd and abus'd. O monstrous villain!Re-enter
BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA
BIONDELLO. O, we are spoil'd; and yonder he is! Deny him, forswear him, or else we are
all undone.
Exeunt BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and PEDANT, as fast as may be LUCENTIO. [Kneeling]
Pardon,
sweet father.
VINCENTIO. Lives my sweet son?
BIANCA. Pardon, dear father.
BAPTISTA. How hast thou offended?
Where is Lucentio?
LUCENTIO. Here's Lucentio,
Right son to the right Vincentio,
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne.
GREMIO. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! VINCENTIO. Where is that
damned villain, Tranio,
That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so?
BAPTISTA. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?
BIANCA. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio.
LUCENTIO. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town;
And happily I have arrived at the last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
VINCENTIO. I'll slit the villain's nose that would have sent me to the gaol.
BAPTISTA. [To LUCENTIO] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter without
asking
my good will?
VINCENTIO. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to; but I will in to be revenged
for this villainy. Exit BAPTISTA. And I to sound the depth of this knavery. Exit
LUCENTIO. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.
Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA GREMIO. My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest;
Out of hope of all but my share of the feast. Exit KATHERINA. Husband, let's follow to
see the end of this ado. PETRUCHIO. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
KATHERINA. What, in the midst of the street?
PETRUCHIO. What, art thou asham'd of me?
KATHERINA. No, sir; God forbid; but asham'd to kiss.
PETRUCHIO. Why, then, let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away. KATHERINA. Nay, I will
give thee a kiss; now pray thee, love, stay. PETRUCHIO. Is not this well? Come, my sweet
Kate:
Better once than never, for never too late. Exeunt
SCENE II.
LUCENTIO'S house
Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the PEDANT, LUCENTIO, BIANCA, PETRUCHIO,
KATHERINA,
HORTENSIO, and WIDOW. The SERVINGMEN with TRANIO, BIONDELLO, and GRUMIO,
bringing in a
banquet HORTENSIO. Content. What's the wager?
LUCENTIO. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree; LUCENTIO. Twenty crowns.
And time it is when raging war is done PETRUCHIO. Twenty crowns?
To smile at scapes and perils overblown. I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, But twenty times so much upon my wife.
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. LUCENTIO. A hundred then.
Brother Petruchio, sister Katherina, HORTENSIO. Content.
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, PETRUCHIO. A match! 'tis done.
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house. HORTENSIO. Who shall begin?
My banquet is to close our stomachs up LUCENTIO. That will I.
After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down; Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
For now we sit to chat as well as eat. [They sit] PETRUCHIO. Nothing but sit and sit, and BIONDELLO. I go. Exit BAPTISTA. Son, I'll be your half Bianca comes.
eat and eat! LUCENTIO. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.
BAPTISTA. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. Re-enter BIONDELLO
PETRUCHIO. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. How now! what news?
HORTENSIO. For both our sakes I would that word were true. PETRUCHIO. Now, for my life, BIONDELLO. Sir, my mistress sends you word
Hortensio fears his widow. That she is busy and she cannot come.
WIDOW. Then never trust me if I be afeard. PETRUCHIO. How! She's busy, and she cannot come!
PETRUCHIO. YOU are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense: I mean Hortensio is afeard Is that an answer?
of you. GREMIO. Ay, and a kind one too.
WIDOW. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
PETRUCHIO. Roundly replied. PETRUCHIO. I hope better.
KATHERINA. Mistress, how mean you that? HORTENSIO. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
WIDOW. Thus I conceive by him. To come to me forthwith. Exit BIONDELLO PETRUCHIO. O, ho! entreat her!
PETRUCHIO. Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that? Nay, then she must needs come.
HORTENSIO. My widow says thus she conceives her tale. HORTENSIO. I am afraid, sir,
PETRUCHIO. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow. KATHERINA. 'He that is Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
giddythinks the world turns round.' I pray you tell me what you meant by that. Re-enter BIONDELLONow, where's my wife?
WIDOW. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, BIONDELLO. She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe; She will not come; she bids you come to her.
And now you know my meaning. PETRUCHIO. Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
KATHERINA. A very mean meaning. Intolerable, not to be endur'd!
WIDOW. Right, I mean you. Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
KATHERINA. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. Say I command her come to me. Exit GRUMIO HORTENSIO. I know her answer.
PETRUCHIO. To her, Kate! PETRUCHIO. What?
HORTENSIO. To her, widow! HORTENSIO. She will not.
PETRUCHIO. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. PETRUCHIO. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.
HORTENSIO. That's my office. Re-enter KATHERINA
PETRUCHIO. Spoke like an officer- ha' to thee, lad. BAPTISTA. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!
[Drinks to HORTENSIO] BAPTISTA. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? KATHERINA. What is your sir, that you send for me?
GREMIO. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. PETRUCHIO. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?
BIANCA. Head and butt! An hasty-witted body KATHERINA. They sit conferring by the parlour fire.
Would say your head and butt were head and horn. PETRUCHIO. Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come.
VINCENTIO. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awakened you? Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.
BIANCA. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again. PETRUCHIO. Nay, that you Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
shall not; since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter jest or two. Exit KATHERINA LUCENTIO. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
BIANCA. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, HORTENSIO. And so it is. I wonder what it bodes.
And then pursue me as you draw your bow. PETRUCHIO. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, An awful rule, and right
You are welcome all. supremacy;
Exeunt BIANCA, KATHERINA, and WIDOW PETRUCHIO. She hath prevented me. Here, And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy.
Signior BAPTISTA. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio!
Tranio, The wager thou hast won; and I will ad
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. Another dowry to another daughter,
TRANIO. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound, For she is chang'd, as she had never been.
Which runs himself, and catches for his master. PETRUCHIO. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
PETRUCHIO. A good swift simile, but something currish. And show more sign of her obedience,
TRANIO. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; Her new-built virtue and obedience.
'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. Re-enter KATHERINA with BIANCA and WIDOW
BAPTISTA. O, O, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. See where she comes, and brings your froward wives
LUCENTIO. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
HORTENSIO. Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here? Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:
PETRUCHIO. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot.
And, as the jest did glance away from me, [KATHERINA complies] WIDOW. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. Till I be brought to such a silly pass!
BAPTISTA. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, BIANCA. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. LUCENTIO. I would your duty were as foolish too;
PETRUCHIO. Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance, The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Let's each one send unto his wife, Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!
And he whose wife is most obedient, BIANCA. The more fool you for laying on my duty.
To come at first when he doth send for her, PETRUCHIO. Katherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe
Shall win the wager which we will propose. their lords and husbands.
WIDOW. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling. PETRUCHIO. Come on, I say; THE TEMPEST
and first begin with her. by William Shakespeare
WIDOW. She shall not. DRAMATIS PERSONAE
PETRUCHIO. I say she shall. And first begin with her. ALONSO, King of Naples
KATHERINA. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, And dart not scornful glances SEBASTIAN, his brother
from those eyes PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, GONZALO, an honest old counsellor
And in no sense is meet or amiable. Lords
A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubledMuddy, ADRIAN
ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; FRANCISCO
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty CALIBAN, a savage and deformed slave
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. TRINCULO, a jester
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, STEPHANO, a drunken butler
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, MASTER OF A SHIP
And for thy maintenance commits his body BOATSWAIN
To painful labour both by sea and land, MARINERS
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; ARIEL, an airy spirit
And craves no other tribute at thy hands Spirits
But love, fair looks, and true obedienceToo IRIS
little payment for so great a debt. CERES
Such duty as the subject owes the prince, JUNO
Even such a woman oweth to her husband; NYMPHSREAPERS
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, Other Spirits attending on Prospero
And not obedient to his honest will,What is she but a foul contending rebel <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
And graceless traitor to her loving lord? SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
I am asham'd that women are so simple BY PROJECT
To offer war where they should kneel for peace; GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
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Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, YOUR OR OTHERS
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My mind hath been as big as one of yours, SCENE:
My heart as great, my reason haply more, A ship at sea; afterwards an uninhabited island
To bandy word for word and frown for frown; THE TEMPEST
But now I see our lances are but straws, ACT I. SCENE 1
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, On a ship at sea; a tempestuous noise of thunder and lightning heard
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. Enter a SHIPMASTER and a BOATSWAIN
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, MASTER. Boatswain!
And place your hands below your husband's foot; BOATSWAIN. Here, master; what cheer?
In token of which duty, if he please, MASTER. Good! Speak to th' mariners; fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground;
My hand is ready, may it do him ease. bestir, bestir. Exit
PETRUCHIO. Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate. LUCENTIO. Well, go thy Enter MARINERS
ways, BOATSWAIN. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the
old lad, for thou shalt ha't. VINCENTIO. 'Tis a good hearing when children are toward. topsail. Tend to th' master's
LUCENTIO. But a harsh hearing when women are froward. whistle. Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room enough.
PETRUCHIO. Come, Kate, we'll to bed. Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND
We three are married, but you two are sped. GONZALO, and OTHERS
[To LUCENTIO] 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; And being a winner, God ALONSO. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?
give you good night! Play the men.
Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA HORTENSIO. Now go thy ways; thou hast tam'd a BOATSWAIN. I pray now, keep below.
curst shrow. ANTONIO. Where is the master, boson?
LUCENTIO. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. BOATSWAIN. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour;
Exeunt keep your cabins; you do assist the storm.
THE END GONZALO. Nay, good, be patient.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM BOATSWAIN. When the sea is. Hence! What cares these
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED roarers for the name of king? To cabin! silence! Trouble us not.
BY PROJECT GONZALO. Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. BOATSWAIN. None that I more love than myself. You are
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE counsellor; if you can command these elements to
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COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY hap.-Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our way, I say.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Exit
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> GONZALO. I have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks
1612 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 [Lays down his mantle] Lie there my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hang'd, our The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
case is miserable. Exeunt The very virtue of compassion in thee,
Re-enter BOATSWAIN I have with such provision in mine art
BOATSWAIN. Down with the topmast. Yare, lower, lower! So safely ordered that there is no soulNo,
Bring her to try wi' th' maincourse. [A cry within] A plague upon this howling! They are not so much perdition as an hair
louder than the Betid to any creature in the vessel
weather or our office. Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.
Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO Sit down, for thou must now know farther.
Yet again! What do you here? Shall we give o'er, and MIRANDA. You have often
drown? Have you a mind to sink? Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd,
SEBASTIAN. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! And left me to a bootless inquisition,
BOATSWAIN. Work you, then. Concluding 'Stay; not yet.'
ANTONIO. Hang, cur; hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker; we are less afraid to be PROSPERO. The hour's now come;
drown'd than thou art. The very minute bids thee ope thine ear.
GONZALO. I'll warrant him for drowning, though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell, Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember
and as leaky as an unstanched wench. A time before we came unto this cell?
BOATSWAIN. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two courses; off to sea again; lay her off.Enter I do not think thou canst; for then thou wast notOut three years old.
MARINERS, Wet MIRANDA. Certainly, sir, I can.
MARINERS. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! PROSPERO. By what? By any other house, or person?
Exeunt BOATSWAIN. What, must our mouths be cold? Of any thing the image, tell me, that
GONZALO. The King and Prince at prayers! Hath kept with thy remembrance?
Let's assist them, MIRANDA. 'Tis far off,
For our case is as theirs. And rather like a dream than an assurance
SEBASTIAN. I am out of patience. That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
ANTONIO. We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards. This wide-chopp'd rascal-would Four, or five, women once, that tended me?
thou mightst lie drowning The washing of ten tides! PROSPERO. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it
GONZALO. He'll be hang'd yet, That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
Though every drop of water swear against it, In the dark backward and abysm of time?
And gape at wid'st to glut him. If thou rememb'rest aught, ere thou cam'st here,
[A confused noise within: Mercy on us! How thou cam'st here thou mayst.
We split, we split! Farewell, my wife and children! MIRANDA. But that I do not.
Farewell, brother! We split, we split, we split!] PROSPERO. Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
ANTONIO. Let's all sink wi' th' King. Thy father was the Duke of Milan, and
SEBASTIAN. Let's take leave of him. A prince of power.
Exeunt ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN GONZALO. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea MIRANDA. Sir, are not you my father?
for PROSPERO. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
an acre of barren ground-long heath, brown furze, any She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
thing. The wills above be done, but I would fain die Was Duke of Milan, and his only heir
dry death. Exeunt And princess no worse issued.
SCENE 2 MIRANDA. O, the heavens!
The Island. Before PROSPERO'S cell What foul play had we that we came from thence?
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA Or blessed was't we did?
MIRANDA. If by your art, my dearest father, you have PROSPERO. Both, both, my girl.
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence;
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But blessedly holp hither.
But that the sea, mounting to th' welkin's cheek, MIRANDA. O, my heart bleeds
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered To think o' th' teen that I have turn'd you to,
With those that I saw suffer! A brave vessel, Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther.
Who had no doubt some noble creature in her, PROSPERO. My brother and thy uncle, call'd AntonioI
Dash'd all to pieces! O, the cry did knock pray thee, mark me that a brother should
Against my very heart! Poor souls, they perish'd. Be so perfidious. He, whom next thyself
Had I been any god of power, I would Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere The manage of my state; as at that time
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and Through all the signories it was the first,
The fraughting souls within her. And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
PROSPERO. Be conected; In dignity, and for the liberal arts
No more amazement; tell your piteous heart Without a parallel, those being all my studyThe
There's no harm done. government I cast upon my brother
MIRANDA. O, woe the day! And to my state grew stranger, being transported
PROSPERO. No harm. And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncleDost
I have done nothing but in care of thee, thou attend me?
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who MIRANDA. Sir, most heedfully.
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing PROSPERO. Being once perfected how to grant suits,
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better How to deny them, who t' advance, and who
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, To trash for over-topping, new created
And thy no greater father. The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd 'em,
MIRANDA. More to know Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
Did never meddle with my thoughts. Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state
PROSPERO. 'Tis time To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, The ivy which had hid my princely trunk
And pluck my magic garment from me. So, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.
MIRANDA. O, good sir, I do! Was I then to you!
PROSPERO. I pray thee, mark me. PROSPERO. O, a cherubin
I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated Thou wast that did preserve me! Thou didst smile,
To closeness and the bettering of my mind Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
With that which, but by being so retir'd, When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother Under my burden groan'd; which rais'd in me
Awak'd an evil nature; and my trust, An undergoing stomach, to bear up
Like a good parent, did beget of him Against what should ensue.
A falsehood, in its contrary as great MIRANDA. How came we ashore?
As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, PROSPERO. By Providence divine.
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Some food we had and some fresh water that
Not only with what my revenue yielded, A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
But what my power might else exact, like one Out of his charity, who being then appointed
Who having into truth, by telling of it, Master of this design, did give us, with
Made such a sinner of his memory, Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,
To credit his own lie-he did believe Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
He was indeed the Duke; out o' th' substitution, Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me
And executing th' outward face of royalty From mine own library with volumes that
With all prerogative. Hence his ambition growingDost I prize above my dukedom.
thou hear? MIRANDA. Would I might
MIRANDA. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. But ever see that man!
PROSPERO. To have no screen between this part he play'd PROSPERO. Now I arise. [Puts on his mantle] Sit still, and hear the last of our
And him he play'd it for, he needs will beAbsolute Milan. Me, poor man-my library sea-sorrow.
Was dukedom large enough-of temporal royalties Here in this island we arriv'd; and here
He thinks me now incapable; confederates, Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
So dry he was for sway, wi' th' King of Naples, Than other princess' can, that have more time
To give him annual tribute, do him homage, For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend MIRANDA. Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you,sir,
The dukedom, yet unbow'd-alas, poor Milan!- For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
To most ignoble stooping. For raising this sea-storm?
MIRANDA. O the heavens! PROSPERO. Know thus far forth:
PROSPERO. Mark his condition, and th' event, then tell me If this might be a brother. By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
MIRANDA. I should sin Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
To think but nobly of my grandmother: Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
Good wombs have borne bad sons. I find my zenith doth depend upon
PROSPERO. Now the condition: A most auspicious star, whose influence
This King of Naples, being an enemy If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions;
Which was, that he, in lieu o' th' premises, Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dullness,
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, And give it way. I know thou canst not choose.
Should presently extirpate me and mine [MIRANDA sleeps] Come away, servant; come; I am ready now.
Out of the dukedom, and confer fair Milan Approach, my Ariel. Come.
With all the honours on my brother. Whereon, Enter ARIEL
A treacherous army levied, one midnight ARIEL. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
Fated to th' purpose, did Antonio open To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
The gates of Milan; and, i' th' dead of darkness, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
The ministers for th' purpose hurried thence On the curl'd clouds. To thy strong bidding task
Me and thy crying self. Ariel and all his quality.
MIRANDA. Alack, for pity! PROSPERO. Hast thou, spirit,
I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?
Will cry it o'er again; it is a hint ARIEL. To every article.
That wrings mine eyes to't. I boarded the King's ship; now on the beak,
PROSPERO. Hear a little further, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
And then I'll bring thee to the present busines I flam'd amazement. Sometime I'd divide,
Which now's upon 's; without the which this story And burn in many places; on the topmast,
Were most impertinent. The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
MIRANDA. Wherefore did they not Then meet and join Jove's lightning, the precursors
That hour destroy us? O' th' dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
PROSPERO. Well demanded, wench! And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
So dear the love my people bore me; nor set Seem to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble,
A mark so bloody on the business; but Yea, his dread trident shake.
With colours fairer painted their foul ends. PROSPERO. My brave spirit!
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark; Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared Would not infect his reason?
A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigg'd, ARIEL. Not a soul
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
Instinctively have quit it. There they hoist us, Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners
To cry to th' sea, that roar'd to us; to sigh Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel,
To th' winds, whose pity, sighing back again, Then all afire with me; the King's son, Ferdinand,
Did us but loving wrong. With hair up-staring-then like reeds, not hairWas
MIRANDA. Alack, what trouble the first man that leapt; cried 'Hell is empty,
And all the devils are here.' To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
PROSPERO. Why, that's my spirit! Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
But was not this nigh shore? By help of her more potent ministers,
ARIEL. Close by, my master. And in her most unmitigable rage,
PROSPERO. But are they, Ariel, safe? Into a cloven pine; within which rift
ARIEL. Not a hair perish'd; Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
On their sustaining garments not a blemish, A dozen years; within which space she died,
But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me, And left thee there, where thou didst vent thy groans
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle. As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this islandSave
The King's son have I landed by himself, for the son that she did litter here,
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs A freckl'd whelp, hag-born-not honour'd with
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, A human shape.
His arms in this sad knot. ARIEL. Yes, Caliban her son.
PROSPERO. Of the King's ship, PROSPERO. Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
The mariners, say how thou hast dispos'd, Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
And all the rest o' th' fleet? What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
ARIEL. Safely in harbour Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts
Is the King's ship; in the deep nook, where once Of ever-angry bears; it was a torment
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid; Could not again undo. It was mine art,
The mariners all under hatches stowed, When I arriv'd and heard thee, that made gape
Who, with a charm join'd to their suff'red labour, The pine, and let thee out.
I have left asleep; and for the rest o' th' fleet, ARIEL. I thank thee, master.
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again, PROSPERO. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak
And are upon the Mediterranean flote And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till
Bound sadly home for Naples, Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.
Supposing that they saw the King's ship wreck'd, ARIEL. Pardon, master;
And his great person perish. I will be correspondent to command,
PROSPERO. Ariel, thy charge And do my spriting gently.
Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work.What is the time o' th' day? PROSPERO. Do so; and after two days
ARIEL. Past the mid season. I will discharge thee.
PROSPERO. At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most ARIEL. That's my noble master!
preciously. What shall I do? Say what. What shall I do?
ARIEL. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou PROSPERO. Go make thyself like a nymph o' th' sea; be subject To no sight but thine and
hast promis'd, mine, invisibleTo every eyeball else. Go take this shape,
Which is not yet perform'd me. And hither come in 't. Go, hence with diligence!
PROSPERO. How now, moody? Exit ARIEL Awake, dear heart, awake; thou hast slept well;
What is't thou canst demand? Awake.
ARIEL. My liberty. MIRANDA. The strangeness of your story put
PROSPERO. Before the time be out? No more! Heaviness in me.
ARIEL. I prithee, PROSPERO. Shake it off. Come on,
Remember I have done thee worthy service, We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, serv'd Yields us kind answer.
Without or grudge or grumblings. Thou didst promise MIRANDA. 'Tis a villain, sir,
To bate me a full year. I do not love to look on.
PROSPERO. Dost thou forget PROSPERO. But as 'tis,
From what a torment I did free thee? We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
ARIEL. No. Fetch in our wood, and serves in offices
PROSPERO. Thou dost; and think'st it much to tread the ooze Of the salt deep, That profit us. What ho! slave! Caliban!
To run upon the sharp wind of the north, Thou earth, thou! Speak.
To do me business in the veins o' th' earth CALIBAN. [ Within] There's wood enough within.
When it is bak'd with frost. PROSPERO. Come forth, I say; there's other business for thee. Come, thou tortoise! when?
ARIEL. I do not, sir. Re-enter ARIEL like a water-nymph
PROSPERO. Thou liest, malignant thing. Hast thou forgot Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Hark in thine ear.
Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her? ARIEL. My lord, it shall be done. Exit PROSPERO. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil
ARIEL. No, sir. himself
PROSPERO. Thou hast. Where was she born? Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!
Speak; tell me. Enter CALIBAN
ARIEL. Sir, in Argier. CALIBAN. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
PROSPERO. O, was she so? I must With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
Once in a month recount what thou hast been, Drop on you both! A south-west blow on ye
Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax, And blister you all o'er!
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible PROSPERO. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall
To enter human hearing, from Argier pen thy breath up; urchins
Thou know'st was banish'd; for one thing she did Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
They would not take her life. Is not this true? All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd
ARIEL. Ay, sir. As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
PROSPERO. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by Than bees that made 'em.
th'sailors. Thou, my slave, CALIBAN. I must eat my dinner.
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate Which thou tak'st from me. When thou cam'st first,
Thou strok'st me and made much of me, wouldst give me ARIEL'S SONG
Water with berries in't, and teach me how Full fathom five thy father lies;
To name the bigger light, and how the less, Of his bones are coral made;
That burn by day and night; and then I lov'd thee, Those are pearls that were his eyes;
And show'd thee all the qualities o' th' isle, Nothing of him that doth fade
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile. Curs'd be I that did so! All the But doth suffer a sea-change
charms Into something rich and strange.
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
For I am all the subjects that you have, [Burden: Ding-dong.]
Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me Hark! now I hear them-Ding-dong bell.
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me FERDINAND. The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
The rest o' th' island. This is no mortal business, nor no sound
PROSPERO. Thou most lying slave, That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.
Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have us'd thee, PROSPERO. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance,
Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodg'd thee And say what thou seest yond.
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate MIRANDA. What is't? a spirit?
The honour of my child. Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
CALIBAN. O ho, O ho! Would't had been done. It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopl'd else PROSPERO. No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses As we have, such. This
This isle with Calibans. gallant which thou seest
MIRANDA. Abhorred slave, Was in the wreck; and but he's something stain'd
Which any print of goodness wilt not take, With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him A goodly person. He hath lost
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, his fellows,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour And strays about to find 'em.
One thing or other. When thou didst not, savage, MIRANDA. I might call him
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like A thing divine; for nothing natural
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes I ever saw so noble.
With words that made them known. But thy vile race, PROSPERO. [Aside] It goes on, I see,
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee Within two days for this.
therefore wast thou FERDINAND. Most sure, the goddess
Deservedly confin'd into this rock, who hadst On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my pray'r
Deserv'd more than a prison. May know if you remain upon this island;
CALIBAN. You taught me language, and my profit on't And that you will some good instruction give
Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you How I may bear me here. My prime request,
For learning me your language!PROSPERO. Hag-seed, hence! Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
Fetch us in fuel. And be quick, thou 'rt best, If you be maid or no?MIRANDA. No wonder, sir;
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? But certainly a maid.
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly FERDINAND. My language? Heavens!
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar, Were I but where 'tis spoken.
That beasts shall tremble at thy din. PROSPERO. How? the best?
CALIBAN. No, pray thee. What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?
[Aside] I must obey. His art is of such pow'r, FERDINAND. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
It would control my dam's god, Setebos, To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me;
And make a vassal of him. And that he does I weep. Myself am Naples,
PROSPERO. So, slave; hence! Exit CALIBAN Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
Re-enter ARIEL invisible, playing ad singing; The King my father wreck'd.
FERDINAND following MIRANDA. Alack, for mercy!
ARIEL'S SONG. FERDINAND. Yes, faith, and all his lords, the Duke of Milan And his brave son being
Come unto these yellow sands, twain.
And then take hands; PROSPERO. [Aside] The Duke of Milan
Curtsied when you have and kiss'd, And his more braver daughter could control thee,
The wild waves whist, If now 'twere fit to do't. At the first sight
Foot it featly here and there, They have chang'd eyes. Delicate Ariel,
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. I'll set thee free for this. [To FERDINAND] A word, good sir;
Hark, hark! I fear you have done yourself some wrong; a word.
[Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.] MIRANDA. Why speaks my father so ungently? This
The watch dogs bark. Is the third man that e'er I saw; the first
[Burden dispersedly: Bow-wow.] That e'er I sigh'd for. Pity move my father
Hark, hark! I hear To be inclin'd my way!
The strain of strutting chanticleer FERDINAND. O, if a virgin,
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow. And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
FERDINAND. Where should this music be? I' th' air or th' The Queen of Naples.
earth? PROSPERO. Soft, Sir! one word more.
It sounds no more; and sure it waits upon [Aside] They are both in either's pow'rs; but this swift busines
Some god o' th' island. Sitting on a bank, I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
Weeping again the King my father's wreck, Make the prize light. [To FERDINAND] One word more; I charge thee
This music crept by me upon the waters, That thou attend me; thou dost here usurp
Allaying both their fury and my passion The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself
With its sweet air; thence I have follow'd it, Upon this island as a spy, to win it
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. From me, the lord on't.
No, it begins again. FERDINAND. No, as I am a man.
MIRANDA. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple. Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS
If the ill spirit have so fair a house, GONZALO. Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
Good things will strive to dwell with't. So have we all, of joy; for our escape
PROSPERO. Follow me. Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come; Is common; every day, some sailor's wife,
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together. The masters of some merchant, and the merchant,
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
The fresh-brook mussels, wither'd roots, and husks I mean our preservation, few in millions
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. Can speak like us. Then wisely, good sir, weigh
FERDINAND. No; Our sorrow with our comfort.
I will resist such entertainment till ALONSO. Prithee, peace.
Mine enemy has more power. SEBASTIAN. He receives comfort like cold porridge.
[He draws, and is charmed from moving] MIRANDA. O dear father, ANTONIO. The visitor will not give him o'er so.
Make not too rash a trial of him, for SEBASTIAN. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike.
He's gentle, and not fearful. GONZALO. SirSEBASTIAN.
PROSPERO. What, I say, One-Tell.
My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; GONZALO. When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
Who mak'st a show but dar'st not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt. Come Comes to th' entertainerSEBASTIAN.
from thy ward; A dollar.
For I can here disarm thee with this stick GONZALO. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have spoken
And make thy weapon drop. truer than you purpos'd.
MIRANDA. Beseech you, father! SEBASTIAN. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you
PROSPERO. Hence! Hang not on my garments. should.
MIRANDA. Sir, have pity; GONZALO. Therefore, my lordANTONIO.
I'll be his surety. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!
PROSPERO. Silence! One word more ALONSO. I prithee, spare.
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! GONZALO. Well, I have done; but yetSEBASTIAN.
An advocate for an impostor! hush! He will be talking.
Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, ANTONIO. Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first
Having seen but him and Caliban. Foolish wench! begins to crow?
To th' most of men this is a Caliban, SEBASTIAN. The old cock.
And they to him are angels. ANTONIO. The cock'rel.
MIRANDA. My affections SEBASTIAN. Done. The wager?
Are then most humble; I have no ambition ANTONIO. A laughter.
To see a goodlier man. SEBASTIAN. A match!
PROSPERO. Come on; obey. ADRIAN. Though this island seem to be desertANTONIO.
Thy nerves are in their infancy again, Ha, ha, ha!
And have no vigour in them. SEBASTIAN. So, you're paid.
FERDINAND. So they are; ADRIAN. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessibleSEBASTIAN.
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, YetADRIAN.
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats YetANTONIO.
To whom I am subdu'd, are but light to me, He could not miss't.
Might I but through my prison once a day ADRIAN. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and delicate
Behold this maid. All corners else o' th' earth temperance.ANTONIO. Temperance was a delicate wench.
Let liberty make use of; space enough SEBASTIAN. Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly
Have I in such a prison. deliver'd.
PROSPERO. [Aside] It works. [To FERDINAND] Come on.- ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel! [To FERDINAND] Follow me. SEBASTIAN. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones.
[To ARIEL] Hark what thou else shalt do me. ANTONIO. Or, as 'twere perfum'd by a fen.
MIRANDA. Be of comfort; GONZALO. Here is everything advantageous to life.
My father's of a better nature, sir, ANTONIO. True; save means to live.
Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted SEBASTIAN. Of that there's none, or little.
Which now came from him. GONZALO. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!
PROSPERO. [To ARIEL] Thou shalt be as free ANTONIO. The ground indeed is tawny.
As mountain winds; but then exactly do SEBASTIAN. With an eye of green in't.
All points of my command. ANTONIO. He misses not much.
ARIEL. To th' syllable. SEBASTIAN. No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.
PROSPERO. [To FERDINAND] Come, follow. [To MIRANDA] GONZALO. But the rarity of it is, which is indeed almost
Speak not for him. Exeunt beyond creditSEBASTIAN.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM As many vouch'd rarities are.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED GONZALO. That our garments, being, as they were, drench'd in the sea, hold,
BY PROJECT notwithstanding, their freshness and
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. glosses, being rather new-dy'd, than stain'd with salt
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE water.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR ANTONIO. If but one of his pockets could speak, would it
YOUR OR OTHERS not say he lies?
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED SEBASTIAN. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY GONZALO. Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> King's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.
ACT II. SCENE 1 SEBASTIAN. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.
Another part of the island ADRIAN. Tunis was never grac'd before with such a paragon to their queen.
GONZALO. Not since widow Dido's time. He'd sow 't with nettle-seed.
ANTONIO. Widow! a pox o' that! How came that 'widow' SEBASTIAN. Or docks, or mallows.
in? Widow Dido! GONZALO. And were the king on't, what would I do?
SEBASTIAN. What if he had said 'widower Aeneas' too? SEBASTIAN. Scape being drunk for want of wine.
Good Lord, how you take it! GONZALO. I' th' commonwealth I would by contraries
ADRIAN. 'Widow Dido' said you? You make me study of Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
that. She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
GONZALO. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
ADRIAN. Carthage? And use of service, none; contract, succession,
GONZALO. I assure you, Carthage. Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
ANTONIO. His word is more than the miraculous harp. No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
SEBASTIAN. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. No occupation; all men idle, all;
ANTONIO. What impossible matter will he make easy next? And women too, but innocent and pure;
SEBASTIAN. I think he will carry this island home in his No sovereigntySEBASTIAN.
pocket, and give it his son for an apple. Yet he would be king on't.
ANTONIO. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring ANTONIO. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
forth more islands. beginning.
GONZALO. Ay. GONZALO. All things in common nature should produce
ANTONIO. Why, in good time. Without sweat or endeavour. Treason, felony,
GONZALO. Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
your daughter, who is now Queen. Of it own kind, all foison, all abundance,
ANTONIO. And the rarest that e'er came there. To feed my innocent people.
SEBASTIAN. Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. SEBASTIAN. No marrying 'mong his subjects?
ANTONIO. O, widow Dido! Ay, widow Dido. ANTONIO. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves.
GONZALO. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. GONZALO. I would with such perfection govern, sir,
ANTONIO. That 'sort' was well fish'd for. T' excel the golden age.
GONZALO. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? SEBASTIAN. Save his Majesty!
ALONSO. You cram these words into mine ears against ANTONIO. Long live Gonzalo!
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never GONZALO. And-do you mark me, sir?
Married my daughter there; for, coming thence, ALONSO. Prithee, no more; thou dost talk nothing to me.
My son is lost; and, in my rate, she too, GONZALO. I do well believe your Highness; and did it to
Who is so far from Italy removed minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing.
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish ANTONIO. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.
Hath made his meal on thee? GONZALO. Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to
FRANCISCO. Sir, he may live; you; so you may continue, and laugh at nothing still.
I saw him beat the surges under him, ANTONIO. What a blow was there given!
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, SEBASTIAN. An it had not fall'n flat-long.
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted GONZALO. You are gentlemen of brave mettle; you would
The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oared in it five weeks without changing.
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke Enter ARIEL, invisible, playing solemn music
To th' shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bowed, SEBASTIAN. We would so, and then go a-bat-fowling.
As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt ANTONIO. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.
He came alive to land. GONZALO. No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my
ALONSO. No, no, he's gone. discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy?
SEBASTIAN. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our ANTONIO. Go sleep, and hear us.
Europe with your daughter,But rather lose her to an African; [All sleep but ALONSO, SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO] ALONSO. What, all so soon asleep! I
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, wish
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. mine eyes
ALONSO. Prithee, peace. Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts; I findThey are inclin'd to do so.
SEBASTIAN. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd otherwise SEBASTIAN. Please you, sir,
By all of us; and the fair soul herself Do not omit the heavy offer of it:
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience at It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,
Which end o' th' beam should bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever. Milan and It is a comforter.
Naples have ANTONIO. We two, my lord,
Moe widows in them of this business' making, Will guard your person while you take your rest,
Than we bring men to comfort them; And watch your safety.
The fault's your own. ALONSO. Thank you-wondrous heavy!
ALONSO. So is the dear'st o' th' loss. [ALONSO sleeps. Exit ARIEL] SEBASTIAN. What a strange drowsiness possesses them!
GONZALO. My lord Sebastian, ANTONIO. It is the quality o' th' climate.
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, SEBASTIAN. Why
And time to speak it in; you rub the sore, Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not
When you should bring the plaster. Myself dispos'd to sleep.
SEBASTIAN. Very well. ANTONIO. Nor I; my spirits are nimble.
ANTONIO. And most chirurgeonly. They fell together all, as by consent;
GONZALO. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
When you are cloudy. Worthy Sebastian? O, what might! No more!
SEBASTIAN. Foul weather? And yet methinks I see it in thy face,
ANTONIO. Very foul. What thou shouldst be; th' occasion speaks thee; and
GONZALO. Had I plantation of this isle, my lordANTONIO. My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head. As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
SEBASTIAN. What, art thou waking? A chough of as deep chat. O, that you bore
ANTONIO. Do you not hear me speak? The mind that I do! What a sleep were this
SEBASTIAN. I do; and surely For your advancement! Do you understand me?
It is a sleepy language, and thou speak'st SEBASTIAN. Methinks I do.
Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? ANTONIO. And how does your content
This is a strange repose, to be asleep Tender your own good fortune?
With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, SEBASTIAN. I remember
And yet so fast asleep. You did supplant your brother Prospero.
ANTONIO. Noble Sebastian, ANTONIO. True.
Thou let'st thy fortune sleep-die rather; wink'st And look how well my garments sit upon me,
Whiles thou art waking. Much feater than before. My brother's servants
SEBASTIAN. Thou dost snore distinctly; Were then my fellows; now they are my men.
There's meaning in thy snores. SEBASTIAN. But, for your conscienceANTONIO.
ANTONIO. I am more serious than my custom; you Ay, sir; where lies that? If 'twere a kibe,
Must be so too, if heed me; which to do 'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not
Trebles thee o'er. This deity in my bosom; twenty consciences
SEBASTIAN. Well, I am standing water. That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they
ANTONIO. I'll teach you how to flow. And melt, ere they molest! Here lies your brother,
SEBASTIAN. Do so: to ebb, No better than the earth he lies upon,
Hereditary sloth instructs me. If he were that which now he's like-that's dead;
ANTONIO. O, Whom I with this obedient steel, three inches of it,
If you but knew how you the purpose cherish, Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus,
Whiles thus you mock it! how, in stripping it, To the perpetual wink for aye might put
You more invest it! Ebbing men indeed, This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who
Most often, do so near the bottom run Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest,
By their own fear or sloth. They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk;
SEBASTIAN. Prithee say on. They'll tell the clock to any business that
The setting of thine eye and cheek proclaim We say befits the hour.
A matter from thee; and a birth, indeed, SEBASTIAN. Thy case, dear friend,
Which throes thee much to yield. Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan,
ANTONIO. Thus, sir: I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword. One stroke
Although this lord of weak remembrance, this Shall free thee from the tribute which thou payest;
Who shall be of as little memory And I the King shall love thee.
When he is earth'd, hath here almost persuadedFor ANTONIO. Draw together;
he's a spirit of persuasion, only And when I rear my hand, do you the like,
Professes to persuade-the King his son's alive, To fall it on Gonzalo.
'Tis as impossible that he's undrown'd SEBASTIAN. O, but one word. [They talk apart]
As he that sleeps here swims. Re-enter ARIEL, invisible, with music and song
SEBASTIAN. I have no hope ARIEL. My master through his art foresees the danger
That he's undrown'd. That you, his friend, are in; and sends me forthFor
ANTONIO. O, out of that 'no hope' else his project dies-to keep them living.
What great hope have you! No hope that way is [Sings in GONZALO'S ear] While you here do snoring lie,
Another way so high a hope, that even Open-ey'd conspiracy
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, His time doth take.
But doubt discovery there. Will you grant with me If of life you keep a care,
That Ferdinand is drown'd? Shake off slumber, and beware.
SEBASTIAN. He's gone. Awake, awake!
ANTONIO. Then tell me, ANTONIO. Then let us both be sudden.
Who's the next heir of Naples? GONZALO. Now, good angels
SEBASTIAN. Claribel. Preserve the King! [They wake] ALONSO. Why, how now?-Ho, awake!-Why are you drawn?
ANTONIO. She that is Queen of Tunis; she that dwells Wherefore this ghastly looking?
Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from Naples GONZALO. What's the matter?
Can have no note, unless the sun were post, SEBASTIAN. Whiles we stood here securing your repose,
The Man i' th' Moon's too slow, till newborn chins Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Be rough and razorable; she that from whomWe all were sea-swallow'd, though some cast Like bulls, or rather lions; did't not wake you?
again, It struck mine ear most terribly.
And by that destiny, to perform an act ALONSO. I heard nothing.ANTONIO. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear,
Whereof what's past is prologue, what to come To make an earthquake! Sure it was the roar
In yours and my discharge. Of a whole herd of lions.
SEBASTIAN. What stuff is this! How say you? ALONSO. Heard you this, Gonzalo?
'Tis true, my brother's daughter's Queen of Tunis; GONZALO. Upon mine honour, sir, I heard a humming,
So is she heir of Naples; 'twixt which regions And that a strange one too, which did awake me;
There is some space. I shak'd you, sir, and cried; as mine eyes open'd,
ANTONIO. A space whose ev'ry cubit I saw their weapons drawn-there was a noise,
Seems to cry out 'How shall that Claribel That's verily. 'Tis best we stand upon our guard,
Measure us back to Naples? Keep in Tunis, Or that we quit this place. Let's draw our weapons.
And let Sebastian wake.' Say this were death ALONSO. Lead off this ground; and let's make further
That now hath seiz'd them; why, they were no worse search
Than now they are. There be that can rule Naples For my poor son.
As well as he that sleeps; lords that can prate GONZALO. Heavens keep him from these beasts!
As amply and unnecessarily For he is, sure, i' th' island.
ALONSO. Lead away.
ARIEL. Prospero my lord shall know what I have done;
So, King, go safely on to seek thy son. Exeunt
SCENE 2
Another part of the island
Enter CALIBAN, with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard
CALIBAN. All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me,
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch,
Fright me with urchin-shows, pitch me i' th' mire,
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid 'em; but
For every trifle are they set upon me;
Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me,
And after bite me; then like hedgehogs which
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount
Their pricks at my footfall; sometime am I
All wound with adders, who with cloven tongues
Do hiss me into madness.
Enter TRINCULO
Lo, now, lo!
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
For bringing wood in slowly. I'll fall flat;
Perchance he will not mind me.
TRINCULO. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off any
weather at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it
sing i' th' wind. Yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that
would shed his liquor. If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide my
head. Yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a
fish? dead or
alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; kind of
not-of-the-newest Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and
had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver.
There would this monster
make a man; any strange beast there makes a man; when
they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead
Indian. Legg'd like a
man, and his fins like arms! Warm, o' my troth! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no
longer: this is no
fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by
thunderbolt. [Thunder] Alas, the storm is come again! My best way is to creep under his
gaberdine; there is no
other shelter hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with
strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs
of the storm be past.
Enter STEPHANO singing; a bottle in his hand
STEPHANO. I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die ashoreThis
is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral;
well, here's my comfort. [Drinks]
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,
Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,But none of us car'd for Kate;
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor 'Go hang!'
She lov'd not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch.
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!
This is a scurvy tune too; but here's my comfort.
[Drinks] CALIBAN. Do not torment me. O!
STEPHANO. What's the matter? Have we devils here? Do you
put tricks upon 's with savages and men of Ind? Ha! I
have not scap'd drowning to be afeard now of your four
legs; for it hath been said: As proper a man as ever
went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it
shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at
nostrils.
CALIBAN. The spirit torments me. O!
STEPHANO. This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who hath got, as I take it, an
ague. Where the devil
should he learn our language? I will give him some
relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples
with him, he's a
present for any emperor that ever trod on neat's
leather.
CALIBAN. Do not torment me, prithee; I'll bring my wood
home faster.
STEPHANO. He's in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my
bottle; if he have never
drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him
tame, I will not take
too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him,
and that soundly.
CALIBAN. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling;
now Prosper works upon thee. STEPHANO. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is
that which will give language to you, cat. Open your
mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly; you cannot tell
who's your friend. Open
your chaps again.
TRINCULO. I should know that voice; it should be-but he is drown'd; and these are devils.
O, defend me!
STEPHANO. Four legs and two voices; a most delicate monster! His forward voice, now, is
to speak well of his
friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in
my bottle will recover
him, I will help his ague. Come-Amen! I will pour some
in thy other mouth.
TRINCULO. Stephano!
STEPHANO. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy!
This is a devil, and no monster; I will leave him; I
have no long spoon.
TRINCULO. Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, and speak to me; for I am
Trinculo-be not afeard-thy good
friend Trinculo.
STEPHANO. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth; I'll pull
the by the lesser legs; if any be Trinculo's legs, these are they. Thou art very Trinculo
indeed! How cam'st thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? Can he vent
Trinculos?
TRINCULO. I took him to be kill'd with a thunderstroke.
But art thou not drown'd, Stephano? I hope now thou are not drown'd. Is the storm
overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine for fear of the storm. And
art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans
scap'd!
STEPHANO. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant.
CALIBAN. [Aside] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites.
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor.
I will kneel to him.
STEPHANO. How didst thou scape? How cam'st thou hither?
Swear by this bottle how thou cam'st hither-I escap'd
upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved o'erboardby this bottle, which I made of
the bark of a tree, with
mine own hands, since I was cast ashore.
CALIBAN. I'll swear upon that bottle to be thy true
subject, for the liquor is not earthly.
STEPHANO. Here; swear then how thou escap'dst.
TRINCULO. Swum ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like
a duck, I'll be sworn.
STEPHANO. [Passing the bottle] Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a duck,thou
art made like a
goose.
TRINCULO. O Stephano, hast any more of this?
STEPHANO. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a rock by
th' seaside, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf!
How does thine ague?
CALIBAN. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven?
STEPHANO. Out o' th' moon, I do assure thee; I was the Man i' th' Moon, when time was.
CALIBAN. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee. My mistress show'd me thee, and
thy dog and thy bush.
STEPHANO. Come, swear to that; kiss the book. I will
furnish it anon with new contents. Swear.
[CALIBAN drinks] TRINCULO. By this good light, this is a very shallow
monster!
I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The Man i' th'
Moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn, Most busy, least when I do it.
monster, in good sooth! Enter MIRANDA; and PROSPERO at a distance, unseen
CALIBAN. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island; and will kiss thy foot. I MIRANDA. Alas, now; pray you,
prithee be my god. Work not so hard; I would the lightning had
TRINCULO. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin'd to pile.
monster! When's god's asleep he'll rob his bottle. Pray, set it down and rest you; when this burns,
CALIBAN. I'll kiss thy foot; I'll swear myself thy 'Twill weep for having wearied you. My father
subject. Is hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself;
STEPHANO. Come on, then; down, and swear. He's safe for these three hours.
TRINCULO. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppyheaded FERDINAND. O most dear mistress,
monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in The sun will set before I shall discharge
my heart to beat himSTEPHANO. What I must strive to do.
Come, kiss. MIRANDA. If you'll sit down,
TRINCULO. But that the poor monster's in drink. An I'll bear your logs the while; pray give me that;
abominable monster! I'll carry it to the pile.
CALIBAN. I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; FERDINAND. No, precious creature;
I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! Than you should such dishonour undergo,
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, While I sit lazy by.
Thou wondrous man. MIRANDA. It would become me
TRINCULO. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of As well as it does you; and I should do it
a poor drunkard! With much more ease; for my good will is to it,
CALIBAN. I prithee let me bring thee where crabs grow; And yours it is against.
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; PROSPERO. [Aside] Poor worm, thou art infected!
Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how This visitation shows it.
To snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee MIRANDA. You look wearily.
To clust'ring filberts, and sometimes I'll get thee FERDINAND. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? beseech you,
STEPHANO. I prithee now, lead the way without any more Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers,
talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else What is your name?
being drown'd, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill MIRANDA. Miranda-O my father,
him by and by again. I have broke your hest to say so!
CALIBAN. [Sings drunkenly] Farewell, master; farewell, FERDINAND. Admir'd Miranda!
farewell! What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
TRINCULO. A howling monster; a drunken monster! I have ey'd with best regard; and many a time
CALIBAN. No more dams I'll make for fish; Th' harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Nor fetch in firing Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues
At requiring, Have I lik'd several women, never any
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish. With so full soul, but some defect in her
'Ban 'Ban, Ca-Caliban, Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd,
Has a new master-Get a new man. And put it to the foil; but you, O you,
Freedom, high-day! high-day, freedom! freedom, highday, So perfect and so peerless, are created
freedom! Of every creature's best!
STEPHANO. O brave monster! Lead the way. Exeunt MIRANDA. I do not know
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ACT III. SCENE 1 FERDINAND. I am, in my condition,
Before PROSPERO'S cell A prince, Miranda; I do think, a kingI
Enter FERDINAND, hearing a log would not so!-and would no more endure
FERDINAND. There be some sports are painful, and their This wooden slavery than to suffer
labour The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:
Delight in them sets off; some kinds of basenessAre nobly undergone, and most poor matters The very instant that I saw you, did
Point to rich ends. This my mean task My heart fly to your service; there resides
Would be as heavy to me as odious, but To make me slave to it; and for your sake
The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, Am I this patient log-man.MIRANDA. Do you love me?
And makes my labours pleasures. O, she is FERDINAND. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed; kind event,
And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove If I speak true! If hollowly, invert
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, What best is boded me to mischief! I,
Upon a sore injunction; my sweet mistress Beyond all limit of what else i' th' world,
Weeps when she sees me work, and says such baseness Do love, prize, honour you.
Had never like executor. I forget; MIRANDA. I am a fool
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, To weep at what I am glad of.
PROSPERO. [Aside] Fair encounter ARIEL. Thou liest.
Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace CALIBAN. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou;
On that which breeds between 'em! I would my valiant master would destroy thee.
FERDINAND. Wherefore weep you? I do not lie.
MIRANDA. At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer STEPHANO. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in's tale, by this hand, I will supplant
What I desire to give, and much less take some of your teeth.
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling; TRINCULO. Why, I said nothing.
And all the more it seeks to hide itself, STEPHANO. Mum, then, and no more. Proceed.
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! CALIBAN. I say, by sorcery he got this isle;
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! From me he got it. If thy greatness will
I am your wife, if you will marry me; Revenge it on him-for I know thou dar'st,
If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow But this thing dare notSTEPHANO.
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, That's most certain.
Whether you will or no. CALIBAN. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee.
FERDINAND. My mistress, dearest; STEPHANO. How now shall this be compass'd? Canst thou
And I thus humble ever. bring me to the party?
MIRANDA. My husband, then? CALIBAN. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee asleep,
FERDINAND. Ay, with a heart as willing Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head.
As bondage e'er of freedom. Here's my hand. ARIEL. Thou liest; thou canst not.
MIRANDA. And mine, with my heart in't. And now farewell CALIBAN. What a pied ninny's this! Thou scurvy patch!
Till half an hour hence. I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,
FERDINAND. A thousand thousand! And take his bottle from him. When that's gone
Exeunt FERDINAND and MIRANDA severally PROSPERO. So glad of this as they I cannot be, He shall drink nought but brine; for I'll not show him
Who are surpris'd withal; but my rejoicing Where the quick freshes are.
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; STEPHANO. Trinculo, run into no further danger; interrupt the monster one word further
For yet ere supper time must I perform and, by this hand, I'll turn my mercy out o' doors, and make a stock-fish of thee.
Much business appertaining. Exit TRINCULO. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I'll go farther off.
SCENE 2 STEPHANO. Didst thou not say he lied?
Another part of the island ARIEL. Thou liest.
Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO STEPHANO. Do I so? Take thou that. [Beats him] As you like this, give me the lie another
STEPHANO. Tell not me-when the butt is out we will drink time.
water, not a drop before; therefore bear up, and board TRINCULO. I did not give the lie. Out o' your wits and
'em. Servant-monster, drink to me. hearing too? A pox o' your bottle! This can sack and
TRINCULO. Servant-monster! The folly of this island! They say there's but five upon this drinking do. A murrain on your monster, and the devil
isle: we are three of take your fingers!
them; if th' other two be brain'd like us, the state CALIBAN. Ha, ha, ha!
totters. STEPHANO. Now, forward with your tale.-Prithee stand
STEPHANO. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee; thy further off.
eyes are almost set in thy head. CALIBAN. Beat him enough; after a little time, I'll beat
TRINCULO. Where should they be set else? He were a brave him too.
monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. STEPHANO. Stand farther. Come, proceed.
STEPHANO. My man-monster hath drown'd his tongue in CALIBAN. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him
sack. For my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five I' th' afternoon to sleep; there thou mayst brain him,
and thirty leagues, off and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, Having first seiz'd his books; or with a log
monster, or my standard. Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
TRINCULO. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no standard. STEPHANO. We'll not run, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
Monsieur Monster. First to possess his books; for without them
TRINCULO. Nor go neither; but you'll lie like dogs, and He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
yet say nothing neither. One spirit to command; they all do hate him
STEPHANO. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest a good moon-calf. As rootedly as I. Burn but his books.
CALIBAN. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. He has brave utensils-for so he calls themWhich,
I'll not serve him; he is not valiant. when he has a house, he'll deck withal.
TRINCULO. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable. Why, And that most deeply to consider is
thou debosh'd fish, thou, The beauty of his daughter; he himself
was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a Calls her a nonpareil. I never saw a woman
monstrous lie, being but But only Sycorax my dam and she;
half fish and half a monster? But she as far surpasseth Sycorax
CALIBAN. Lo, how he mocks me! Wilt thou let him, my As great'st does least.
lord? STEPHANO. Is it so brave a lass?
TRINCULO. 'Lord' quoth he! That a monster should be such CALIBAN. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant,
a natural! And bring thee forth brave brood.
CALIBAN. Lo, lo again! Bite him to death, I prithee. STEPHANO. Monster, I will kill this man; his daughter and I will be King and Queen-save
STEPHANO. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head; if our Graces!-and Trinculo
you prove a mutineer-the next tree! The poor monster'smy subject, and he shall not suffer and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo?
indignity. TRINCULO. Excellent.
CALIBAN. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd to STEPHANO. Give me thy hand; I am sorry I beat thee; but
hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? while thou liv'st, keep a good tongue in thy head.
STEPHANO. Marry will I; kneel and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. CALIBAN. Within this half hour will he be asleep.Wilt thou destroy him then?
Enter ARIEL, invisible STEPHANO. Ay, on mine honour.
CALIBAN. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, sorcerer, that by his cunning ARIEL. This will I tell my master.
hath cheated me of the CALIBAN. Thou mak'st me merry; I am full of pleasure.
island. Let us be jocund; will you troll the catch
You taught me but while-ere? Though fools at home condemn 'em.
STEPHANO. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any GONZALO. If in Naples
reason. Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings] I should report this now, would they believe me?
Flout 'em and scout 'em, If I should say, I saw such islanders,
And scout 'em and flout 'em; For certes these are people of the island,
Thought is free. Who though they are of monstrous shape yet, note,
CALIBAN. That's not the tune. Their manners are more gentle-kind than of
[ARIEL plays the tune on a tabor and pipe] STEPHANO. What is this same? Our human generation you shall find
TRINCULO. This is the tune of our catch, play'd by the Many, nay, almost any.
picture of Nobody. PROSPERO. [Aside] Honest lord,
STEPHANO. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy Thou hast said well; for some of you there present
likeness; if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. Are worse than devils.
TRINCULO. O, forgive me my sins! ALONSO. I cannot too much muse
STEPHANO. He that dies pays all debts. I defy thee. Mercy upon us! Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing,
CALIBAN. Art thou afeard? Although they want the use of tongue, a kind
STEPHANO. No, monster, not I. Of excellent dumb discourse.
CALIBAN. Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, PROSPERO. [Aside] Praise in departing.
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling FRANCISCO. They vanish'd strangely.
instruments SEBASTIAN. No matter, since
Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices, They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs. Will't please you taste of what
That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, is here?
Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming, ALONSO. Not I.
The clouds methought would open and show riches GONZALO. Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, Who would believe that there
Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd, were mountaineers,
I cried to dream again. Dewlapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging at 'em
STEPHANO. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men
shall have my music for nothing. Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find
CALIBAN. When Prospero is destroy'd. Each putter-out of five for one will bring us
STEPHANO. That shall be by and by; I remember the story. Good warrant of.
TRINCULO. The sound is going away; let's follow it, and ALONSO. I will stand to, and feed,
after do our work. Although my last; no matter, since I feel
STEPHANO. Lead, monster; we'll follow. I would I could see this taborer; he lays it on. The best is past. Brother, my lord the Duke,
TRINCULO. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. Exeunt Stand to, and do as we.
SCENE 3 Thunder and lightning. Enter ARIEL, like a harpy;
Another part of the island claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint
Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, GONZALO, ADRIAN, FRANCISCO, and OTHERS device, the banquet vanishes
GONZALO. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir; ARIEL. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,
My old bones ache. Here's a maze trod, indeed, That hath to instrument this lower world
Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience, And what is in't, the never-surfeited sea
I needs must rest me. Hath caus'd to belch up you; and on this island
ALONSO. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Where man doth not inhabit-you 'mongst men
Who am myself attach'd with weariness Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad;
To th' dulling of my spirits; sit down and rest. And even with such-like valour men hang and drown
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it Their proper selves.
No longer for my flatterer; he is drown'd [ALONSO, SEBASTIAN etc., draw their swords] You fools! I and my fellows
Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks Are ministers of Fate; the elements
Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. Of whom your swords are temper'd may as well
ANTONIO. [Aside to SEBASTIAN] I am right glad that he's so out of hope. Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs
Do not, for one repulse, forgo the purpose Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
That you resolv'd t' effect. One dowle that's in my plume; my fellow-ministers
SEBASTIAN. [Aside to ANTONIO] The next advantage Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt,
Will we take throughly. Your swords are now too massy for your strengths
ANTONIO. [Aside to SEBASTIAN] Let it be to-night; And will not be uplifted. But rememberFor
For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they that's my business to you-that you three
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance From Milan did supplant good Prospero;
As when they are fresh. Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it,
SEBASTIAN. [Aside to ANTONIO] I say, to-night; no more. Him, and his innocent child; for which foul deed
Solemn and strange music; and PROSPERO on the The pow'rs, delaying, not forgetting, have
top, invisible. Enter several strange SHAPES, Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures,
bringing in a banquet; and dance about it with Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso,
gentle actions of salutations; and inviting the They have bereft; and do pronounce by me
KING, etc., to eat, they depart Ling'ring perdition, worse than any death
ALONSO. What harmony is this? My good friends, hark! Can be at once, shall step by step attend
GONZALO. Marvellous sweet music!ALONSO. Give us kind keepers, heavens! What were You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you fromWhich
these? here, in this most desolate isle, else falls
SEBASTIAN. A living drollery. Now I will believe Upon your heads-is nothing but heart's sorrow,And a clear life ensuing.
That there are unicorns; that in Arabia He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, enter
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne, one phoenix the SHAPES again, and dance, with mocks and mows,
At this hour reigning-there. and carrying out the table
ANTONIO. I'll believe both; PROSPERO. Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
And what does else want credit, come to me, Perform'd, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring.
And I'll be sworn 'tis true; travellers ne'er did lie, Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated
In what thou hadst to say; so, with good life PROSPERO. Fairly spoke.
And observation strange, my meaner ministers Sit, then, and talk with her; she is thine own.
Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel!
And these mine enemies are all knit up Enter ARIEL
In their distractions. They now are in my pow'r; ARIEL. What would my potent master? Here I am.
And in these fits I leave them, while I visit PROSPERO. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
Young Ferdinand, whom they suppose is drown'd, Did worthily perform; and I must use you
And his and mine lov'd darling. Exit above GONZALO. I' th' name of something holy, sir, In such another trick. Go bring the rabble,
why stand you In this strange stare? O'er whom I give thee pow'r, here to this place.
ALONSO. O, it is monstrous, monstrous! Incite them to quick motion; for I must
Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple
The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, Some vanity of mine art; it is my promise,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd And they expect it from me.
The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. ARIEL. Presently?
Therefore my son i' th' ooze is bedded; and PROSPERO. Ay, with a twink.
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, ARIEL. Before you can say 'come' and 'go,'
And with him there lie mudded. Exit SEBASTIAN. But one fiend at a time, And breathe twice, and cry 'so, so,'
I'll fight their legions o'er. Each one, tripping on his toe,
ANTONIO. I'll be thy second. Exeunt SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO GONZALO. All three of them Will be here with mop and mow.
are Do you love me, master? No?
desperate; their great guilt, Like poison given to work a great time after, PROSPERO. Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach
Now gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you, Till thou dost hear me call.
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, ARIEL. Well! I conceive. Exit PROSPERO. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance
And hinder them from what this ecstasy Too much the rein; the strongest oaths are straw
May now provoke them to. To th' fire i' th' blood. Be more abstemious,
ADRIAN. Follow, I pray you. Exeunt Or else good night your vow!
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM FERDINAND. I warrant you, sir,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED The white cold virgin snow upon my heart
BY PROJECT Abates the ardour of my liver.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. PROSPERO. Well!
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Now come, my Ariel, bring a corollary,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR Rather than want a spirit; appear, and pertly.
YOUR OR OTHERS No tongue! All eyes! Be silent. [Soft music]
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Enter IRIS
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY IRIS. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease;
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
ACT IV. SCENE 1 And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep;
Before PROSPERO'S cell Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims,
Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA Which spongy April at thy hest betrims,
PROSPERO. If I have too austerely punish'd you, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom groves, Whose shadow the dismissed
Your compensation makes amends; for bachelor loves,
Have given you here a third of mine own life, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard;
Or that for which I live; who once again And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky hard,
I tender to thy hand. All thy vexations Where thou thyself dost air-the Queen o' th' sky,
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Whose wat'ry arch and messenger am I,
Hast strangely stood the test; here, afore heaven, Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace,
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand! Here on this grass-plot, in this very place,
Do not smile at me that I boast her off, To come and sport. Her peacocks fly amain.
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, [JUNO descends in her car] Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
And make it halt behind her. Enter CERES
FERDINAND. I do believe it CERES. Hail, many-coloured messenger, that ne'er
Against an oracle. Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter;
PROSPERO. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flow'rs
Wort'hily purchas'd, take my daughter. But Diffusest honey drops, refreshing show'rs;
If thou dost break her virgin-knot before And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
All sanctimonious ceremonies may My bosky acres and my unshrubb'd down,
With full and holy rite be minist'red, Rich scarf to my proud earth-why hath thy Queen
No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall Summon'd me hither to this short-grass'd green?
To make this contract grow; but barren hate, IRIS. A contract of true love to celebrate,
Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew And some donation freely to estate
The union of your bed with weeds so loathly On the blest lovers.
That you shall hate it both. Therefore take heed, CERES. Tell me, heavenly bow,
As Hymen's lamps shall light you. If Venus or her son, as thou dost know,
FERDINAND. As I hope Do now attend the Queen? Since they did plot
For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, The means that dusky Dis my daughter got,Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company
With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den, I have forsworn.
The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestionOur worser genius can, shall never melt IRIS. Of her society
Mine honour into lust, to take away Be not afraid. I met her Deity
The edge of that day's celebration, Cutting the clouds towards Paphos, and her son
When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd Dove-drawn with her. Here thought they to have done
Or Night kept chain'd below. Some wanton charm upon this man and maid,
Whose vows are that no bed-rite shall be paid If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell
Till Hymen's torch be lighted; but in vain. And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk
Mars's hot minion is return'd again; To still my beating mind.
Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, FERDINAND, MIRANDA. We wish your peace. Exeunt PROSPERO. Come, with a thought. I
Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, thank
And be a boy right out. [JUNO alights] CERES. Highest Queen of State, thee, Ariel; come.
Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait. Enter ARIEL
JUNO. How does my bounteous sister? Go with me ARIEL. Thy thoughts I cleave to. What's thy pleasure?
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, PROSPERO. Spirit,
And honour'd in their issue. [They sing] JUNO. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, We must prepare to meet with Caliban.
Long continuance, and increasing, ARIEL. Ay, my commander. When I presented 'Ceres.'
Hourly joys be still upon you! I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd
Juno sings her blessings on you. Lest I might anger thee.
CERES. Earth's increase, foison plenty, PROSPERO. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? ARIEL. I told you, sir, they
Barns and gamers never empty; were red-hot with drinking;
Vines with clust'ring bunches growing, So full of valour that they smote the air
Plants with goodly burden bowing; For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
Spring come to you at the farthest, For kissing of their feet; yet always bending
In the very end of harvest! Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor,
Scarcity and want shall shun you, At which like unback'd colts they prick'd their ears,
Ceres' blessing so is on you. Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses
FERDINAND. This is a most majestic vision, and As they smelt music; so I charm'd their cars,
Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
To think these spirits? Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which ent'red their frail shins.
PROSPERO. Spirits, which by mine art At last I left them
I have from their confines call'd to enact I' th' filthy mantled pool beyond your cell,
My present fancies. There dancing up to th' chins, that the foul lake
FERDINAND. Let me live here ever; O'erstunk their feet.
So rare a wond'red father and a wise PROSPERO. This was well done, my bird.
Makes this place Paradise. Thy shape invisible retain thou still.
[JUNO and CERES whisper, and send IRIS on employment] PROSPERO. Sweet now, silence; The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither
Juno and Ceres whisper seriously. For stale to catch these thieves.
There's something else to do; hush, and be mute, ARIEL. I go, I go. Exit PROSPERO. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
Or else our spell is marr'd. Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains,
IRIS. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wind'ring brooks, With your sedg'd crowns and Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost;
ever harmless looks, And as with age his body uglier grows,
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land So his mind cankers. I will plague them all,
Answer your summons; Juno does command. Even to roaring.
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate Re-enter ARIEL, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.
A contract of true love; be not too late. Come, hang them on this line.
Enter certain NYMPHS [PROSPERO and ARIEL remain, invisible]
You sun-burnt sicklemen, of August weary, Enter CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO, all wet
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry; CALIBAN. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Hear a foot fall; we now are
Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on, near his cell.
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one STEPHANO. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better
In country footing. than play'd the Jack with us. TRINCULO. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss at which my
Enter certain REAPERS, properly habited; they join nose is in great indignation.
with the NYMPHS in a graceful dance; towards the STEPHANO. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should
end whereof PROSPERO starts suddenly, and speaks, take a displeasure against you, look youTRINCULO.
after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused Thou wert but a lost monster.
noise, they heavily vanish CALIBAN. Good my lord, give me thy favour still.
PROSPERO. [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
Of the beast Caliban and his confederates Shall hoodwink this mischance; therefore speak softly.
Against my life; the minute of their plot All's hush'd as midnight yet.
Is almost come. [To the SPIRITS] Well done; avoid; no more! TRINCULO. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool!
FERDINAND. This is strange; your father's in some passion That works him strongly. STEPHANO. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in
MIRANDA. Never till this day that, monster, but an infinite loss.
Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. TRINCULO. That's more to me than my wetting; yet this is
PROSPERO. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, your harmless fairy, monster.
As if you were dismay'd; be cheerful, sir. STEPHANO. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, ears for my labour.
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and CALIBAN. Prithee, my king, be quiet. Seest thou here,
Are melted into air, into thin air; This is the mouth o' th' cell; no noise, and enter.
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, Do that good mischief which may make this islandThine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples, the great globe itself, For aye thy foot-licker.
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, STEPHANO. Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, thoughts.
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff TRINCULO. O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano!
As dreams are made on; and our little life Look what a wardrobe here is for thee!
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd; CALIBAN. Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.
Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled; TRINCULO. O, ho, monster; we know what belongs to a
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity. frippery. O King Stephano!
STEPHANO. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I'll have that gown. From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works 'em
TRINCULO. Thy Grace shall have it. That if you now beheld them your affections
CALIBAN. The dropsy drown this fool! What do you mean Would become tender.
To dote thus on such luggage? Let 't alone, PROSPERO. Dost thou think so, spirit?
And do the murder first. If he awake, ARIEL. Mine would, sir, were I human.
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches; PROSPERO. And mine shall.
Make us strange stuff. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
STEPHANO. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line; now, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald jerkin. Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art?
TRINCULO. Do, do. We steal by line and level, an't like Though with their high wrongs I am struck to th' quick, Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst
your Grace. my fury
STEPHANO. I thank thee for that jest; here's a garment Do I take part; the rarer action is
for't. Wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of In virtue than in vengeance; they being penitent,
this country. 'Steal by line and level' is an excellent pass of pate; there's another The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
garmet for't. Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel;
TRINCULO. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore,
CALIBAN. I will have none on't. We shall lose our time, And they shall be themselves.
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes ARIEL. I'll fetch them, sir. Exit PROSPERO. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes,
With foreheads villainous low. and
STEPHANO. Monster, lay-to your fingers; help to bear this away where my hogshead of wine groves;
is, or I'll turn you out of my kingdom. Go to, carry this. And ye that on the sands with printless foot
TRINCULO. And this. Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
STEPHANO. Ay, and this. When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
A noise of hunters beard. Enter divers SPIRITS, in By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
shape of dogs and hounds, bunting them about; Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
PROSPERO and ARIEL setting them on Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
PROSPERO. Hey, Mountain, hey! To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aidWeak
ARIEL. Silver! there it goes, Silver! masters though ye be-I have be-dimm'd
PROSPERO. Fury, Fury! There, Tyrant, there! Hark, hark! The noontide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
[CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO are driven out] Go charge my goblins that they grind And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
their joints Set roaring war. To the dread rattling thunder
With dry convulsions, shorten up their sinews Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak
With aged cramps, and more pinch-spotted make them With his own bolt; the strong-bas'd promontory
Than pard or cat o' mountain. Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck'd up
ARIEL. Hark, they roar. The pine and cedar. Graves at my command
PROSPERO. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and let 'em forth,
Lies at my mercy all mine enemies. By my so potent art. But this rough magic
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou I here abjure; and, when I have requir'd
Shalt have the air at freedom; for a little Some heavenly music-which even now I doTo
Follow, and do me service. Exeunt work mine end upon their senses that
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
BY PROJECT And deeper than did ever plummet sound
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. I'll drown my book. [Solem music]
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Here enters ARIEL before; then ALONSO, with
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR frantic gesture, attended by GONZALO; SEBASTIAN
YOUR OR OTHERS and ANTONIO in like manner, attended by ADRIAN
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED and FRANCISCO. They all enter the circle which
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY PROSPERO had made, and there stand charm'd; which
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR PROSPERO observing, speaks
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> A solemn air, and the best comforter
ACT V. SCENE 1 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,
Before PROSPERO'S cell Now useless, boil'd within thy skull! There stand,
Enter PROSPERO in his magic robes, and ARIEL For you are spell-stopp'd.
PROSPERO. Now does my project gather to a head; Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
My charms crack not, my spirits obey; and time Mine eyes, ev'n sociable to the show of thine,
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day? Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace,
ARIEL. On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, And as the morning steals upon the night,
You said our work should cease. Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
PROSPERO. I did say so, Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo,
How fares the King and 's followers?ARIEL. Confin'd together My true preserver, and a loyal sir
In the same fashion as you gave in charge; To him thou follow'st! I will pay thy graces
Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, Home both in word and deed. Most cruellyDidst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter;
In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; Thy brother was a furtherer in the act.
They cannot budge till your release. The King, Thou art pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, entertain'd ambition,
And the remainder mourning over them, Expell'd remorse and nature, who, with SebastianWhose
Brim full of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly inward pinches therefore are most strongWould
Him you term'd, sir, 'the good old lord, Gonzalo'; here have kill'd your king, I do forgive thee,
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding
Begins to swell, and the approaching tide For the like loss I have her sovereign aid,
Will shortly fill the reasonable shore And rest myself content.
That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them ALONSO. You the like loss!
That yet looks on me, or would know me. Ariel, PROSPERO. As great to me as late; and, supportable
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell; Exit ARIEL I will discase me, and myself present To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
As I was sometime Milan. Quickly, spirit Than you may call to comfort you, for I
Thou shalt ere long be free. Have lost my daughter.
ARIEL, on returning, sings and helps to attire him ALONSO. A daughter!
Where the bee sucks, there suck I; O heavens, that they were living both in Naples,
In a cowslip's bell I lie; The King and Queen there! That they were, I wish
There I couch when owls do cry. Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
On the bat's back I do fly Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?
After summer merrily. PROSPERO. In this last tempest. I perceive these lords
Merrily, merrily shall I live now At this encounter do so much admire
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. That they devour their reason, and scarce think
PROSPERO. Why, that's my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; But yet thou shalt have Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
freedom. So, so, so. Are natural breath; but, howsoe'er you have
To the King's ship, invisible as thou art; Been justled from your senses, know for certain
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep That I am Prospero, and that very duke
Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely
Being awake, enforce them to this place; Upon this shore, where you were wrecked, was landed
And presently, I prithee. To be the lord on't. No more yet of this;
ARIEL. I drink the air before me, and return For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
Or ere your pulse twice beat. Exit GONZALO. All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement, Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Inhabits here. Some heavenly power guide us Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
Out of this fearful country! This cell's my court; here have I few attendants,
PROSPERO. Behold, Sir King, And subjects none abroad; pray you, look in.
The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero. My dukedom since you have given me again,
For more assurance that a living prince I will requite you with as good a thing;
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye
And to thee and thy company I bid As much as me my dukedom.
A hearty welcome. Here PROSPERO discovers FERDINAND and MIRANDA,
ALONSO. Whe'er thou be'st he or no, playing at chess
Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, MIRANDA. Sweet lord, you play me false.
As late I have been, I not know. Thy pulse FERDINAND. No, my dearest love,
Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, I would not for the world.
Th' affliction of my mind amends, with which, MIRANDA. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle
I fear, a madness held me. This must craveAn And I would call it fair play.
if this be at all-a most strange story. ALONSO. If this prove
Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat A vision of the island, one dear son
Thou pardon me my wrongs. But how should Prospero Shall I twice lose.
Be living and be here? SEBASTIAN. A most high miracle!
PROSPERO. First, noble friend, FERDINAND. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful;
Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot I have curs'd them without cause. [Kneels] ALONSO. Now all the blessings
Be measur'd or confin'd. Of a glad father compass thee about!
GONZALO. Whether this be Arise, and say how thou cam'st here.
Or be not, I'll not swear. MIRANDA. O, wonder!
PROSPERO. You do yet taste How many goodly creatures are there here!
Some subtleties o' th' isle, that will not let you How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world
Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all! That has such people in't!
[Aside to SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO] But you, my brace of PROSPERO. 'Tis new to thee.
lords, were I so minded, ALONSO. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play?
I here could pluck his Highness' frown upon you, Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours;
And justify you traitors; at this time Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
I will tell no tales. And brought us thus together?
SEBASTIAN. [Aside] The devil speaks in him. FERDINAND. Sir, she is mortal;
PROSPERO. No. But by immortal Providence she's mine.
For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother I chose her when I could not ask my father
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive For his advice, nor thought I had one. She
Thy rankest fault-all of them; and require Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan,
My dukedom of thee, which perforce I know Of whom so often I have heard renown
Thou must restore. But never saw before; of whom I have
ALONSO. If thou beest Prospero, Receiv'd a second life; and second father
Give us particulars of thy preservation; This lady makes him to me.
How thou hast met us here, whom three hours since ALONSO. I am hers.
Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lostHow But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
sharp the point of this remembrance is!-My dear son Ferdinand. Must ask my child forgiveness!
PROSPERO. I am woe for't, sir. PROSPERO. There, sir, stop;
ALONSO. Irreparable is the loss; and patience Let us not burden our remembrances withA heaviness that's gone.
Says it is past her cure. GONZALO. I have inly wept,
PROSPERO. I rather think Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,
You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace And on this couple drop a blessed crown;
For it is you that have chalk'd forth the way He will chastise me.
Which brought us hither. SEBASTIAN. Ha, ha!
ALONSO. I say, Amen, Gonzalo! What things are these, my lord Antonio?
GONZALO. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue Will money buy'em?
Should become Kings of Naples? O, rejoice ANTONIO. Very like; one of them
Beyond a common joy, and set it down Is a plain fish, and no doubt marketable.
With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage PROSPERO. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis; Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knaveHis
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife mother was a witch, and one so strong
Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves And deal in her command without her power.
When no man was his own. These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devilFor
ALONSO. [To FERDINAND and MIRANDA] Give me your he's a bastard one-had plotted with them
hands. To take my life. Two of these fellows you
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart Must know and own; this thing of darkness I
That doth not wish you joy. Acknowledge mine.
GONZALO. Be it so. Amen! CALIBAN. I shall be pinch'd to death.
Re-enter ARIEL, with the MASTER and BOATSWAIN ALONSO. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?
amazedly following SEBASTIAN. He is drunk now; where had he wine?
O look, sir; look, sir! Here is more of us! ALONSO. And Trinculo is reeling ripe; where should they
I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em?
This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, How cam'st thou in this pickle?
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore? TRINCULO. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you
Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones. I
BOATSWAIN. The best news is that we have safely found shall not fear fly-blowing.
Our King and company; the next, our shipWhich SEBASTIAN. Why, how now, Stephano!
but three glasses since we gave out splitIs STEPHANO. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a
tight and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when cramp.
We first put out to sea. PROSPERO. You'd be king o' the isle, sirrah?
ARIEL. [Aside to PROSPERO] Sir, all this service STEPHANO. I should have been a sore one, then.
Have I done since I went. ALONSO. [Pointing to CALIBAN] This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd on.
PROSPERO. [Aside to ARIEL] My tricksy spirit! PROSPERO. He is as disproportioned in his manners
ALONSO. These are not natural events; they strengthen As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell;
From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither? Take with you your companions; as you look
BOATSWAIN. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, CALIBAN. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,
And-how, we know not-all clapp'd under hatches; And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass
Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Was I to take this drunkard for a god,
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, And worship this dull fool!
And moe diversity of sounds, all horrible, PROSPERO. Go to; away!
We were awak'd; straightway at liberty; ALONSO. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. SEBASTIAN. Or stole it,
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld rather.
Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master Exeunt CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and TRINCULO PROSPERO. Sir, I invite your Highness and
Cap'ring to eye her. On a trice, so please you, your
Even in a dream, were we divided from them, train
And were brought moping hither. To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest
ARIEL. [Aside to PROSPERO] Was't well done? For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste
PROSPERO. [Aside to ARIEL] Bravely, my diligence. Thou With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it
shalt be free. Go quick away-the story of my life,
ALONSO. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod; And the particular accidents gone by
And there is in this business more than nature Since I came to this isle. And in the morn
Was ever conduct of. Some oracle I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Must rectify our knowledge. Where I have hope to see the nuptial
PROSPERO. Sir, my liege, Of these our dear-belov'd solemnized,
Do not infest your mind with beating on And thence retire me to my Milan, where
The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure, Every third thought shall be my grave.
Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you, ALONSO. I long
Which to you shall seem probable, of every To hear the story of your life, which must
These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful Take the ear strangely.
And think of each thing well. [Aside to ARIEL] Come PROSPERO. I'll deliver all;
hither, spirit; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
Set Caliban and his companions free; And sail so expeditious that shall catch
Untie the spell. [Exit ARIEL] How fares my gracious sir? There are yet missing of your Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to ARIEL] My Ariel,
company chick,
Some few odd lads that you remember not. That is thy charge. Then to the elements
Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO, and Be free, and fare thou well!-Please you, draw near.
TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel Exeunt
STEPHANO. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself; for all EPILOGUE
is but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio!TRINCULO. If these be true spies which I wear EPILOGUE
in my head, here's a goodly sight. Spoken by PROSPERONow my charms are all o'erthrown,
CALIBAN. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! And what strength I have's mine own,
How fine my master is! I am afraid Which is most faint. Now 'tis true,
I must be here confin'd by you, READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
Or sent to Naples. Let me not, YOUR OR OTHERS
Since I have my dukedom got, PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
In this bare island by your spell; SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
But release me from my bands DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
With the help of your good hands. SCENE:
Gentle breath of yours my sails Athens and the neighbouring woods
Must fill, or else my project fails, ACT I. SCENE I.
Which was to please. Now I want Athens. TIMON'S house
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; Enter POET, PAINTER, JEWELLER, MERCHANT, and MERCER, at several doors
And my ending is despair POET. Good day, sir.
Unless I be reliev'd by prayer, PAINTER. I am glad y'are well.
Which pierces so that it assaults POET. I have not seen you long; how goes the world?
Mercy itself, and frees all faults. PAINTER. It wears, sir, as it grows.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be, POET. Ay, that's well known.
Let your indulgence set me free. But what particular rarity? What strange,
THE END Which manifold record not matches? See,
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Magic of bounty, all these spirits thy power
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Hath conjur'd to attend! I know the merchant.
BY PROJECT PAINTER. I know them both; th' other's a jeweller.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. MERCHANT. O, 'tis a worthy lord!
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE JEWELLER. Nay, that's most fix'd.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR MERCHANT. A most incomparable man; breath'd, as it were,
YOUR OR OTHERS To an untirable and continuate goodness.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED He passes.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY JEWELLER. I have a jewel hereMERCHANT.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR O, pray let's see't. For the Lord Timon, sir?
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> JEWELLER. If he will touch the estimate. But for thatPOET.
1608 When we for recompense have prais'd the vile,
THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS It stains the glory in that happy verse
by William Shakespeare Which aptly sings the good.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE MERCHANT. [Looking at the jewel] 'Tis a good form.
TIMON of Athens JEWELLER. And rich. Here is a water, look ye.
LUCIUS PAINTER. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedication To the great lord.
LUCULLUS POET. A thing slipp'd idly from me.
SEMPRONIUS Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes
flattering lords From whence 'tis nourish'd. The fire i' th' flint
VENTIDIUS, one of Timon's false friends Shows not till it be struck: our gentle flame
ALCIBIADES, an Athenian captain Provokes itself, and like the current flies
APEMANTUS, a churlish philosopher Each bound it chafes. What have you there?
FLAVIUS, steward to Timon PAINTER. A picture, sir. When comes your book forth?
FLAMINIUS POET. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir.
LUCILIUS Let's see your piece.
SERVILIUS PAINTER. 'Tis a good piece.
Timon's servants POET. So 'tis; this comes off well and excellent.
CAPHIS PAINTER. Indifferent.
PHILOTUS POET. Admirable. How this grace
TITUS Speaks his own standing! What a mental power
HORTENSIUS This eye shoots forth! How big imagination
servants to Timon's creditors Moves in this lip! To th' dumbness of the gesture
POET One might interpret.
PAINTER PAINTER. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
JEWELLER Here is a touch; is't good?
MERCHANT POET. I will say of it
MERCER It tutors nature. Artificial strife
AN OLD ATHENIAN Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
THREE STRANGERS Enter certain SENATORS, and pass over
A PAGE PAINTER. How this lord is followed!
A FOOL POET. The senators of Athens- happy man!
PHRYNIA PAINTER. Look, moe!
TIMANDRAmistresses to Alcibiades POET. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors. I have in this rough work
CUPID shap'd out a manWhom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
AMAZONS With amplest entertainment. My free drift
in the Masque Halts not particularly, but moves itself
Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, Servants, Thieves, and Attendants In a wide sea of tax. No levell'd malice
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Infects one comma in the course I hold,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on,
BY PROJECT Leaving no tract behind.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. PAINTER. How shall I understand you?
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE POET. I will unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all mindsAs
well of glib and slipp'ry creatures as Lucilius!
Of grave and austere quality, tender down LUCILIUS. Here, at your lordship's service.
Their services to Lord Timon. His large fortune, OLD ATHENIAN. This fellow here, Lord Timon, this thy creature, By night frequents my
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, house. I am a man
Subdues and properties to his love and tendance That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift,
All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer To Apemantus, that few things And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd
loves better Than one which holds a trencher.
Than to abhor himself; even he drops down TIMON. Well; what further?
The knee before him, and returns in peace OLD ATHENIAN. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
Most rich in Timon's nod. On whom I may confer what I have got.
PAINTER. I saw them speak together. The maid is fair, o' th' youngest for a bride,
POET. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill And I have bred her at my dearest cost
Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd. The base o' th' mount In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures Attempts her love; I prithee, noble lord,
That labour on the bosom of this sphere Join with me to forbid him her resort;
To propagate their states. Amongst them all Myself have spoke in vain.
Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd TIMON. The man is honest.
One do I personate of Lord Timon's frame, OLD ATHENIAN. Therefore he will be, Timon.
Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her; His honesty rewards him in itself;
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants It must not bear my daughter.
Translates his rivals. TIMON. Does she love him?
PAINTER. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. OLD ATHENIAN. She is young and apt:
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, Our own precedent passions do instruct us
With one man beckon'd from the rest below, What levity's in youth.
Bowing his head against the steepy mount TIMON. Love you the maid?
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd LUCILIUS. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
In our condition. OLD ATHENIAN. If in her marriage my consent be missing,
POET. Nay, sir, but hear me on. I call the gods to witness I will choose
All those which were his fellows but of lateSome Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world,
better than his value- on the moment And dispossess her all.
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance, TIMON. How shall she be endow'd,
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear, If she be mated with an equal husband?
Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him OLD ATHENIAN. Three talents on the present; in future, all. TIMON. This gentleman of mine
Drink the free air. hath serv'd me long;.
PAINTER. Ay, marry, what of these? To build his fortune I will strain a little,
POET. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter:
Spurns down her late beloved, all his dependants, What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top And make him weigh with her.
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble lord,
Not one accompanying his declining foot. Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
PAINTER. 'Tis common. TIMON. My hand to thee; mine honour on my promise.
A thousand moral paintings I can show LUCILIUS. Humbly I thank your lordship. Never may
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of Fortune's That state or fortune fall into my keeping
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well Which is not owed to you!
To show Lord Timon that mean eyes have seen Exeunt LUCILIUS and OLD ATHENIAN POET. [Presenting his poem] Vouchsafe my labour,
The foot above the head. and
Trumpets sound. Enter TIMON, addressing himself long live your lordship!
courteously to every suitor, a MESSENGER from TIMON. I thank you; you shall hear from me anon;
VENTIDIUS talking with him; LUCILIUS and other Go not away. What have you there, my friend?
servants following PAINTER. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
TIMON. Imprison'd is he, say you? Your lordship to accept.
MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Five talents is his debt; TIMON. Painting is welcome.
His means most short, his creditors most strait. The painting is almost the natural man;
Your honourable letter he desires For since dishonour traffics with man's nature,
To those have shut him up; which failing, He is but outside; these pencill'd figures are
Periods his comfort. Even such as they give out. I like your work,
TIMON. Noble Ventidius! Well. And you shall find I like it; wait attendance
I am not of that feather to shake of Till you hear further from me.
My friend when he must need me. I do know him PAINTER. The gods preserve ye!
A gentleman that well deserves a help, TIMON. Well fare you, gentleman. Give me your hand;
Which he shall have. I'll pay the debt, and free him. We must needs dine together. Sir, your jewel
MESSENGER. Your lordship ever binds him. Hath suffered under praise.
TIMON. Commend me to him; I will send his ransom; JEWELLER. What, my lord! Dispraise?
And being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me. TIMON. A mere satiety of commendations;
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up,But to support him after. Fare you well. If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
MESSENGER. All happiness to your honour! Exit It would unclew me quite.
Enter an OLD ATHENIAN JEWELLER. My lord, 'tis rated
OLD ATHENIAN. Lord Timon, hear me speak. As those which sell would give; but you well knowThings of like value, differing in the owners,
TIMON. Freely, good father. Are prized by their masters. Believe't, dear lord,
OLD ATHENIAN. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius. You mend the jewel by the wearing it.
TIMON. I have so; what of him? TIMON. Well mock'd.
OLD ATHENIAN. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. TIMON. Attends he here, or no? Enter APEMANTUS
MERCHANT. No, my good lord; he speaks the common tongue, Most hungerly on your sight.
Which all men speak with him. TIMON. Right welcome, sir!
TIMON. Look who comes here; will you be chid? Ere we depart we'll share a bounteous time
JEWELLER. We'll bear, with your lordship. In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
MERCHANT. He'll spare none. Exeunt all but APEMANTUS
TIMON. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus! Enter two LORDS
APEMANTUS. Till I be gentle, stay thou for thy good morrow; When thou art Timon's dog, FIRST LORD. What time o' day is't, Apemantus?
and these knaves honest. APEMANTUS. Time to be honest.
TIMON. Why dost thou call them knaves? Thou know'st them not. APEMANTUS. Are they not FIRST LORD. That time serves still.
Athenians? APEMANTUS. The more accursed thou that still omit'st it.
TIMON. Yes. SECOND LORD. Thou art going to Lord Timon's feast.
APEMANTUS. Then I repent not. APEMANTUS. Ay; to see meat fill knaves and wine heat fools. SECOND LORD. Fare thee
JEWELLER. You know me, Apemantus? well,
APEMANTUS. Thou know'st I do; I call'd thee by thy name. fare thee well.
TIMON. Thou art proud, Apemantus. APEMANTUS. Thou art a fool to bid me farewell twice.
APEMANTUS. Of nothing so much as that I am not like Timon. TIMON. Whither art going? SECOND LORD. Why, Apemantus?
APEMANTUS. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. APEMANTUS. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean to give thee none.
TIMON. That's a deed thou't die for. FIRST LORD. Hang thyself.
APEMANTUS. Right, if doing nothing be death by th' law. APEMANTUS. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding; make thy requests to thy friend.
TIMON. How lik'st thou this picture, Apemantus? SECOND LORD. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee hence. APEMANTUS. I will fly, like
APEMANTUS. The best, for the innocence. a dog, the heels o' th' ass. Exit FIRST LORD. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we
TIMON. Wrought he not well that painted it? in
APEMANTUS. He wrought better that made the painter; and yet he's but a filthy piece of And taste Lord Timon's bounty? He outgoes
work. The very heart of kindness.
PAINTER. Y'are a dog. SECOND LORD. He pours it out: Plutus, the god of gold,
APEMANTUS. Thy mother's of my generation; what's she, if I be a dog? TIMON. Wilt dine Is but his steward; no meed but he repays
with me, Apemantus? Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him
APEMANTUS. No; I eat not lords. But breeds the giver a return exceeding
TIMON. An thou shouldst, thou'dst anger ladies. All use of quittance.
APEMANTUS. O, they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. TIMON. That's a lascivious FIRST LORD. The noblest mind he carries
apprehension. That ever govern'd man.
APEMANTUS. So thou apprehend'st it take it for thy labour. TIMON. How dost thou like this SECOND LORD. Long may he live in fortunes! shall we in?
jewel, Apemantus? FIRST LORD. I'll keep you company. Exeunt
APEMANTUS. Not so well as plain dealing, which will not cost a man a doit. SCENE II.
TIMON. What dost thou think 'tis worth? A room of state in TIMON'S house
APEMANTUS. Not worth my thinking. How now, poet! Hautboys playing loud music. A great banquet serv'd in;
POET. How now, philosopher! FLAVIUS and others attending; and then enter LORD TIMON, the states, the ATHENIAN
APEMANTUS. Thou liest. LORDS,
POET. Art not one? VENTIDIUS, which TIMON redeem'd from prison. Then comes, dropping after all,
APEMANTUS. Yes. APEMANTUS,
POET. Then I lie not. discontentedly, like himself
APEMANTUS. Art not a poet? VENTIDIUS. Most honoured Timon,
POET. Yes. It hath pleas'd the gods to remember my father's age,
APEMANTUS. Then thou liest. Look in thy last work, where thou hast feign'd him a worthy And call him to long peace.
fellow. He is gone happy, and has left me rich.
POET. That's not feign'd- he is so. Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound
APEMANTUS. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee for thy labour. He that loves to be To your free heart, I do return those talents,
flattered is worthy o' th' flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord! Doubled with thanks and service, from whose help
TIMON. What wouldst do then, Apemantus? I deriv'd liberty.
APEMANTUS. E'en as Apemantus does now: hate a lord with my heart. TIMON. What, TIMON. O, by no means,
thyself? Honest Ventidius! You mistake my love;
APEMANTUS. Ay. I gave it freely ever; and there's none
TIMON. Wherefore? Can truly say he gives, if he receives.
APEMANTUS. That I had no angry wit to be a lord.- Art not thou a merchant? If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
MERCHANT. Ay, Apemantus. To imitate them: faults that are rich are fair.
APEMANTUS. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will not! VENTIDIUS. A noble spirit!
MERCHANT. If traffic do it, the gods do it. TIMON. Nay, my lords, ceremony was but devis'd at first
APEMANTUS. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee! To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Trumpet sounds. Enter a MESSENGER Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown;
TIMON. What trumpet's that? But where there is true friendship there needs none.
MESSENGER. 'Tis Alcibiades, and some twenty horse, Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes
All of companionship. Than my fortunes to me. [They sit] FIRST LORD. My lord, we always have confess'd it.
TIMON. Pray entertain them; give them guide to us. APEMANTUS. Ho, ho, confess'd it! Hang'd it, have you not? TIMON. O, Apemantus, you are
Exeunt some attendants You must needs dine with me. Go not you hence welcome.
Till I have thank'd you. When dinner's done APEMANTUS. No;
Show me this piece. I am joyful of your sights. You shall not make me welcome.
Enter ALCIBIADES, with the restMost welcome, sir! [They salute] APEMANTUS. So, so, there! I come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
Aches contract and starve your supple joints! TIMON. Fie, th'art a churl; ye have got a humour there
That there should be small love amongst these sweet knaves, And all this courtesy! The Does not become a man; 'tis much to blame.They say, my lords, Ira furor brevis est; but yond
strain of man's bred out man is ever angry. Go, let him have a
Into baboon and monkey. table by himself; for he does neither affect company nor is he fit for't indeed.
ALCIBIADES. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed APEMANTUS. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon.
I come to observe; I give thee warning on't. Taste, Touch, Smell, pleas'd from thy table rise;
TIMON. I take no heed of thee. Th'art an Athenian, therefore welcome. I myself would have They only now come but to feast thine eyes.
no power; prithee let my meat make thee silent. TIMON. They're welcome all; let 'em have kind admittance. Music, make their welcome. Exit
APEMANTUS. I scorn thy meat; 't'would choke me, for I should ne'er flatter thee. O you CUPID FIRST LORD. You see, my lord, how ample y'are belov'd.
gods, what a number of men eats Timon, and he sees 'em not! It grieves me to see so many Music. Re-enter CUPID, witb a Masque of LADIES as Amazons,
dip their meat in one man's blood; and all the madness is, he cheers them up too. I with lutes in their hands, dancing and playing
wonder men dare trust themselves with men. APEMANTUS. Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way! They dance? They are mad
Methinks they should invite them without knives: women.
Good for their meat and safer for their lives. Like madness is the glory of this life,
There's much example for't; the fellow that sits next him now, parts bread with him, As this pomp shows to a little oil and root.
pledges the breath of him in a divided draught, is the readiest man to kill him. 'T has We make ourselves fools to disport ourselves,
been proved. If I were a huge man I should fear to drink at meals. And spend our flatteries to drink those men
Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: Upon whose age we void it up again
Great men should drink with harness on their throats. With poisonous spite and envy.
TIMON. My lord, in heart! and let the health go round. Who lives that's not depraved or depraves?
SECOND LORD. Let it flow this way, my good lord. Who dies that bears not one spurn to their graves
APEMANTUS. Flow this way! A brave fellow! He keeps his tides well. Those healths will Of their friends' gift?
make thee and thy state look ill, Timon. Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, I should fear those that dance before me now
honest water, which ne'er left man i' th' mire. Would one day stamp upon me. 'T has been done:
This and my food are equals; there's no odds.' Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. The LORDS rise from table, with much adoring of
APEMANTUS' Grace TIMON; and to show their loves, each single out an
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf; Amazon, and all dance, men witb women, a lofty
I pray for no man but myself. strain or two to the hautboys, and cease
Grant I may never prove so fond TIMON. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair ladies, Set a fair fashion on our
To trust man on his oath or bond, entertainment,
Or a harlot for her weeping, Which was not half so beautiful and kind;
Or a dog that seems a-sleeping, You have added worth unto't and lustre,
Or a keeper with my freedom, And entertain'd me with mine own device;
Or my friends, if I should need 'em. I am to thank you for't.
Amen. So fall to't. FIRST LADY. My lord, you take us even at the best.
Rich men sin, and I eat root. [Eats and drinks] APEMANTUS. Faith, for the worst is filthy, and would not hold taking, I doubt me.
Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus! TIMON. Ladies, there is an idle banquet attends you;
TIMON. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field now. ALCIBIADES. My heart is ever at Please you to dispose yourselves.
your service, my lord. ALL LADIES. Most thankfully, my lord.
TIMON. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies than dinner of friends. Exeunt CUPID and LADIES TIMON. Flavius!
ALCIBIADES. So they were bleeding new, my lord, there's no meat like 'em; I could wish my FLAVIUS. My lord?
best friend at such a feast. TIMON. The little casket bring me hither.
APEMANTUS. Would all those flatterers were thine enemies then, that then thou mightst FLAVIUS. Yes, my lord. [Aside] More jewels yet!
kill 'em, and bid me to 'em. There is no crossing him in's humour,
FIRST LORD. Might we but have that happiness, my lord, that you would once use our Else I should tell him- well i' faith, I shouldWhen
hearts, whereby we might express some part of our zeals, we should think ourselves for all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could.
ever perfect. 'Tis pity bounty had not eyes behind,
TIMON. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods themselves have provided that I shall That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. Exit FIRST LORD. Where be our men?
have much help from you. How had you been my friends else? Why have you that charitable SERVANT. Here, my lord, in readiness.
title from thousands, did not you chiefly belong to my heart? I have told more of you to SECOND LORD. Our horses!
myself than you can with modesty speak in your own behalf; and thus far I confirm you. O Re-enter FLAVIUS, with the casket
you gods, think I, what need we have any friends if we should ne'er have need of 'em? TIMON. O my friends,
They were the most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have use for 'em; and would I have one word to say to you. Look you, my good lord,
most resemble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to themselves. I must entreat you honour me so much
Why, I have often wish'd myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you. We are born to As to advance this jewel; accept it and wear it,
do benefits; and what better or properer can we call our own than the riches of our Kind my lord.
friends? O, what a precious comfort 'tis to have so many like brothers commanding one FIRST LORD. I am so far already in your giftsALL.
another's fortunes! O, joy's e'en made away ere't can be born! Mine eyes cannot hold out So are we all.
water, methinks. To forget their faults, I drink to you. Enter a SERVANT
APEMANTUS. Thou weep'st to make them drink, Timon. SERVANT. My lord, there are certain nobles of the Senate newly alighted and come to visit
SECOND LORD. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, you.
And at that instant like a babe sprung up. TIMON. They are fairly welcome. Exit SERVANT FLAVIUS. I beseech your honour, vouchsafe
APEMANTUS. Ho, ho! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. me
THIRD LORD. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. a word; it does concern you near.
APEMANTUS. Much! [Sound tucket] TIMON. What means that trump? TIMON. Near! Why then, another time I'll hear thee. I prithee let's be provided to show
Enter a SERVANT them entertainment.
How now? FLAVIUS. [Aside] I scarce know how.Enter another SERVANT
SERVANT. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies most desirous of admittance. SECOND SERVANT. May it please vour honour, Lord Lucius, out of his free love, hath
TIMON. Ladies! What are their wills? presented to you four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver.
SERVANT. There comes with them a forerunner, my lord, which bears that office to signify TIMON. I shall accept them fairly. Let the presents
their pleasures. Be worthily entertain'd. Exit SERVANT
TIMON. I pray let them be admitted.Enter CUPID Enter a third SERVANT
CUPID. Hail to thee, worthy Timon, and to all How now! What news?
That of his bounties taste! The five best Senses THIRD SERVANT. Please you, my lord, that honourable gentleman, Lord Lucullus, entreats
Acknowledge thee their patron, and come freely your company to-morrow to hunt with him and has sent your honour two brace of greyhounds.
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom. Th' Ear, TIMON. I'll hunt with him; and let them be receiv'd,
Not without fair reward. Exit SERVANT FLAVIUS. [Aside] What will this come to? Enter A SENATOR, with papers in his hand
He commands us to provide and give great gifts, SENATOR. And late, five thousand. To Varro and to Isidore He owes nine thousand; besides
And all out of an empty coffer; my former sum,
Nor will he know his purse, or yield me this, Which makes it five and twenty. Still in motion
To show him what a beggar his heart is, Of raging waste? It cannot hold; it will not.
Being of no power to make his wishes good. If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog
His promises fly so beyond his state And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold.
That what he speaks is all in debt; he owes If I would sell my horse and buy twenty moe
For ev'ry word. He is so kind that he now Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon,
Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books. Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me straight,
Well, would I were gently put out of office And able horses. No porter at his gate,
Before I were forc'd out! But rather one that smiles and still invites
Happier is he that has no friend to feed All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason
Than such that do e'en enemies exceed. Can sound his state in safety. Caphis, ho!
I bleed inwardly for my lord. Exit TIMON. You do yourselves much wrong; Caphis, I say!
You bate too much of your own merits. Enter CAPHIS
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. CAPHIS. Here, sir; what is your pleasure?
SECOND LORD. With more than common thanks I will receive it. THIRD LORD. O, he's the SENATOR. Get on your cloak and haste you to Lord Timon;
very Importune him for my moneys; be not ceas'd
soul of bounty! With slight denial, nor then silenc'd when
TIMON. And now I remember, my lord, you gave good words the other day of a bay courser I 'Commend me to your master' and the cap
rode on. 'Tis yours because you lik'd it. THIRD LORD. O, I beseech you pardon me, my Plays in the right hand, thus; but tell him
lord, in that. TIMON. You may take my word, my lord: I know no man My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn
Can justly praise but what he does affect. Out of mine own; his days and times are past,
I weigh my friend's affection with mine own. And my reliances on his fracted dates
I'll tell you true; I'll call to you. Have smit my credit. I love and honour him,
ALL LORDS. O, none so welcome! But must not break my back to heal his finger.
TIMON. I take all and your several visitations Immediate are my needs, and my relief
So kind to heart 'tis not enough to give; Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words,
Methinks I could deal kingdoms to my friends But find supply immediate. Get you gone;
And ne'er be weary. Alcibiades, Put on a most importunate aspect,
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich. A visage of demand; for I do fear,
It comes in charity to thee; for all thy living When every feather sticks in his own wing,
Is 'mongst the dead, and all the lands thou hast Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,
Lie in a pitch'd field. Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.
ALCIBIADES. Ay, defil'd land, my lord. CAPHIS. I go, sir.
FIRST LORD. We are so virtuously boundTIMON. SENATOR. Take the bonds along with you,
And so am I to you. And have the dates in compt.
SECOND LORD. So infinitely endear'dTIMON. CAPHIS. I will, sir.
All to you. Lights, more lights! SENATOR. Go. Exeunt
FIRST LORD. The best of happiness, honour, and fortunes, keep with you, Lord Timon! SCENE II.
TIMON. Ready for his friends. Before TIMON'S house
Exeunt all but APEMANTUS and TIMON APEMANTUS. What a coil's here! Enter FLAVIUS, TIMON'S Steward, with many bills in his hand
Serving of becks and jutting-out of bums! FLAVIUS. No care, no stop! So senseless of expense
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums That he will neither know how to maintain it
That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs: Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account
Methinks false hearts should never have sound legs. How things go from him, nor resumes no care
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on curtsies. Of what is to continue. Never mind
TIMON. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen Was to be so unwise to be so kind.
I would be good to thee. What shall be done? He will not hear till feel.
APEMANTUS. No, I'll nothing; for if I should be brib'd too, there would be none left to I must be round with him. Now he comes from hunting.
rail upon thee, and then thou wouldst sin the faster. Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear Fie, fie, fie, fie!
me thou wilt give away thyself in paper shortly. What needs these feasts, pomps, and Enter CAPHIS, and the SERVANTS Of ISIDORE and VARRO
vain-glories? CAPHIS. Good even, Varro. What, you come for money?
TIMON. Nay, an you begin to rail on society once, I am sworn not to give regard to you. VARRO'S SERVANT. Is't not your business too?
Farewell; and come with better music. Exit CAPHIS. It is. And yours too, Isidore?
APEMANTUS. So. Thou wilt not hear me now: thou shalt not then. I'll lock thy heaven from ISIDORE'S SERVANT. It is so.
thee. CAPHIS. Would we were all discharg'd!
O that men's ears should be VARRO'S SERVANT. I fear it.
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery! Exit CAPHIS. Here comes the lord.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Enter TIMON and his train, with ALCIBIADESTIMON. So soon as dinner's done we'll forth
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED again,
BY PROJECT My Alcibiades.- With me? What is your will?
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. CAPHIS. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE TIMON. Dues! Whence are you?
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR CAPHIS. Of Athens here, my lord.
YOUR OR OTHERSPERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED TIMON. Go to my steward.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY CAPHIS. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR To the succession of new days this month.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> My master is awak'd by great occasion
ACT II. SCENE I. To call upon his own, and humbly prays you
A SENATOR'S house That with your other noble parts you'll suit
In giving him his right. FOOL. I think no usurer but has a fool to his servant. My mistress is one, and I am her
TIMON. Mine honest friend, fool. When men come to borrow of your masters, they approach sadly and go away merry; but
I prithee but repair to me next morning. they enter my mistress' house merrily and go away sadly. The reason of this? VARRO'S
CAPHIS. Nay, good my lordTIMON. SERVANT. I could render one.
Contain thyself, good friend. APEMANTUS. Do it then, that we may account thee a whoremaster and a knave; which
VARRO'S SERVANT. One Varro's servant, my good lordISIDORE' notwithstanding, thou shalt be no less esteemed. VARRO'S SERVANT. What is a
S SERVANT. From Isidore: he humbly prays your speedy whoremaster,
paymentCAPHIS. fool?
If you did know, my lord, my master's wantsVARRO' FOOL. A fool in good clothes, and something like thee. 'Tis a spirit. Sometime 't appears
S SERVANT. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six weeks and past. like a lord; sometime like a lawyer; sometime like a philosopher, with two stones moe
ISIDORE'S SERVANT. Your steward puts me off, my lord; and I am sent expressly to your than's artificial one. He is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all shapes that
lordship. man goes up and down in from fourscore to thirteen, this spirit walks in.
TIMON. Give me breath. VARRO'S SERVANT. Thou art not altogether a fool.
I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on; FOOL. Nor thou altogether a wise man.
I'll wait upon you instantly. As much foolery as I have, so much wit thou lack'st.
Exeunt ALCIBIADES and LORDS [To FLAVIUS] Come hither. Pray you, APEMANTUS. That answer might have become Apemantus.
How goes the world that I am thus encount'red VARRO'S SERVANT. Aside, aside; here comes Lord Timon.
With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS
And the detention of long-since-due debts, APEMANTUS. Come with me, fool, come.
Against my honour? FOOL. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, and woman; sometime the philosopher.
FLAVIUS. Please you, gentlemen, Exeunt APEMANTUS and FOOL FLAVIUS. Pray you walk near; I'll speak with you anon.
The time is unagreeable to this business. Exeunt SERVANTS TIMON. You make me marvel wherefore ere this time
Your importunacy cease till after dinner, Had you not fully laid my state before me,
That I may make his lordship understand That I might so have rated my expense
Wherefore you are not paid. As I had leave of means.
TIMON. Do so, my friends. FLAVIUS. You would not hear me
See them well entertain'd. Exit At many leisures I propos'd.
FLAVIUS. Pray draw near. Exit TIMON. Go to;
Enter APEMANTUS and FOOL Perchance some single vantages you took
CAPHIS. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Apemantus. When my indisposition put you back,
Let's ha' some sport with 'em. And that unaptness made your minister
VARRO'S SERVANT. Hang him, he'll abuse us! Thus to excuse yourself.
ISIDORE'S SERVANT. A plague upon him, dog! FLAVIUS. O my good lord,
VARRO'S SERVANT. How dost, fool? At many times I brought in my accounts,
APEMANTUS. Dost dialogue with thy shadow? Laid them before you; you would throw them off
VARRO'S SERVANT. I speak not to thee. And say you found them in mine honesty.
APEMANTUS. No, 'tis to thyself. [To the FOOL] Come away. When, for some trifling present, you have bid me
ISIDORE'S SERVANT. [To VARRO'S SERVANT] There's the fool hangs on your back already. Return so much, I have shook my head and wept;
APEMANTUS. No, thou stand'st single; th'art not on him yet. CAPHIS. Where's the fool now? Yea, 'gainst th' authority of manners, pray'd you
APEMANTUS. He last ask'd the question. Poor rogues and usurers' men! Bawds between gold To hold your hand more close. I did endure
and want! Not seldom, nor no slight checks, when I have
ALL SERVANTS. What are we, Apemantus? Prompted you in the ebb of your estate
APEMANTUS. Asses. And your great flow of debts. My lov'd lord,
ALL SERVANTS. Why? Though you hear now- too late!- yet now's a time:
APEMANTUS. That you ask me what you are, and do not know The greatest of your having lacks a half
yourselves. Speak to 'em, fool. To pay your present debts.
FOOL. How do you, gentlemen? TIMON. Let all my land be sold.
ALL SERVANTS. Gramercies, good fool. How does your mistress? FOOL. She's e'en setting FLAVIUS. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone;
on And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
water to scald such chickens as you are. Would we could see you at Corinth! Of present dues. The future comes apace;
APEMANTUS. Good! gramercy. What shall defend the interim? And at length
Enter PAGE How goes our reck'ning?
FOOL. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. TIMON. To Lacedaemon did my land extend.
PAGE. [To the FOOL] Why, how now, Captain? What do you in this wise company? How dost FLAVIUS. O my good lord, the world is but a word;
thou, Apemantus? Were it all yours to give it in a breath,
APEMANTUS. Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I might answer thee profitably! How quickly were it gone!
PAGE. Prithee, Apemantus, read me the superscription of these letters; I know not which TIMON. You tell me true.
is which. FLAVIUS. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood,
APEMANTUS. Canst not read? Call me before th' exactest auditors
PAGE. No. And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me,
APEMANTUS. There will little learning die, then, that day thou art hang'd. This is to When all our offices have been oppress'd
Lord Timon; this to Alcibiades. Go; thou wast born a bastard, and thou't die a bawd.PAGE. With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept
Thou wast whelp'd a dog, and thou shalt famish dog's death. Answer not: I am gone. With drunken spilth of wine, when every room
Exit PAGE APEMANTUS. E'en so thou outrun'st grace. Hath blaz'd with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy,
Fool, I will go with you to Lord Timon's. I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock
FOOL. Will you leave me there? And set mine eyes at flow.TIMON. Prithee no more.
APEMANTUS. If Timon stay at home. You three serve three usurers? ALL SERVANTS. Ay; FLAVIUS. 'Heavens,' have I said 'the bounty of this lord! How many prodigal bits have
would slaves and peasants
they serv'd us! This night englutted! Who is not Lord Timon's?
APEMANTUS. So would I- as good a trick as ever hangman serv'd thief. What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is Lord Timon's? Great Timon, noble, worthy,
FOOL. Are you three usurers' men? royal Timon!'
ALL SERVANTS. Ay, fool. Ah! when the means are gone that buy this praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter show'rs, ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
These flies are couch'd. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
TIMON. Come, sermon me no further. YOUR OR OTHERS
No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart; PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
Why dost thou weep? Canst thou the conscience lack SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
To think I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart: DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
If I would broach the vessels of my love, ACT III. SCENE I.
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, LUCULLUS' house
Men and men's fortunes could I frankly use FLAMINIUS waiting to speak with LUCULLUS. Enter SERVANT to him
As I can bid thee speak. SERVANT. I have told my lord of you; he is coming down to you. FLAMINIUS. I thank you,
FLAVIUS. Assurance bless your thoughts! sir.
TIMON. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are crown'd That I account them blessings; Enter LUCULLUS
for by these SERVANT. Here's my lord.
Shall I try friends. You shall perceive how you LUCULLUS. [Aside] One of Lord Timon's men? A gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; I
Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends. dreamt of a silver basin and ewer to-nightFlaminius, honest Flaminius, you are very
Within there! Flaminius! Servilius! respectively welcome,
Enter FLAMINIUS, SERVILIUS, and another SERVANT sir. Fill me some wine. [Exit SERVANT] And how does that honourable, complete,
SERVANTS. My lord! my lord! freehearted gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master?
TIMON. I will dispatch you severally- you to Lord Lucius; to Lord Lucullus you; I hunted FLAMINIUS. His health is well, sir.
with his honour to-day. You to Sempronius. Commend me to their loves; and I am proud, LUCULLUS. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. And what hast thou there under
say, that my occasions have found time to use 'em toward a supply of money. Let the thy cloak, pretty Flaminius?
request be fifty talents. FLAMINIUS. Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir, which in my lord's behalf I come to
FLAMINIUS. As you have said, my lord. Exeunt SERVANTS FLAVIUS. [Aside] Lord Lucius and entreat your honour to supply; who, having great and instant occasion to use fifty
Lucullus? Humh! talents, hath sent to your lordship to furnish him, nothing doubting your present
TIMON. Go you, sir, to the senators, assistance therein.
Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have LUCULLIUS. La, la, la, la! 'Nothing doubting' says he? Alas, good lord! a noble gentleman
Deserv'd this hearing. Bid 'em send o' th' instant 'tis, if he would not keep so good a house. Many a time and often I ha' din'd with him
A thousand talents to me. and told him on't; and come again to supper to him of purpose to have him spend less; and
FLAVIUS. I have been bold, yet he would embrace no counsel, take no warning by my coming. Every man has his fault,
For that I knew it the most general way, and honesty is his. I ha' told him on't, but I could ne'er get him from't.
To them to use your signet and your name; Re-enter SERVANT, with wine
But they do shake their heads, and I am here SERVANT. Please your lordship, here is the wine.
No richer in return. LUCULLUS. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. Here's to thee. FLAMINIUS. Your
TIMON. Is't true? Can't be? lordship speaks your pleasure.
FLAVIUS. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice, LUCULLUS. I have observed thee always for a towardly prompt spirit, give thee thy due,
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot and one that knows what belongs to reason, and canst use the time well, if the time use
Do what they would, are sorry- you are honourableBut thee well. Good parts in thee. [To SERVANT] Get you gone, sirrah. [Exit SERVANT] Draw
yet they could have wish'd- they know notSomething nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman; but thou art wise, and thou
hath been amiss- a noble nature know'st well enough, although thou com'st to me, that this is no time to lend money,
May catch a wrench- would all were well!- 'tis pityAnd especially upon bare friendship without security. Here's three solidares for thee. Good
so, intending other serious matters, boy, wink at me, and say thou saw'st me not. Fare thee well. FLAMINIUS. Is't possible the
After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, world should so much differ, And we alive that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness,
With certain half-caps and cold-moving nods, To him that worships thee. [Throwing the money back] LUCULLUS. Ha! Now I see thou art a
They froze me into silence. fool, and fit for thy master. Exit
TIMON. You gods, reward them! FLAMINIUS. May these add to the number that may scald thee! Let molten coin be thy
Prithee, man, look cheerly. These old fellows damnation,
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary. Thou disease of a friend and not himself!
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; Has friendship such a faint and milky heart
'Tis lack of kindly warmth they are not kind; It turns in less than two nights? O you gods,
And nature, as it grows again toward earth, I feel my master's passion! This slave
Is fashion'd for the journey dull and heavy. Unto his honour has my lord's meat in him;
Go to Ventidius. Prithee be not sad, Why should it thrive and turn to nutriment
Thou art true and honest; ingeniously I speak, When he is turn'd to poison?
No blame belongs to thee. Ventidius lately O, may diseases only work upon't!
Buried his father, by whose death he's stepp'd And when he's sick to death, let not that part of nature Which my lord paid for be of any
Into a great estate. When he was poor, power
Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! Exit
I clear'd him with five talents. Greet him from me, SCENE II.
Bid him suppose some good necessity A public place
Touches his friend, which craves to be rememb'red Enter Lucius, with three STRANGERS
With those five talents. That had, give't these fellows To whom 'tis instant due. Nev'r LUCIUS. Who, the Lord Timon? He is my very good friend, and an honourable gentleman.
speak or think FIRST STRANGER. We know him for no less, though we are but strangers to him. But I can
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. tell you one thing, my lord, and which I hear from common rumours: now Lord Timon's happy
FLAVIUS. I would I could not think it. hours are done and past, and his estate shrinks from him.
That thought is bounty's foe; LUCIUS. Fie, no: do not believe it; he cannot want for money. SECOND STRANGER. But
Being free itself, it thinks all others so. Exeunt<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE believe you this, my lord, that not long agoone of his men was with the Lord Lucullus to borrow
COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM so many talents; nay, urg'd extremely
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED for't, and showed what necessity belong'd to't, and yet was denied.
BY PROJECT LUCIUS. How?
SECOND STRANGER. I tell you, denied, my lord.
LUCIUS. What a strange case was that! Now, before the gods, I am asham'd on't. Denied They have all been touch'd and found base metal, for
that honourable man! There was very little honour show'd in't. For my own part, I must They have all denied him.
needs confess I have received some small kindnesses from him, as money, plate, jewels, SEMPRONIUS. How! Have they denied him?
and such-like trifles, nothing comparing to his; yet, had he mistook him and sent to me, Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him?
I should ne'er have denied his occasion so many talents. And does he send to me? Three? Humh!
Enter SERVILIUS It shows but little love or judgment in him.
SERVILIUS. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord; I have sweat to see his honour.- My Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like physicians, Thrice give him over. Must I
honour'd lord! take th' cure upon me?
LUCIUS. Servilius? You are kindly met, sir. Fare thee well; commend me to thy honourable Has much disgrac'd me in't; I'm angry at him,
virtuous lord, my very exquisite friend. SERVILIUS. May it please your honour, my lord That might have known my place. I see no sense for't,
hath sentLUCIUS. But his occasions might have woo'd me first;
Ha! What has he sent? I am so much endeared to that lord: he's ever sending. How shall I For, in my conscience, I was the first man
thank him, think'st thou? And what has he sent now? That e'er received gift from him.
SERVILIUS. Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord, requesting your lordship to And does he think so backwardly of me now
supply his instant use with so many talents. That I'll requite it last? No;
LUCIUS. I know his lordship is but merry with me; So it may prove an argument of laughter
He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. To th' rest, and I 'mongst lords be thought a fool.
SERVILIUS. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord. I'd rather than the worth of thrice the sum
If his occasion were not virtuous Had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake;
I should not urge it half so faithfully. I'd such a courage to do him good. But now return,
LUCIUS. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius? And with their faint reply this answer join:
SERVILIUS. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir. Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin. Exit SERVANT. Excellent! Your lordship's a
LUCIUS. What a wicked beast was I to disfurnish myself against such a good time, when I goodly villain. The devil knew not what he did when he made man politic- he cross'd
might ha' shown myself honourable! How unluckily it happ'ned that I should purchase the himself by't; and I cannot think but, in the end, the villainies of man will set him
day before for a little part and undo a great deal of honour! Servilius, now before the clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul! Takes virtuous copies to be wicked,
gods, I am not able to do- the more beast, I say! I was sending to use Lord Timon myself, like those that under hot ardent zeal would set whole realms on fire.
these gentlemen can witness; but I would not for the wealth of Athens I had done't now. Of such a nature is his politic love.
Commend me bountifully to his good lordship, and I hope his honour will conceive the This was my lord's best hope; now all are fled,
fairest of me, because I have no power to be kind. And tell him this from me: I count it Save only the gods. Now his friends are dead,
one of my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure such an honourable gentleman. Doors that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
Good Servilius, will you befriend me so far as to use mine own words to him? Many a bounteous year must be employ'd
SERVILIUS. Yes, sir, I shall. Now to guard sure their master.
LUCIUS. I'll look you out a good turn, Servilius. And this is all a liberal course allows:
Exit SERVILIUS True, as you said, Timon is shrunk indeed; Who cannot keep his wealth must keep his house. Exit
And he that's once denied will hardly speed. Exit FIRST STRANGER. Do you observe this, SCENE IV.
Hostilius? A hall in TIMON'S house
SECOND STRANGER. Ay, too well. Enter two Of VARRO'S MEN, meeting LUCIUS' SERVANT, and others, all being servants of
FIRST STRANGER. Why, this is the world's soul; and just of the same TIMON's creditors, to wait for his coming out. Then enter TITUS and HORTENSIUS
piece FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Well met; good morrow, Titus and Hortensius. TITUS. The like to
Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him his friend That dips in the same dish? For, you, kind Varro.
in my knowing, HORTENSIUS. Lucius! What, do we meet together?
Timon has been this lord's father, LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, and I think one business does command us all; for mine is money.
And kept his credit with his purse; TITUS. So is theirs and ours.
Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money Enter PHILOTUS
Has paid his men their wages. He ne'er drinks LUCIUS' SERVANT. And Sir Philotus too!
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; PHILOTUS. Good day at once.
And yet- O, see the monstrousness of man LUCIUS' SERVANT. welcome, good brother, what do you think the hour? PHILOTUS.
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape!- Labouring
He does deny him, in respect of his, for nine.
What charitable men afford to beggars. LUCIUS' SERVANT. So much?
THIRD STRANGER. Religion groans at it. PHILOTUS. Is not my lord seen yet?
FIRST STRANGER. For mine own part, LUCIUS' SERVANT. Not yet.
I never tasted Timon in my life, PHILOTUS. I wonder on't; he was wont to shine at seven.
Nor came any of his bounties over me LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but the days are wax'd shorter with him; You must consider that a
To mark me for his friend; yet I protest, prodigal course
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, Is like the sun's, but not like his recoverable.
And honourable carriage, I fear
Had his necessity made use of me, 'Tis deepest winter in Lord Timon's purse;
I would have put my wealth into donation, That is, one may reach deep enough and yet
And the best half should have return'd to him, Find little.
So much I love his heart. But I perceive PHILOTUS. I am of your fear for that.
Men must learn now with pity to dispense; TITUS. I'll show you how t' observe a strange event.
For policy sits above conscience. Exeunt Your lord sends now for money.
SCENE III. HORTENSIUS. Most true, he does.
SEMPRONIUS' house TITUS. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift,
Enter SEMPRONIUS and a SERVANT of TIMON'SSEMPRONIUS. Must he needs trouble me For which I wait for money.
in't? Hum! 'Bove all others? He might have tried HORTENSIUS. It is against my heart.
Lord Lucius or Lucullus; LUCIUS' SERVANT. Mark how strange it showsTimon in this should pay more than he owes;
And now Ventidius is wealthy too, And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels
Whom he redeem'd from prison. All these And send for money for 'em.
Owe their estates unto him. HORTENSIUS. I'm weary of this charge, the gods can witness; I know my lord hath spent of
SERVANT. My lord, Timon's wealth,
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. debts may well be call'd desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. Exeunt
FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns; what's yours? Re-enter TIMON and FLAVIUS
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand mine. TIMON. They have e'en put my breath from me, the slaves.
FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. 'Tis much deep; and it should seem by th' Creditors? Devils!
sum FLAVIUS. My dear lordTIMON.
Your master's confidence was above mine, What if it should be so?
Else surely his had equall'd. FLAMINIUS. My lordTIMON.
Enter FLAMINIUS I'll have it so. My steward!
TITUS. One of Lord Timon's men. FLAVIUS. Here, my lord.
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Flaminius! Sir, a word. Pray, is my lord ready to come forth? TIMON. So fitly? Go, bid all my friends again:
FLAMINIUS. No, indeed, he is not. Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius- all.
TITUS. We attend his lordship; pray signify so much. I'll once more feast the rascals.
FLAMINIUS. I need not tell him that; he knows you are to diligent. Exit FLAVIUS. O my lord,
Enter FLAVIUS, in a cloak, muffled You only speak from your distracted soul;
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ha! Is not that his steward muffled so? There is not so much left to furnish out
He goes away in a cloud. Call him, call him. A moderate table.
TITUS. Do you hear, sir? TIMON. Be it not in thy care.
SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. By your leave, sir. Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide
FLAVIUS. What do ye ask of me, my friend? Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. Exeunt
TITUS. We wait for certain money here, sir. SCENE V.
FLAVIUS. Ay, The Senate House
If money were as certain as your waiting, Enter three SENATORS at one door, ALCIBIADES meeting them, with attendants
'Twere sure enough. FIRST SENATOR. My lord, you have my voice to't: the fault's bloody. 'Tis necessary he
Why then preferr'd you not your sums and bills should die:
When your false masters eat of my lord's meat? Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
Then they could smile, and fawn upon his debts, SECOND SENATOR. Most true; the law shall bruise him.
And take down th' int'rest into their glutt'nous maws. ALCIBIADES. Honour, health, and compassion, to the Senate! FIRST SENATOR. Now,
You do yourselves but wrong to stir me up; Captain?
Let me pass quietly. ALCIBIADES. I am an humble suitor to your virtues;
Believe't, my lord and I have made an end: For pity is the virtue of the law,
I have no more to reckon, he to spend. And none but tyrants use it cruelly.
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Ay, but this answer will not serve. It pleases time and fortune to lie heavy
FLAVIUS. If 'twill not serve, 'tis not so base as you, Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood
For you serve knaves. Exit FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. How! What does his cashier'd worship Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth
mutter? SECOND VARRO'S SERVANT. No matter what; he's poor, and that's revenge To those that without heed do plunge into't.
enough. Who He is a man, setting his fate aside,
can speak broader than he that has no house to put his head in? Such may rail against Of comely virtues;
great buildings. Nor did he soil the fact with cowardiceAn
Enter SERVILIUS honour in him which buys out his faultBut
TITUS. O, here's Servilius; now we shall know some answer. SERVILIUS. If I might beseech with a noble fury and fair spirit,
you, gentlemen, to repair some other hour, I should derive much from't; for take't of my Seeing his reputation touch'd to death,
soul, my lord leans wondrously to discontent. His comfortable temper has forsook him; He did oppose his foe;
he's much out of health and keeps his chamber. LUCIUS' SERVANT. Many do keep their And with such sober and unnoted passion
chambers are not sick; And if it be so far beyond his health, He did behove his anger ere 'twas spent,
Methinks he should the sooner pay his debts, As if he had but prov'd an argument.
And make a clear way to the gods. FIRST SENATOR. You undergo too strict a paradox,
SERVILIUS. Good gods! Striving to make an ugly deed look fair;
TITUS. We cannot take this for answer, sir. Your words have took such pains as if they labour'd
FLAMINIUS. [Within] Servilius, help! My lord! my lord! To bring manslaughter into form and set
Enter TIMON, in a rage, FLAMINIUS following Quarrelling upon the head of valour; which, indeed,
TIMON. What, are my doors oppos'd against my passage? Is valour misbegot, and came into the world
Have I been ever free, and must my house When sects and factions were newly born.
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol? He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer
The place which I have feasted, does it now, The worst that man can breathe,
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart? And make his wrongs his outsides,
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Put in now, Titus. To wear them like his raiment, carelessly,
TITUS. My lord, here is my bill. And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Here's mine. To bring it into danger.
HORTENSIUS. And mine, my lord. If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,
BOTH VARRO'S SERVANTS. And ours, my lord. What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill!
PHILOTUS. All our bills. ALCIBIADES. My lordFIRST
TIMON. Knock me down with 'em; cleave me to the girdle. SENATOR. You cannot make gross sins look clear:
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Alas, my lordTIMON. To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
Cut my heart in sums. ALCIBIADES. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me
TITUS. Mine, fifty talents.TIMON. Tell out my blood. If I speak like a captain:
LUCIUS' SERVANT. Five thousand crowns, my lord. Why do fond men expose themselves to battle,
TIMON. Five thousand drops pays that. What yours? and yours? FIRST VARRO'S SERVANT. And not endure all threats? Sleep upon't,And let the foes quietly cut their throats,
My Without repugnancy? If there be
lordSECOND Such valour in the bearing, what make we
VARRO'S SERVANT. My lordTIMON. Abroad? Why, then, women are more valiant,
Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon you! Exit That stay at home, if bearing carry it;
HORTENSIUS. Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their caps at their money. These And the ass more captain than the lion; the fellow
Loaden with irons wiser than the judge, A banqueting hall in TIMON'S house
If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, Music. Tables set out; servants attending. Enter divers LORDS, friends of TIMON, at
As you are great, be pitifully good. several doors
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood? FIRST LORD. The good time of day to you, sir.
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust; SECOND LORD. I also wish it to you. I think this honourable lord did but try us this
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. other day.
To be in anger is impiety; FIRST LORD. Upon that were my thoughts tiring when we encount'red. I hope it is not so
But who is man that is not angry? low with him as he made it seem in the trial of his several friends.
Weigh but the crime with this. SECOND LORD. It should not be, by the persuasion of his new feasting.
SECOND SENATOR. You breathe in vain. FIRST LORD. I should think so. He hath sent me an earnest inviting, which many my near
ALCIBIADES. In vain! His service done occasions did urge me to put off; but he hath conjur'd me beyond them, and I must needs
At Lacedaemon and Byzantium appear.
Were a sufficient briber for his life. SECOND LORD. In like manner was I in debt to my importunate business, but he would not
FIRST SENATOR. What's that? hear my excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my provision was out.
ALCIBIADES. Why, I say, my lords, has done fair service, FIRST LORD. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand how all things go.
And slain in fight many of your enemies; SECOND LORD. Every man here's so. What would he have borrowed of you?
How full of valour did he bear himself FIRST LORD. A thousand pieces.
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds! SECOND LORD. A thousand pieces!
SECOND SENATOR. He has made too much plenty with 'em. FIRST LORD. What of you?
He's a sworn rioter; he has a sin that often SECOND LORD. He sent to me, sir- here he comes.
Drowns him and takes his valour prisoner. Enter TIMON and attendants
If there were no foes, that were enough TIMON. With all my heart, gentlemen both! And how fare you? FIRST LORD. Ever at the best,
To overcome him. In that beastly fury hearing well of your lordship. SECOND LORD. The swallow follows not summer more willing
He has been known to commit outrages than we your lordship.
And cherish factions. 'Tis inferr'd to us TIMON. [Aside] Nor more willingly leaves winter; such summer-birds are men- Gentlemen,
His days are foul and his drink dangerous. our dinner will not recompense this long stay; feast your ears with the music awhile, if
FIRST SENATOR. He dies. they will fare so harshly o' th' trumpet's sound; we shall to't presently. FIRST LORD. I
ALCIBIADES. Hard fate! He might have died in war. hope it remains not unkindly with your lordship that I return'd you an empty messenger.
My lords, if not for any parts in himThough TIMON. O sir, let it not trouble you.
his right arm might purchase his own time, SECOND LORD. My noble lordTIMON.
And be in debt to none- yet, more to move you, Ah, my good friend, what cheer?
Take my deserts to his, and join 'em both; SECOND LORD. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick of shame that, when your lordship
And, for I know your reverend ages love this other day sent to me, I was so
Security, I'll pawn my victories, all unfortunate a beggar.
My honours to you, upon his good returns. TIMON. Think not on't, sir.
If by this crime he owes the law his life, SECOND LORD. If you had sent but two hours beforeTIMON.
Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore; Let it not cumber your better remembrance. [The banquet
For law is strict, and war is nothing more. brought in] Come, bring in all together.
FIRST SENATOR. We are for law: he dies. Urge it no more SECOND LORD. All cover'd dishes!
On height of our displeasure. Friend or brother, FIRST LORD. Royal cheer, I warrant you.
He forfeits his own blood that spills another. THIRD LORD. Doubt not that, if money and the season can yield it. FIRST LORD. How do
ALCIBIADES. Must it be so? It must not be. My lords, you?
I do beseech you, know me. What's the news?
SECOND SENATOR. How! THIRD LORD. Alcibiades is banish'd. Hear you of it?
ALCIBIADES. Call me to your remembrances. FIRST AND SECOND LORDS. Alcibiades banish'd!
THIRD SENATOR. What! THIRD LORD. 'Tis so, be sure of it.
ALCIBIADES. I cannot think but your age has forgot me; FIRST LORD. How? how?
It could not else be I should prove so base SECOND LORD. I pray you, upon what?
To sue, and be denied such common grace. TIMON. My worthy friends, will you draw near?
My wounds ache at you. THIRD LORD. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble feast toward. SECOND LORD. This is
FIRST SENATOR. Do you dare our anger? the old man still.
'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect: THIRD LORD. Will't hold? Will't hold?
We banish thee for ever. SECOND LORD. It does; but time will- and soTHIRD
ALCIBIADES. Banish me! LORD. I do conceive.
Banish your dotage! Banish usury TIMON. Each man to his stool with that spur as he would to the lip of his mistress; your
That makes the Senate ugly. diet shall be in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let the meat cool ere
FIRST SENATOR. If after two days' shine Athens contain thee, Attend our weightier we can agree upon the first place. Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks:
judgment. And, not to swell our spirit, He shall be executed presently. Exeunt SENATORS You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts make
ALCIBIADES. Now the gods keep you old enough that you may live Only in bone, that none yourselves prais'd; but reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised. Lend to
may look on you! each man enough, that one need not lend to another; for were your god-heads to borrow of
I'm worse than mad; I have kept back their foes, men, men would forsake the gods. Make the meat be beloved more than the man that gives
While they have told their money and let out it. Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of villains. If there sit twelve women
Their coin upon large interest, I myself at the table, let a dozen of them be- as they are. The rest of your foes, O gods, the
Rich only in large hurts. All those for this? senators of Athens, together with the common lag of people, what is amiss in them, you
Is this the balsam that the usuring Senate gods, make suitable for destruction. For these my present friends, as they are to me
Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment! nothing, so in nothing bless them, and to nothing are they welcome.
It comes not ill; I hate not to be banish'd; Uncover, dogs, and lap. [The dishes are uncovered and
It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, seen to he full of warm water] SOME SPEAK. What does his lordship mean?
That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up SOME OTHER. I know not.
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. TIMON. May you a better feast never behold,
'Tis honour with most lands to be at odds; You knot of mouth-friends! Smoke and lukewarm waterIs your perfection. This is Timon's last;
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs as gods. ExitSCENE VI. Who, stuck and spangled with your flatteries,
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces That their society, as their friendship, may
[Throwing the water in their faces] Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd and long, Be merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, But nakedness, thou detestable town!
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, Take thou that too, with multiplying bans.
You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time's flies, Timon will to the woods, where he shall find
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-lacks! Th' unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
Of man and beast the infinite malady The gods confound- hear me, you good gods allThe
Crust you quite o'er! What, dost thou go? Athenians both within and out that wall!
Soft, take thy physic first; thou too, and thou. And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. [Throws the To the whole race of mankind, high and low!
dishes at them, and drives them out] What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast Amen. Exit
Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. SCENE II.
Burn house! Sink Athens! Henceforth hated be Athens. TIMON's house
Of Timon man and all humanity! Exit Enter FLAVIUS, with two or three SERVANTS
Re-enter the LORDS FIRST SERVANT. Hear you, Master Steward, where's our master? Are we undone, cast off,
FIRST LORD. How now, my lords! nothing remaining?
SECOND LORD. Know you the quality of Lord Timon's fury? FLAVIUS. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?
THIRD LORD. Push! Did you see my cap? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
FOURTH LORD. I have lost my gown. I am as poor as you.
FIRST LORD. He's but a mad lord, and nought but humours sways him. He gave me a jewel th' FIRST SERVANT. Such a house broke!
other day, and now he has beat it out of my hat. Did you see my jewel? So noble a master fall'n! All gone, and not
THIRD LORD. Did you see my cap? One friend to take his fortune by the arm
SECOND LORD. Here 'tis. And go along with him?
FOURTH LORD. Here lies my gown. SECOND SERVANT. As we do turn our backs
FIRST LORD. Let's make no stay. From our companion, thrown into his grave,
SECOND LORD. Lord Timon's mad. So his familiars to his buried fortunes
THIRD LORD. I feel't upon my bones. Slink all away; leave their false vows with him,
FOURTH LORD. One day he gives us diamonds, next day stones. Like empty purses pick'd; and his poor self,
Exeunt A dedicated beggar to the air,
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Walks, like contempt, alone. More of our fellows.
BY PROJECT Enter other SERVANTS
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. FLAVIUS. All broken implements of a ruin'd house.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE THIRD SERVANT. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery;
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR That see I by our faces. We are fellows still,
YOUR OR OTHERS Serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark;
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Hearing the surges threat. We must all part
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Into this sea of air.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> FLAVIUS. Good fellows all,
ACT IV. SCENE I. The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.
Without the walls of Athens Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake,
Enter TIMON Let's yet be fellows; let's shake our heads and say,
TIMON. Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortune,
That girdles in those wolves, dive in the earth 'We have seen better days.' Let each take some.
And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent. [Giving them money] Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more!
Obedience, fail in children! Slaves and fools, Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
Pluck the grave wrinkled Senate from the bench [Embrace, and part several ways] O the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us!
And minister in their steads. To general filths Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Convert, o' th' instant, green virginity. Since riches point to misery and contempt?
Do't in your parents' eyes. Bankrupts, hold fast; Who would be so mock'd with glory, or to live
Rather than render back, out with your knives But in a dream of friendship,
And cut your trusters' throats. Bound servants, steal: To have his pomp, and all what state compounds,
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are, But only painted, like his varnish'd friends?
And pill by law. Maid, to thy master's bed: Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart,
Thy mistress is o' th' brothel. Son of sixteen, Undone by goodness! Strange, unusual blood,
Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping sire, When man's worst sin is he does too much good!
With it beat out his brains. Piety and fear, Who then dares to be half so kind again?
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.
Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, My dearest lord- blest to be most accurst,
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, Rich only to be wretched- thy great fortunes
Degrees, observances, customs and laws, Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord!
Decline to your confounding contraries He's flung in rage from this ingrateful seat
And let confusion live. Plagues incident to men, Of monstrous friends; nor has he with him to
Your potent and infectious fevers heap Supply his life, or that which can command it.
On Athens, ripe for stroke. Thou cold sciatica, I'll follow and enquire him out.
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt I'll ever serve his mind with my best will;
As lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty, Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. ExitSCENE III.
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, The woods near the sea-shore. Before TIMON'S cave
That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive Enter TIMON in the woods
And drown themselves in riot. Itches, blains,Sow all th' Athenian bosoms, and their crop TIMON. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth
Be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb
Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one wombWhose
procreation, residence, and birth,
Scarce is dividant- touch them with several fortunes:
The greater scorns the lesser. Not nature,
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune
But by contempt of nature.
Raise me this beggar and deny't that lord:
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
The beggar native honour.
It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,
The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,
In purity of manhood stand upright,
And say 'This man's a flatterer'? If one be,
So are they all; for every grise of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below. The learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool. All's oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures
But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains.
Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots.
[Digging] Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison. What is here?
Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens!
Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,
Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.
Ha, you gods! why this? What, this, you gods? Why, this Will lug your priests and
servants from your sides,
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their headsThis
yellow slave
Will knit and break religions, bless th' accurs'd,
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd, place thieves
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench. This is it
That makes the wappen'd widow wed againShe
whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at this embalms and spices
To th 'April day again. Come, damn'd earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that puts odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature. [March afar off] Ha! a drum? Th'art quick,
But yet I'll bury thee. Thou't go, strong thief,
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand.
Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold]
Enter ALCIBIADES, with drum and fife, in warlike
manner; and PHRYNIA and TIMANDRA
ALCIBIADES. What art thou there? Speak.
TIMON. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy heart
For showing me again the eyes of man!
ALCIBIADES. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee
That art thyself a man?
TIMON. I am Misanthropos, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog,
That I might love thee something.
ALCIBIADES. I know thee well;
But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange.
TIMON. I know thee too; and more than that I know thee
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum;
With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules.
Religious canons, civil laws, are cruel;
Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine
Hath in her more destruction than thy sword
For all her cherubin look.
PHRYNIA. Thy lips rot off!
TIMON. I will not kiss thee; then the rot returns
To thine own lips again.ALCIBIADES. How came the noble Timon to this change?
TIMON. As the moon does, by wanting light to give.
But then renew I could not, like the moon;
There were no suns to borrow of.
ALCIBIADES. Noble Timon,
What friendship may I do thee?
TIMON. None, but to
Maintain my opinion.
ALCIBIADES. What is it, Timon?
TIMON. Promise me friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not promise, the gods plague
thee, for thou art man! If thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man!
ALCIBIADES. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.
TIMON. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity.
ALCIBIADES. I see them now; then was a blessed time.
TIMON. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots.
TIMANDRA. Is this th' Athenian minion whom the world
Voic'd so regardfully?
TIMON. Art thou Timandra?
TIMANDRA. Yes.
TIMON. Be a whore still; they love thee not that use thee. Give them diseases, leaving
with thee their lust.
Make use of thy salt hours. Season the slaves
For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheek'd youth
To the tub-fast and the diet.
TIMANDRA. Hang thee, monster!
ALCIBIADES. Pardon him, sweet Timandra, for his wits
Are drown'd and lost in his calamities.
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band. I have heard, and griev'd,
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth,
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon themTIMON.
I prithee beat thy drum and get thee gone.
ALCIBIADES. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
TIMON. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble?
I had rather be alone.
ALCIBIADES. Why, fare thee well;
Here is some gold for thee.
TIMON. Keep it: I cannot eat it.
ALCIBIADES. When I have laid proud Athens on a heapTIMON.
War'st thou 'gainst Athens?
ALCIBIADES. Ay, Timon, and have cause.
TIMON. The gods confound them all in thy conquest;
And thee after, when thou hast conquer'd!
ALCIBIADES. Why me, Timon?
TIMON. That by killing of villains
Thou wast born to conquer my country.
Put up thy gold. Go on. Here's gold. Go on.
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the sick air; let not thy sword skip one.
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard:
He is an usurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron:
It is her habit only that is honest,
Herself's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk paps
That through the window bars bore at men's eyes
Are not within the leaf of pity writ,
But set them down horrible traitors. Spare not the babe Whose dimpled smiles from fools
exhaust their mercy;
Think it a bastard whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut,
And mince it sans remorse. Swear against abjects;
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,
Whose proof nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes,
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers.
Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent,
Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.
ALCIBIADES. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold thou givest me, Not all thy counsel.
TIMON. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse upon thee! PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA.
Give
us some gold, good Timon.
Hast thou more?
TIMON. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade,
And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts,
Your aprons mountant; you are not oathable,
Although I know you'll swear, terribly swear,Into strong shudders and to heavenly agues, Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft,
Th' immortal gods that hear you. Spare your oaths; Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
I'll trust to your conditions. Be whores still; That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert youBe By putting on the cunning of a carper.Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee,
Let your close fire predominate his smoke, And let his very breath whom thou'lt observe
And be no turncoats. Yet may your pains six months Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain,
Be quite contrary! And thatch your poor thin roofs And call it excellent. Thou wast told thus;
With burdens of the dead- some that were hang'd, Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters that bade welcome, To knaves and all approachers.
No matter. Wear them, betray with them. Whore still; 'Tis most just
Paint till a horse may mire upon your face. That thou turn rascal; hadst thou wealth again
A pox of wrinkles! Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness.
PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. Well, more gold. What then? TIMON. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.
Believe't that we'll do anything for gold. APEMANTUS. Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thyself; A madman so long, now a fool.
TIMON. Consumptions sow What, think'st
In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins, That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice, Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moist trees,
That he may never more false title plead, That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels
Nor sound his quillets shrilly. Hoar the flamen, And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold brook,
That scolds against the quality of flesh Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste
And not believes himself. Down with the nose, To cure thy o'ernight's surfeit? Call the creatures
Down with it flat, take the bridge quite away Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of him that, his particular to foresee, Of wreakful heaven, whose bare unhoused trunks,
Smells from the general weal. Make curl'd-pate ruffians bald, And let the unscarr'd To the conflicting elements expos'd,
braggarts of the war Answer mere nature- bid them flatter thee.
Derive some pain from you. Plague all, O, thou shalt findTIMON.
That your activity may defeat and quell A fool of thee. Depart.
The source of all erection. There's more gold. APEMANTUS. I love thee better now than e'er I did.
Do you damn others, and let this damn you, TIMON. I hate thee worse.
And ditches grave you all! APEMANTUS. Why?
PHRYNIA AND TIMANDRA. More counsel with more money, bounteous Timon. TIMON. Thou flatter'st misery.
TIMON. More whore, more mischief first; I have given you earnest. ALCIBIADES. Strike up APEMANTUS. I flatter not, but say thou art a caitiff.
the drum towards Athens. Farewell, Timon; If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. TIMON. Why dost thou seek me out?
TIMON. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. APEMANTUS. To vex thee.
ALCIBIADES. I never did thee harm. TIMON. Always a villain's office or a fool's.
TIMON. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. Dost please thyself in't?
ALCIBIADES. Call'st thou that harm? APEMANTUS. Ay.
TIMON. Men daily find it. Get thee away, and take TIMON. What, a knave too?
Thy beagles with thee. APEMANTUS. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on
ALCIBIADES. We but offend him. Strike. To castigate thy pride, 'twere well; but thou
Drum beats. Exeunt all but TIMON TIMON. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, Dost it enforcedly. Thou'dst courtier be again
Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou, [Digging] Whose womb unmeasurable and Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
infinite Outlives incertain pomp, is crown'd before.
breast The one is filling still, never complete;
Teems and feeds all; whose self-same mettle, The other, at high wish. Best state, contentless,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd, Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
Engenders the black toad and adder blue, Worse than the worst, content.
The gilded newt and eyeless venom'd worm, Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable.
With all th' abhorred births below crisp heaven TIMON. Not by his breath that is more miserable.
Whereon Hyperion's quick'ning fire doth shineYield Thou art a slave whom Fortune's tender arm
him, who all thy human sons doth hate, With favour never clasp'd, but bred a dog.
From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root! Hadst thou, like us from our first swath, proceeded
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, The sweet degrees that this brief world affords
Let it no more bring out ingrateful man! To such as may the passive drugs of it
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears; Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself
Teem with new monsters whom thy upward face In general riot, melted down thy youth
Hath to the marbled mansion all above In different beds of lust, and never learn'd
Never presented!- O, a root! Dear thanks!- The icy precepts of respect, but followed
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas, The sug'red game before thee. But myself,
Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts Who had the world as my confectionary;
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men
That from it all consideration slips- At duty, more than I could frame employment;
Enter APEMANTUS That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
More man? Plague, plague! Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
APEMANTUS. I was directed hither. Men report Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare
Thou dost affect my manners and dost use them. For every storm that blows- I to bear this,
TIMON. 'Tis, then, because thou dost not keep a dog, That never knew but better, is some burden.
Whom I would imitate. Consumption catch thee! Thy nature did commence in sufferance; time
APEMANTUS. This is in thee a nature but infected, Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hate men?
A poor unmanly melancholy sprung They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given?
From change of fortune. Why this spade, this place? If thou wilt curse, thy father, that poor rag,
This slave-like habit and these looks of care? Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff
To some she-beggar and compounded thee APEMANTUS. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st.
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence, be gone. TIMON. If I name thee.
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men, I'll beat thee- but I should infect my hands.
Thou hadst been a knave and flatterer. APEMANTUS. I would my tongue could rot them off!
APEMANTUS. Art thou proud yet? TIMON. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog!
TIMON. Ay, that I am not thee. Choler does kill me that thou art alive;
APEMANTUS. I, that I was I swoon to see thee.
No prodigal. APEMANTUS. Would thou wouldst burst!
TIMON. I, that I am one now.Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, TIMON. Away,
I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. Thou tedious rogue! I am sorry I shall lose
That the whole life of Athens were in this! A stone by thee. [Throws a stone at him] APEMANTUS. Beast!
Thus would I eat it. [Eating a root] APEMANTUS. Here! I will mend thy feast. TIMON. Slave!
[Offering him food] TIMON. First mend my company: take away thyself. APEMANTUS. Toad!
APEMANTUS. So I shall mend mine own by th' lack of thine. TIMON. 'Tis not well mended so; TIMON. Rogue, rogue, rogue!I am sick of this false world, and will love nought
it is but botch'd. But even the mere necessities upon't.
If not, I would it were. Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave;
APEMANTUS. What wouldst thou have to Athens? Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat
TIMON. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt, Thy gravestone daily; make thine epitaph,
Tell them there I have gold; look, so I have. That death in me at others' lives may laugh.
APEMANTUS. Here is no use for gold. [Looks at the gold] O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 'Twixt natural son and
TIMON. The best and truest; sire! thou bright defiler
For here it sleeps and does no hired harm. Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
APEMANTUS. Where liest a nights, Timon? Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer,
TIMON. Under that's above me. Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
Where feed'st thou a days, Apemantus? That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible god,
APEMANTUS. Where my stomach. finds meat; or rather, where I eat it. TIMON. Would poison That sold'rest close impossibilities,
were obedient, and knew my mind! And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue
APEMANTUS. Where wouldst thou send it? To every purpose! O thou touch of hearts!
TIMON. To sauce thy dishes. Think thy slave man rebels, and by thy virtue
APEMANTUS. The middle of humanity thou never knewest, but the extremity of both ends. Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
When thou wast in thy gilt and thy perfume, they mock'd thee for too much curiosity; in May have the world in empire!
thy rags thou know'st none, but art despis'd for the contrary. There's a medlar for thee; APEMANTUS. Would 'twere so!
eat it. But not till I am dead. I'll say th' hast gold.
TIMON. On what I hate I feed not. Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.
APEMANTUS. Dost hate a medlar? TIMON. Throng'd to?
TIMON. Ay, though it look like thee. APEMANTUS. Ay.
APEMANTUS. An th' hadst hated medlars sooner, thou shouldst have loved thyself better TIMON. Thy back, I prithee.
now. What man didst thou ever know unthrift that was beloved after his means? APEMANTUS. Live, and love thy misery!
TIMON. Who, without those means thou talk'st of, didst thou ever know belov'd? TIMON. Long live so, and so die! [Exit APEMANTUS] I am quit. More things like men? Eat,
APEMANTUS. Myself. Timon, and abhor them.
TIMON. I understand thee: thou hadst some means to keep a dog. APEMANTUS. What things Enter the BANDITTI
in FIRST BANDIT. Where should he have this gold? It is some poor fragment, some slender ort
the world canst thou nearest compare to thy flatterers? of his remainder. The mere want of gold and the falling-from of his friends drove him
TIMON. Women nearest; but men, men are the things themselves. What wouldst thou do with into this melancholy.
the world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power? SECOND BANDIT. It is nois'd he hath a mass of treasure.
APEMANTUS. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. THIRD BANDIT. Let us make the assay upon him; if he care not for't, he will supply us
TIMON. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the confusion of men, and remain a beast with easily; if he covetously reserve it, how shall's get it?
the beasts? SECOND BANDIT. True; for he bears it not about him. 'Tis hid. FIRST BANDIT. Is not this
APEMANTUS. Ay, Timon. he?
TIMON. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee t' attain to! If thou wert the lion, BANDITTI. Where?
the fox would beguile thee; if thou wert the lamb, the fox would eat thee; if thou wert SECOND BANDIT. 'Tis his description.
the fox, the lion would suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accus'd by the ass. THIRD BANDIT. He; I know him.
If thou wert the ass, thy dulness would torment thee; and still thou liv'dst but as a BANDITTI. Save thee, Timon!
breakfast to the wolf. If thou wert the wolf, thy greediness would afflict thee, and oft TIMON. Now, thieves?
thou shouldst hazard thy life for thy dinner. Wert thou the unicorn, pride and wrath BANDITTI. Soldiers, not thieves.
would confound thee, and make thine own self the conquest of thy fury. Wert thou bear, TIMON. Both too, and women's sons.
thou wouldst be kill'd by the horse; wert thou a horse, thou wouldst be seiz'd by the BANDITTI. We are not thieves, but men that much do want.
leopard; wert thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and the spots of thy kindred TIMON. Your greatest want is, you want much of meat.
were jurors on thy life. All thy safety were remotion, and thy defence absence. What Why should you want? Behold, the earth hath roots;
beast couldst thou be that were not subject to a beast? And what beast art thou already, Within this mile break forth a hundred springs;
that seest not thy loss in transformation! The oaks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips;
APEMANTUS. If thou couldst please me with speaking to me, thou mightst have hit upon it The bounteous housewife Nature on each bush
here. The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts. Lays her full mess before you. Want! Why want?
TIMON. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art out of the city? FIRST BANDIT. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, As beasts and birds and fishes.
APEMANTUS. Yonder comes a poet and a painter. The plague of company light upon thee! I TIMON. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and fishes; You must eat men. Yet thanks
will fear to catch it, and give way. When I know not what else to do, I'll see thee I must you con
again. That you are thieves profess'd, that you work not
TIMON. When there is nothing living but thee, thou shalt be welcome. I had rather be a In holier shapes; for there is boundless theft
beggar's dog than Apemantus. APEMANTUS. Thou art the cap of all the fools alive. In limited professions. Rascal thieves,
TIMON. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon! Here's gold. Go, suck the subtle blood o' th' grape
APEMANTUS. A plague on thee! thou art too bad to curse. Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth,
TIMON. All villains that do stand by thee are pure. And so scape hanging. Trust not the physician;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays For by oppressing and betraying me
Moe than you rob. Take wealth and lives together; Thou mightst have sooner got another service;
Do villainy, do, since you protest to do't, For many so arrive at second masters
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery: Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction For I must ever doubt though ne'er so sure,
Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief, Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun; If not a usuring kindness, and as rich men deal gifts,
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves Expecting in return twenty for one?
The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief, FLAVIUS. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast
That feeds and breeds by a composture stol'n Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late!
From gen'ral excrement- each thing's a thief. You should have fear'd false times when you did feast:
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Suspect still comes where an estate is least.
Has uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves; away, That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love,
Rob one another. There's more gold. Cut throats; Duty, and zeal, to your unmatched mind,
All that you meet are thieves. To Athens go, Care of your food and living; and believe it,
Break open shops; nothing can you steal My most honour'd lord,
But thieves do lose it. Steal not less for thisI give you; and gold confound you howsoe'er! For any benefit that points to me,
Amen. Either in hope or present, I'd exchange
THIRD BANDIT. Has almost charm'd me from my profession by persuading me to it. For this one wish, that you had power and wealth
FIRST BANDIT. 'Tis in the malice of mankind that he thus advises us; not to have us To requite me by making rich yourself.TIMON. Look thee, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man,
thrive in our mystery. Here, take. The gods, out of my misery,
SECOND BANDIT. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade. Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich and happy,
FIRST BANDIT. Let us first see peace in Athens. There is no time so miserable but a man But thus condition'd; thou shalt build from men;
may be true. Exeunt THIEVES Hate all, curse all, show charity to none,
Enter FLAVIUS, to TIMON But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone
FLAVIUS. O you gods! Ere thou relieve the beggar. Give to dogs
Is yond despis'd and ruinous man my lord? What thou deniest to men; let prisons swallow 'em,
Full of decay and failing? O monument Debts wither 'em to nothing. Be men like blasted woods, And may diseases lick up their
And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd! false bloods!
What an alteration of honour And so, farewell and thrive.
Has desp'rate want made! FLAVIUS. O, let me stay
What viler thing upon the earth than friends, And comfort you, my master.
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends! TIMON. If thou hat'st curses,
How rarely does it meet with this time's guise, Stay not; fly whilst thou art blest and free.
When man was wish'd to love his enemies! Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.
Grant I may ever love, and rather woo Exeunt severally
Those that would mischief me than those that do! <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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All I kept were knaves, to serve in meat to villains. ACT V. SCENE I.
FLAVIUS. The gods are witness, The woods. Before TIMON's cave
Nev'r did poor steward wear a truer grief Enter POET and PAINTER
For his undone lord than mine eyes for you. PAINTER. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.
TIMON. What, dost thou weep? Come nearer. Then I love thee Because thou art a woman and POET. to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true that he's so full of gold?
disclaim'st PAINTER. Certain. Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him. He
Flinty mankind, whose eyes do never give likewise enrich'd poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. 'Tis said he gave unto
But thorough lust and laughter. Pity's sleeping. his steward a mighty sum. POET. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with weeping! FLAVIUS. I beg of you to know friends? PAINTER. Nothing else. You shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish
me, good my lord, with the highest. Therefore 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to him in this suppos'd
T' accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts distress of his; it will show honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes
To entertain me as your steward still. with what they travail for, if it be just and true report that goes of his having.
TIMON. Had I a steward POET. What have you now to present unto him?
So true, so just, and now so comfortable? PAINTER. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only I will promise him an excellent
It almost turns my dangerous nature mild. piece.
Let me behold thy face. Surely, this man POET. I must serve him so too, tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.
Was born of woman. PAINTER. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, expectation. Performance is ever the duller for his act, and but in the plainer and
You perpetual-sober gods! I do proclaim simpler kind of people the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly
One honest man- mistake me not, but one; and fashionable; performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great sickness
No more, I pray- and he's a steward. in his judgment that makes it.
How fain would I have hated all mankind! Enter TIMON from his cave
And thou redeem'st thyself. But all, save thee, TIMON. [Aside] Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.
I fell with curses. POET. I am thinking what I shall say I have provided for him. It must be a personating of
Methinks thou art more honest now than wise; himself; a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite
flatteries that follow youth and opulency. Hang them or stab them, drown them in a draught,
TIMON. [Aside] Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip Confound them by some course, and come to me,
thine own faults in other men? Do so, I have gold for thee. I'll give you gold enough.
POET. Nay, let's seek him; BOTH. Name them, my lord; let's know them.
Then do we sin against our own estate TIMON. You that way, and you this- but two in company;
When we may profit meet and come too late. Each man apart, all single and alone,
PAINTER. True; Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.
When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, [To the PAINTER] If, where thou art, two villians shall not be, Come not near him. [To
Find what thou want'st by free and offer'd light. the POET] If thou wouldst not reside But where one villain is, then him abandon.-
Come. Hence, pack! there's gold; you came for gold, ye slaves. [To the PAINTER] You have work
TIMON. [Aside] I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, That he is worshipp'd in a for me; there's payment; hence! [To the POET] You are an alchemist; make gold of that.-
baser temple Out, rascal dogs! [Beats and drives them out]
Than where swine feed! Enter FLAVIUS and two SENATORS
'Tis thou that rig'st the bark and plough'st the foam, FLAVIUS. It is vain that you would speak with Timon;
Settlest admired reverence in a slave. For he is set so only to himself
To thee be worship! and thy saints for aye That nothing but himself which looks like man
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey! Is friendly with him.
Fit I meet them. [Advancing from his cave] POET. Hail, worthy Timon! FIRST SENATOR. Bring us to his cave.
PAINTER. Our late noble master! It is our part and promise to th' Athenians
TIMON. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men? To speak with Timon.
POET. Sir, SECOND SENATOR. At all times alike
Having often of your open bounty tasted,Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n off, Men are not still the same; 'twas time and griefs
Whose thankless natures- O abhorred spirits!- That fram'd him thus. Time, with his fairer hand,
Not all the whips of heaven are large enoughWhat Offering the fortunes of his former days,
! to you, The former man may make him. Bring us to him,And chance it as it may.
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence FLAVIUS. Here is his cave.
To their whole being! I am rapt, and cannot cover Peace and content be here! Lord Timon! Timon!
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude Look out, and speak to friends. Th' Athenians
With any size of words. By two of their most reverend Senate greet thee.
TIMON. Let it go naked: men may see't the better. Speak to them, noble Timon.
You that are honest, by being what you are, Enter TIMON out of his cave
Make them best seen and known. TIMON. Thou sun that comforts, burn. Speak and be hang'd! For each true word a blister,
PAINTER. He and myself and each false
Have travail'd in the great show'r of your gifts, Be as a cauterizing to the root o' th' tongue,
And sweetly felt it. Consuming it with speaking!
TIMON. Ay, you are honest men. FIRST SENATOR. Worthy TimonTIMON.
PAINTER. We are hither come to offer you our service. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.
TIMON. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you? FIRST SENATOR. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water- No? TIMON. I thank them; and would send them back the plague, Could I but catch it for them.
BOTH. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. FIRST SENATOR. O, forget
TIMON. Y'are honest men. Y'have heard that I have gold; What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.
I am sure you have. Speak truth; y'are honest men. The senators with one consent of love
PAINTER. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore Entreat thee back to Athens, who have thought
Came not my friend nor I. On special dignities, which vacant lie
TIMON. Good honest men! Thou draw'st a counterfeit For thy best use and wearing.
Best in all Athens. Th'art indeed the best; SECOND SENATOR. They confess
Thou counterfeit'st most lively. Toward thee forgetfulness too general, gross;
PAINTER. So, so, my lord. Which now the public body, which doth seldom
TIMON. E'en so, sir, as I say. [To To POET] And for thy fiction, Why, thy verse swells Play the recanter, feeling in itself
with stuff so fine and smooth A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal
That thou art even natural in thine art. Of it own fail, restraining aid to Timon,
But for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, And send forth us to make their sorrowed render,
I must needs say you have a little fault. Together with a recompense more fruitful
Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you; neither wish I Than their offence can weigh down by the dram;
You take much pains to mend. Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth
BOTH. Beseech your honour As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs
To make it known to us. And write in thee the figures of their love,
TIMON. You'll take it ill. Ever to read them thine.
BOTH. Most thankfully, my lord. TIMON. You witch me in it;
TIMON. Will you indeed? Surprise me to the very brink of tears.
BOTH. Doubt it not, worthy lord. Lend me a fool's heart and a woman's eyes,
TIMON. There's never a one of you but trusts a knave And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.
That mightily deceives you. FIRST SENATOR. Therefore so please thee to return with us, And of our Athens, thine and
BOTH. Do we, my lord? ours, to take
TIMON. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble, The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him, Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name
Keep in your bosom; yet remain assur'd Live with authority. So soon we shall drive back
That he's a made-up villain. Of Alcibiades th' approaches wild,
PAINTER. I know not such, my lord. Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up
POET. Nor I. His country's peace.
TIMON. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you gold, SECOND SENATOR. And shakes his threat'ning sword
Rid me these villains from your companies. Against the walls of Athens.
FIRST SENATOR. Therefore, TimonTIMON. SECOND SENATOR. We stand much hazard if they bring not Timon. MESSENGER. I met a
Well, sir, I will. Therefore I will, sir, thus: courier,
If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, one mine ancient friend,
Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd,
That Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, Yet our old love had a particular force,
And take our goodly aged men by th' beards, And made us speak like friends. This man was riding
Giving our holy virgins to the stain From Alcibiades to Timon's cave
Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war, With letters of entreaty, which imported
Then let him know- and tell him Timon speaks it His fellowship i' th' cause against your city,
In pity of our aged and our youthI In part for his sake mov'd.
cannot choose but tell him that I care not, Enter the other SENATORS, from TIMON
And let him take't at worst; for their knives care not, While you have throats to answer. FIRST SENATOR. Here come our brothers.
For myself, THIRD SENATOR. No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect.
There's not a whittle in th' unruly camp The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring
But I do prize it at my love before Doth choke the air with dust. In, and prepare.
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you Ours is the fall, I fear; our foes the snare. Exeunt
To the protection of the prosperous gods, SCENE III.
As thieves to keepers. The TIMON's cave, and a rude tomb seen
FLAVIUS. Stay not, all's in vain. Enter a SOLDIER in the woods, seeking TIMON
TIMON. Why, I was writing of my epitaph; SOLDIER. By all description this should be the place.
It will be seen to-morrow. My long sickness Who's here? Speak, ho! No answer? What is this?
Of health and living now begins to mend, Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span.
And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; Some beast rear'd this; here does not live a man.
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, Dead, sure; and this his grave. What's on this tomb
And last so long enough! I cannot read; the character I'll take with wax.Our captain hath in every figure skill,
FIRST SENATOR. We speak in vain. An ag'd interpreter, though young in days;
TIMON. But yet I love my country, and am not Before proud Athens he's set down by this,
One that rejoices in the common wreck,As common bruit doth put it. Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. Exit
FIRST SENATOR. That's well spoke. SCENE IV.
TIMON. Commend me to my loving countrymenFIRST Before the walls of Athens
SENATOR. These words become your lips as they pass through them. Trumpets sound. Enter ALCIBIADES with his powers before Athens
SECOND SENATOR. And enter in our ears like great triumphers In their applauding gates. ALCIBIADES. Sound to this coward and lascivious town
TIMON. Commend me to them, Our terrible approach.
And tell them that, to ease them of their griefs, Sound a parley. The SENATORS appear upon the walls
Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, Till now you have gone on and fill'd the time
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes With all licentious measure, making your wills
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do themI' ll teach them to prevent wild As slept within the shadow of your power,
Alcibiades' wrath. Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath'd
FIRST SENATOR. I like this well; he will return again. Our sufferance vainly. Now the time is flush,
TIMON. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,
That mine own use invites me to cut down, Cries of itself 'No more!' Now breathless wrong
And shortly must I fell it. Tell my friends, Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease,
Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree And pursy insolence shall break his wind
From high to low throughout, that whoso please With fear and horrid flight.
To stop affliction, let him take his haste, FIRST SENATOR. Noble and young,
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,
And hang himself. I pray you do my greeting. Ere thou hadst power or we had cause of fear,
FLAVIUS. Trouble him no further; thus you still shall find him. TIMON. Come not to me We sent to thee, to give thy rages balm,
again; but say to Athens To wipe out our ingratitude with loves
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion Above their quantity.
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood, SECOND SENATOR. So did we woo
Who once a day with his embossed froth Transformed Timon to our city's love
The turbulent surge shall cover. Thither come, By humble message and by promis'd means.
And let my gravestone be your oracle. We were not all unkind, nor all deserve
Lips, let sour words go by and language end: The common stroke of war.
What is amiss, plague and infection mend! FIRST SENATOR. These walls of ours
Graves only be men's works and death their gain! Were not erected by their hands from whom
Sun, hide thy beams. Timon hath done his reign. You have receiv'd your griefs; nor are they such
Exit TIMON into his cave FIRST SENATOR. His discontents are unremovably That these great tow'rs, trophies, and schools, should fall For private faults in them.
Coupled to nature. SECOND SENATOR. Nor are they living
SECOND SENATOR. Our hope in him is dead. Let us return Who were the motives that you first went out;
And strain what other means is left unto us Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess
In our dear peril. Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord,
FIRST SENATOR. It requires swift foot. Exeunt Into our city with thy banners spread.
SCENE II. By decimation and a tithed deathIf
Before the walls of Athens thy revenges hunger for that food
Enter two other SENATORS with a MESSENGER Which nature loathes- take thou the destin'd tenth,
FIRST SENATOR. Thou hast painfully discover'd; are his files As full as thy report? And by the hazard of the spotted die
MESSENGER. I have spoke the least. Let die the spotted.
Besides, his expedition promises FIRST SENATOR. All have not offended;
Present approach. For those that were, it is not square to take,
On those that are, revenge: crimes, like lands, SATURNINUS, son to the late Emperor of Rome, afterwards Emperor BASSIANUS, brother to
Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, Saturninus
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage; TITUS ANDRONICUS, a noble Roman
Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin MARCUS ANDRONICUS, Tribune of the People, and brother to Titus
Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall Sons to Titus Andronicus:
With those that have offended. Like a shepherd LUCIUS
Approach the fold and cull th' infected forth, QUINTUS
But kill not all together. MARTIUS
SECOND SENATOR. What thou wilt, MUTIUS
Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile YOUNG LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius
Than hew to't with thy sword. PUBLIUS, son to Marcus Andronicus
FIRST SENATOR. Set but thy foot Kinsmen to Titus:
Against our rampir'd gates and they shall ope, SEMPRONIUS
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before CAIUS
To say thou't enter friendly. VALENTINE
SECOND SENATOR. Throw thy glove, AEMILIUS, a noble RomanSons to Tamora:
Or any token of thine honour else, ALARBUS
That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress DEMETRIUS
And not as our confusion, all thy powers CHIRON
Shall make their harbour in our town till we AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora
Have seal'd thy full desire. A CAPTAIN
ALCIBIADES. Then there's my glove; A MESSENGER
Descend, and open your uncharged ports. A CLOWN
Those enemies of Timon's and mine own, TAMORA, Queen of the Goths
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,Fall, and no more. And, to atone your fears LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus
With my more noble meaning, not a man A NURSE, and a black CHILD
Shall pass his quarter or offend the stream Romans and Goths, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants
Of regular justice in your city's bounds, <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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ALCIBIADES. Descend, and keep your words. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
[The SENATORS descend and open the gates] READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
Enter a SOLDIER as a Messenger YOUR OR OTHERS
SOLDIER. My noble General, Timon is dead; PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
Entomb'd upon the very hem o' th' sea; COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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Interprets for my poor ignorance. SCENE:
ALCIBIADES reads the Epitaph Rome and the neighbourhood
'Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul bereft; ACT 1. SCENE I.
Seek not my name. A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon, who alive Rome. Before the Capitol
all living men did hate. Flourish. Enter the TRIBUNES and SENATORS aloft; and then enter below SATURNINUS and
Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy gait.' his
These well express in thee thy latter spirits. followers at one door, and BASSIANUS and his followers at the other, with drums and
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, trumpets
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which From niggard nature fall, yet SATURNINUS. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
rich conceit Defend the justice of my cause with arms;
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye And, countrymen, my loving followers,
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead Plead my successive title with your swords.
Is noble Timon, of whose memory I am his first born son that was the last
Hereafter more. Bring me into your city, That ware the imperial diadem of Rome;
And I will use the olive, with my sword; Then let my father's honours live in me,
Make war breed peace, make peace stint war, make each Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. BASSIANUS. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of my right, If ever Bassianus, Caesar's
Let our drums strike. Exeunt son,
THE END Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Keep then this passage to the Capitol;
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BY PROJECT The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
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ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE But let desert in pure election shine;
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.
YOUR OR OTHERS Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS aloft, with the crown
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED MARCUS. Princes, that strive by factions and by friends
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Ambitiously for rule and empery,
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Know that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> A special party, have by common voice
1594 In election for the Roman empery
THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius
by William Shakespeare For many good and great deserts to Rome.
Dramatis Personae A nobler man, a braver warrior,
Lives not this day within the city walls. Here Goths have given me leave to sheathe my sword.
He by the Senate is accited home, Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own,
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths, Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet,
That with his sons, a terror to our foes, To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx?
Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms. Make way to lay them by their brethren.
Ten years are spent since first he undertook [They open the tomb] There greet in silence, as the dead are wont,
This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars.
Our enemies' pride; five times he hath return'd O sacred receptacle of my joys,
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons Sweet cell of virtue and nobility,
In coffins from the field; and at this day How many sons hast thou of mine in store
To the monument of that Andronici That thou wilt never render to me more!
Done sacrifice of expiation, LUCIUS. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
And slain the noblest prisoner of the Goths. That we may hew his limbs, and on a pile
And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, Before this earthy prison of their bones,That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.Let us entreat, by honour of his name Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.
Whom worthily you would have now succeed, TITUS. I give him you- the noblest that survives,
And in the Capitol and Senate's right, The eldest son of this distressed queen.
Whom you pretend to honour and adore, TAMORA. Stay, Roman brethen! Gracious conqueror,
That you withdraw you and abate your strength, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, A mother's tears in passion for her son;
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. And if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
SATURNINUS. How fair the Tribune speaks to calm my thoughts. BASSIANUS. Marcus O, think my son to be as dear to me!
Andronicus, so I do affy Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome
In thy uprightness and integrity, To beautify thy triumphs, and return
And so I love and honour thee and thine, Captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke;
Thy noble brother Titus and his sons, But must my sons be slaughtered in the streets
And her to whom my thoughts are humbled all, For valiant doings in their country's cause?
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, O, if to fight for king and commonweal
That I will here dismiss my loving friends, Were piety in thine, it is in these.
And to my fortunes and the people's favour Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood.
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Exeunt the soldiers of BASSIANUS SATURNINUS. Friends, that have been thus forward in my Draw near them then in being merciful.
right, I thank you all and here dismiss you all, Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
And to the love and favour of my country Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son.
Commit myself, my person, and the cause. TITUS. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
Exeunt the soldiers of SATURNINUS Rome, be as just and gracious unto me These are their brethren, whom your Goths beheld
As I am confident and kind to thee. Alive and dead; and for their brethren slain
Open the gates and let me in. Religiously they ask a sacrifice.
BASSIANUS. Tribunes, and me, a poor competitor. To this your son is mark'd, and die he must
[Flourish. They go up into the Senate House] T' appease their groaning shadows that are gone.
Enter a CAPTAIN LUCIUS. Away with him, and make a fire straight;
CAPTAIN. Romans, make way. The good Andronicus, And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, Let's hew his limbs till they be clean consum'd.
Successful in the battles that he fights, Exeunt TITUS' SONS, with ALARBUS TAMORA. O cruel, irreligious piety!
With honour and with fortune is return'd CHIRON. Was never Scythia half so barbarous!
From where he circumscribed with his sword DEMETRIUS. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
And brought to yoke the enemies of Rome. Alarbus goes to rest, and we survive
Sound drums and trumpets, and then enter MARTIUS To tremble under Titus' threat'ning look.
and MUTIUS, two of TITUS' sons; and then two men Then, madam, stand resolv'd, but hope withal
bearing a coffin covered with black; then LUCIUS The self-same gods that arm'd the Queen of Troy
and QUINTUS, two other sons; then TITUS ANDRONICUS; and then TAMORA the Queen of With opportunity of sharp revenge
Goths, Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent
with her three May favour Tamora, the Queen of GothsWhen
sons, ALARBUS, DEMETRIUS, and CHIRON, with AARON the Moor, and others, as many as Goths were Goths and Tamora was queenTo
can be. quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
Then set down the coffin and TITUS speaks Re-enter LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, and
TITUS. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds! MUTIUS, the sons of ANDRONICUS, with their swords bloody
Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught LUCIUS. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd
Returns with precious lading to the bay Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd,
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, And entrails feed the sacrificing fire,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs, Whose smoke like incense doth perfume the sky.
To re-salute his country with his tears, Remaineth nought but to inter our brethren,
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.
Thou great defender of this Capitol, TITUS. Let it be so, and let Andronicus
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend! Make this his latest farewell to their souls.
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, [Sound trumpets and lay the coffin in the tomb] In peace and honour rest you here, my
Half of the number that King Priam had, sons;
Behold the poor remains, alive and dead! Rome's readiest champions, repose you here in rest,
These that survive let Rome reward with love; Secure from worldly chances and mishaps!
These that I bring unto their latest home, Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells,
With burial amongst their ancestors. Here grow no damned drugs, here are no storms,
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. That you create our Emperor's eldest son,
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons! Lord Saturnine; whose virtues will, I hope,
Enter LAVINIA Reflect on Rome as Titan's rays on earth,
LAVINIA. In peace and honour live Lord Titus long; And ripen justice in this commonweal.
My noble lord and father, live in fame! Then, if you will elect by my advice,
Lo, at this tomb my tributary tears Crown him, and say 'Long live our Emperor!'
I render for my brethren's obsequies; MARCUS. With voices and applause of every sort,
And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy Patricians and plebeians, we create
Shed on this earth for thy return to Rome. Lord Saturninus Rome's great Emperor;
O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, And say 'Long live our Emperor Saturnine!'
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud! [A long flourish till they come down] SATURNINUS. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done
TITUS. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd To us in our election this day
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,
Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days,And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise! And will with deeds requite thy gentleness;
Enter, above, MARCUS ANDRONICUS and TRIBUNES; And for an onset, Titus, to advance
re-enter SATURNINUS, BASSIANUS, and attendants Thy name and honourable family,Lavinia will I make my emperess,
MARCUS. Long live Lord Titus, my beloved brother, Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart,
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse.
TITUS. Thanks, gentle Tribune, noble brother Marcus. Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee?
MARCUS. And welcome, nephews, from successful wars, TITUS. It doth, my worthy lord, and in this match
You that survive and you that sleep in fame. I hold me highly honoured of your Grace,
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all And here in sight of Rome, to Saturnine,
That in your country's service drew your swords; King and commander of our commonweal,
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp The wide world's Emperor, do I consecrate
That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners,
And triumphs over chance in honour's bed. Presents well worthy Rome's imperious lord;
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, Receive them then, the tribute that I owe,
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.
Send thee by me, their Tribune and their trust, SATURNINUS. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life.
This par]iament of white and spotless hue; How proud I am of thee and of thy gifts
And name thee in election for the empire Rome shall record; and when I do forget
With these our late-deceased Emperor's sons: The least of these unspeakable deserts,
Be candidatus then, and put it on, Romans, forget your fealty to me.
And help to set a head on headless Rome. TITUS. [To TAMORA] Now, madam, are you prisoner to an emperor; To him that for your
TITUS. A better head her glorious body fits honour and your state
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness. Will use you nobly and your followers.
What should I don this robe and trouble you? SATURNINUS. [Aside] A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue That I would choose, were I to
Be chosen with proclamations to-day, choose anew.-
To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, Clear up, fair Queen, that cloudy countenance;
And set abroad new business for you all? Though chance of war hath wrought this change of cheer, Thou com'st not to be made a
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, scorn in RomePrincely
And led my country's strength successfully, shall be thy usage every way.
And buried one and twenty valiant sons, Rest on my word, and let not discontent
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, Daunt all your hopes. Madam, he comforts you
In right and service of their noble country. Can make you greater than the Queen of Goths.
Give me a staff of honour for mine age, Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this?
But not a sceptre to control the world. LAVINIA. Not I, my lord, sith true nobility
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. Warrants these words in princely courtesy.
MARCUS. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. SATURNINUS. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. Romans, let us go.
SATURNINUS. Proud and ambitious Tribune, canst thou tell? TITUS. Patience, Prince Ransomless here we set our prisoners free.
Saturninus. Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum.
SATURNINUS. Romans, do me right. [Flourish] BASSIANUS. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine.
Patricians, draw your swords, and sheathe them not [Seizing LAVINIA] TITUS. How, sir! Are you in earnest then, my lord?
Till Saturninus be Rome's Emperor. BASSIANUS. Ay, noble Titus, and resolv'd withal
Andronicus, would thou were shipp'd to hell To do myself this reason and this right.
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts! MARCUS. Suum cuique is our Roman justice:
LUCIUS. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
That noble-minded Titus means to thee! LUCIUS. And that he will and shall, if Lucius live.
TITUS. Content thee, Prince; I will restore to thee TITUS. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the Emperor's guard?
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. Treason, my lord- Lavinia is surpris'd!
BASSIANUS. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, SATURNINUS. Surpris'd! By whom?
But honour thee, and will do till I die. BASSIANUS. By him that justly may
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.
I will most thankful be; and thanks to men Exeunt BASSIANUS and MARCUS with LAVINIA MUTIUS. Brothers, help to convey her hence
Of noble minds is honourable meed. away,
TITUS. People of Rome, and people's Tribunes here, And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.
I ask your voices and your suffrages: Exeunt LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS TITUS. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her
Will ye bestow them friendly on Andronicus? back.
TRIBUNES. To gratify the good Andronicus, MUTIUS. My lord, you pass not here.
And gratulate his safe return to Rome, TITUS. What, villain boy!
The people will accept whom he admits. Bar'st me my way in Rome?
TITUS. Tribunes, I thank you; and this suit I make, MUTIUS. Help, Lucius, help!
 TITUS kills him. During the fray, exeunt SATURNINUS, QUINTUS & MARTIUS. And shall, or him we will accompany.
TAMORA, DEMETRIUS, CHIRON, and AARON TITUS. 'And shall!' What villain was it spake that word?
Re-enter Lucius QUINTUS. He that would vouch it in any place but here.
LUCIUS. My lord, you are unjust, and more than so: TITUS. What, would you bury him in my despite?
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. MARCUS. No, noble Titus, but entreat of thee
TITUS. Nor thou nor he are any sons of mine; To pardon Mutius and to bury him.
My sons would never so dishonour me. TITUS. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,
Re-enter aloft the EMPEROR And with these boys mine honour thou hast wounded.
with TAMORA and her two Sons, and AARON the Moor My foes I do repute you every one;
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the Emperor. So trouble me no more, but get you gone.
LUCIUS. Dead, if you will; but not to be his wife, MARTIUS. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.
That is another's lawful promis'd love. Exit SATURNINUS. No, Titus, no; the Emperor needs QUINTUS. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.
her not, [The BROTHER and the SONS kneel] MARCUS. Brother, for in that name doth nature
Nor her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock.I'll trust by leisure him that mocks me once; pleadQUINTUS.
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, Father, and in that name doth nature speakTITUS.Speak thou no more, if all the rest will
Confederates all thus to dishonour me. speed.
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale MARCUS. Renowned Titus, more than half my soulLUCIUS.
But Saturnine? Full well, Andronicus, Dear father, soul and substance of us allMARCUS.
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
That saidst I begg'd the empire at thy hands. His noble nephew here in virtue's nest,
TITUS. O monstrous! What reproachful words are these? That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
SATURNINUS. But go thy ways; go, give that changing piece To him that flourish'd for her Thou art a Roman- be not barbarous.
with his sword. The Greeks upon advice did bury Ajax,
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy; That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, Did graciously plead for his funerals.
To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. Let not young Mutius, then, that was thy joy,
TITUS. These words are razors to my wounded heart. Be barr'd his entrance here.
SATURNINUS. And therefore, lovely Tamora, Queen of Goths, That, like the stately Phoebe TITUS. Rise, Marcus, rise;
'mongst her nymphs, The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw,
Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, To be dishonoured by my sons in Rome!
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
Behold, I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride [They put MUTIUS in the tomb] LUCIUS. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy
And will create thee Emperess of Rome. friends, Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb.
Speak, Queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice? ALL. [Kneeling] No man shed tears for noble Mutius;
And here I swear by all the Roman godsSith He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
priest and holy water are so near, MARCUS. My lord- to step out of these dreary dumpsHow
And tapers burn so bright, and everything comes it that the subtle Queen of Goths
In readiness for Hymenaeus standI Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome?
will not re-salute the streets of Rome, TITUS. I know not, Marcus, but I know it isWhether
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place by device or no, the heavens can tell.
I lead espous'd my bride along with me. Is she not, then, beholding to the man
TAMORA. And here in sight of heaven to Rome I swear, That brought her for this high good turn so far?
If Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths, MARCUS. Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.
She will a handmaid be to his desires, Flourish. Re-enter the EMPEROR, TAMORA
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. and her two SONS, with the MOOR, at one door;
SATURNINUS. Ascend, fair Queen, Pantheon. Lords, accompany Your noble Emperor and his at the other door, BASSIANUS and LAVINIA, with others
lovely bride, SATURNINUS. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize:
Sent by the heavens for Prince Saturnine, God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride!
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered; BASSIANUS. And you of yours, my lord! I say no more,
There shall we consummate our spousal rites. Nor wish no less; and so I take my leave.
Exeunt all but TITUS TITUS. I am not bid to wait upon this bride. SATURNINUS. Traitor, if Rome have law or we have power,
TITUS, when wert thou wont to walk alone, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.
Dishonoured thus, and challenged of wrongs? BASSIANUS. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own,
Re-enter MARCUS, My true betrothed love, and now my wife?
and TITUS' SONS, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, and MARTIUS But let the laws of Rome determine all;
MARCUS. O Titus, see, O, see what thou hast done! Meanwhile am I possess'd of that is mine.
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. SATURNINUS. 'Tis good, sir. You are very short with us;
TITUS. No, foolish Tribune, no; no son of mineNor But if we live we'll be as sharp with you.
thou, nor these, confederates in the deed BASSIANUS. My lord, what I have done, as best I may,
That hath dishonoured all our family; Answer I must, and shall do with my life.
Unworthy brother and unworthy sons! Only thus much I give your Grace to know:
LUCIUS. But let us give him burial, as becomes; By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
Give Mutius burial with our bretheren. This noble gentleman, Lord Titus here,
TITUS. Traitors, away! He rests not in this tomb. Is in opinion and in honour wrong'd,
This monument five hundred years hath stood, That, in the rescue of Lavinia,
Which I have sumptuously re-edified; With his own hand did slay his youngest son,
Here none but soldiers and Rome's servitors In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath
Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls. To be controll'd in that he frankly gave.
Bury him where you can, he comes not here. Receive him then to favour, Saturnine,
MARCUS. My lord, this is impiety in you. That hath express'd himself in all his deeds
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him; A father and a friend to thee and Rome.
He must be buried with his bretheren. TITUS. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds.
'Tis thou and those that have dishonoured me. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
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But on mine honour dare I undertake ACT II. SCENE I.
For good Lord Titus' innocence in all, Rome. Before the palace
Whose fury not dissembled speaks his griefs. Enter AARON
Then at my suit look graciously on him; AARON. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top,
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, Safe out of Fortune's shot, and sits aloft,
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. Secure of thunder's crack or lightning flash,
[Aside to SATURNINUS] My lord, be rul'd by me,be won at last; Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach.
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents. As when the golden sun salutes the morn,
You are but newly planted in your throne; And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Lest, then, the people, and patricians too, Gallops the zodiac in his glistening coach
Upon a just survey take Titus' part, And overlooks the highest-peering hills,So Tamora.
And so supplant you for ingratitude, Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait,
Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: Then, Aaron, arm thy heart and fit thy thoughts
I'll find a day to massacre them all, To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,
And raze their faction and their family, And mount her pitch whom thou in triumph long.
The cruel father and his traitorous sons, Hast prisoner held, fett'red in amorous chains,
To whom I sued for my dear son's life; And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes
And make them know what 'tis to let a queen Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.
Kneel in the streets and beg for grace in vain.- Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts!
Come, come, sweet Emperor; come, Andronicus. I will be bright and shine in pearl and gold,
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart To wait upon this new-made emperess.
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. To wait, said I? To wanton with this queen,
SATURNINUS. Rise, Titus, rise; my Empress hath prevail'd. TITUS. I thank your Majesty and This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph,
her, my lord; This siren that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. And see his shipwreck and his commonweal's.
TAMORA. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, Hullo! what storm is this?
A Roman now adopted happily, Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS, braving
And must advise the Emperor for his good. DEMETRIUS. Chiron, thy years wants wit, thy wits wants edge And manners, to intrude where
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus; I am grac'd,
And let it be mine honour, good my lord, And may, for aught thou knowest, affected be.
That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. CHIRON. Demetrius, thou dost over-ween in all;
For you, Prince Bassianus, I have pass'd And so in this, to bear me down with braves.
My word and promise to the Emperor 'Tis not the difference of a year or two
That you will be more mild and tractable. Makes me less gracious or thee more fortunate:
And fear not, lords- and you, Lavinia. I am as able and as fit as thou
By my advice, all humbled on your knees, To serve and to deserve my mistress' grace;
You shall ask pardon of his Majesty. And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
LUCIUS. We do, and vow to heaven and to his Highness And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.
That what we did was mildly as we might, AARON. [Aside] Clubs, clubs! These lovers will not keep the peace.
Tend'ring our sister's honour and our own. DEMETRIUS. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,
MARCUS. That on mine honour here do I protest. Gave you a dancing rapier by your side,
SATURNINUS. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. Are you so desperate grown to threat your friends?
TAMORA. Nay, nay, sweet Emperor, we must all be friends. Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath
The Tribune and his nephews kneel for grace. Till you know better how to handle it.
I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. CHIRON. Meanwhile, sir, with the little skill I have,
SATURNINUS. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here, And at my lovely Tamora's Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.
entreats, DEMETRIUS. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw] AARON. [Coming forward] Why, how
I do remit these young men's heinous faults. now,
Stand up. lords!
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, So near the Emperor's palace dare ye draw
I found a friend; and sure as death I swore And maintain such a quarrel openly?
I would not part a bachelor from the priest. Full well I wot the ground of all this grudge:
Come, if the Emperor's court can feast two brides, I would not for a million of gold
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends. The cause were known to them it most concerns;
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. Nor would your noble mother for much more
TITUS. To-morrow, and it please your Majesty Be so dishonoured in the court of Rome.
To hunt the panther and the hart with me, For shame, put up.
With horn and hound we'll give your Grace bonjour. DEMETRIUS. Not I, till I have sheath'd
SATURNINUS. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. My rapier in his bosom, and withal
Exeunt. Sound trumpets Thrust those reproachful speeches down his throat
That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here. That will not suffer you to square yourselves,
CHIRON. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, But to your wishes' height advance you both.
Foul-spoken coward, that thund'rest with thy tongue, The Emperor's court is like the house of Fame,
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. The palace full of tongues, of eyes, and ears;
AARON. Away, I say! The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull.
Now, by the gods that warlike Goths adore, There speak and strike, brave boys, and take your turns; There serve your lust, shadowed
This pretty brabble will undo us all. from heaven's eye,
Why, lords, and think you not how dangerous And revel in Lavinia's treasury.
It is to jet upon a prince's right? CHIRON. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.
What, is Lavinia then become so loose, DEMETRIUS. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream
Or Bassianus so degenerate, To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits,
That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd Per Styga, per manes vehor. Exeunt
Without controlment, justice, or revenge? SCENE II.
Young lords, beware; an should the Empress know A forest near Rome
This discord's ground, the music would not please. Enter TITUS ANDRONICUS, and his three sons, LUCIUS, QUINTUS, MARTIUS, making a
CHIRON. I care not, I, knew she and all the world: noise with
I love Lavinia more than all the world. hounds and horns; and MARCUS
DEMETRIUS. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner choice: Lavina is thine elder TITUS. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey,
brother's hope. The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green.
AARON. Why, are ye mad, or know ye not in Rome Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,
How furious and impatient they be, And wake the Emperor and his lovely bride,
And cannot brook competitors in love? And rouse the Prince, and ring a hunter's peal,
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths That all the court may echo with the noise.
By this device. Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
CHIRON. Aaron, a thousand deaths To attend the Emperor's person carefully.
Would I propose to achieve her whom I love.AARON. To achieve her- how? I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
DEMETRIUS. Why mak'st thou it so strange? But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd.Here a cry of hounds, and wind horns in a peal.
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd; Then enter SATURNINUS, TAMORA, BASSIANUS LAVINIA,
She is a woman, therefore may be won; CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, and their attendants
She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. Many good morrows to your Majesty!
What, man! more water glideth by the mill Madam, to you as many and as good!
Than wots the miller of; and easy it is I promised your Grace a hunter's peal.
Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, we know. SATURNINUS. And you have rung it lustily, my lordsSomewhat
Though Bassianus be the Emperor's brother, too early for new-married ladies.
Better than he have worn Vulcan's badge. BASSIANUS. Lavinia, how say you?
AARON. [Aside] Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. LAVINIA. I say no;
DEMETRIUS. Then why should he despair that knows to court it With words, fair looks, and I have been broad awake two hours and more.
liberality? SATURNINUS. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, And to our sport. [To TAMORA]
What, hast not thou full often struck a doe, Madam, now shall ye see Our Roman hunting.
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose? MARCUS. I have dogs, my lord,
AARON. Why, then, it seems some certain snatch or so Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase,
Would serve your turns. And climb the highest promontory top.
CHIRON. Ay, so the turn were served. TITUS. And I have horse will follow where the game
DEMETRIUS. Aaron, thou hast hit it. Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain.
AARON. Would you had hit it too! DEMETRIUS. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, But hope to pluck a dainty doe
Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. to ground. Exeunt
Why, hark ye, hark ye! and are you such fools SCENE III.
To square for this? Would it offend you, then, A lonely part of the forest
That both should speed? Enter AARON alone, with a bag of gold
CHIRON. Faith, not me. AARON. He that had wit would think that I had none,
DEMETRIUS. Nor me, so I were one. To bury so much gold under a tree
AARON. For shame, be friends, and join for that you jar. And never after to inherit it.
'Tis policy and stratagem must do Let him that thinks of me so abjectly
That you affect; and so must you resolve Know that this gold must coin a stratagem,
That what you cannot as you would achieve, Which, cunningly effected, will beget
You must perforce accomplish as you may. A very excellent piece of villainy.
Take this of me: Lucrece was not more chaste And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. [Hides the gold] That have their alms out of the Empress' chest.
A speedier course than ling'ring languishment Enter TAMORA alone, to the Moor
Must we pursue, and I have found the path. TAMORA. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand; When everything does make a gleeful boast?
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop; The birds chant melody on every bush;
The forest walks are wide and spacious, The snakes lie rolled in the cheerful sun;
And many unfrequented plots there are The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind
Fitted by kind for rape and villainy. And make a chequer'd shadow on the ground;
Single you thither then this dainty doe, Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit,
And strike her home by force if not by words. And while the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns,
Come, come, our Empress, with her sacred wit As if a double hunt were heard at once,
To villainy and vengeance consecrate, Let us sit down and mark their yellowing noise;
Will we acquaint with all what we intend; And- after conflict such as was suppos'd
And she shall file our engines with advice The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoyed,
When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, A barren detested vale you see it is:
And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping caveWe The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Overcome with moss and baleful mistletoe;
Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber, Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven.
Be unto us as is a nurse's song And when they show'd me this abhorred pit,
Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep. They told me, here, at dead time of the night,
AARON. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes,
Saturn is dominator over mine. Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins,
What signifies my deadly-standing eye, Would make such fearful and confused cries
My silence and my cloudy melancholy, As any mortal body hearing it
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Should straight fall mad or else die suddenly.
Even as an adder when she doth unroll No sooner had they told this hellish tale
To do some fatal execution? But straight they told me they would bind me here
No, madam, these are no venereal signs. Unto the body of a dismal yew,
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, And leave me to this miserable death.
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. And then they call'd me foul adulteress,
Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in theeThis That ever ear did hear to such effect;
is the day of doom for Bassianus; And had you not by wondrous fortune come,
His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, This vengeance on me had they executed.
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.
Seest thou this letter? Take it up, I pray thee, DEMETRIUS. This is a witness that I am thy son.
And give the King this fatal-plotted scroll.Now question me no more; we are espied. [Stabs BASSIANUS] CHIRON. And this for me, struck home to show my strength.[Also stabs]
Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, LAVINIA. Ay, come, Semiramis- nay, barbarous Tamora,
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. For no name fits thy nature but thy own!
Enter BASSIANUS and LAVINIA TAMORA. Give me the poniard; you shall know, my boys,
TAMORA. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.
AARON. No more, great Empress: Bassianus comes. DEMETRIUS. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her;
Be cross with him; and I'll go fetch thy sons First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw.
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. Exit BASSIANUS. Who have we here? Rome's royal This minion stood upon her chastity,
Emperess, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? And with that painted hope braves your mightiness;
Or is it Dian, habited like her, And shall she carry this unto her grave?
Who hath abandoned her holy groves CHIRON. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.
To see the general hunting in this forest? Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,
TAMORA. Saucy controller of my private steps! And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.
Had I the pow'r that some say Dian had, TAMORA. But when ye have the honey we desire,
Thy temples should be planted presently Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.
With horns, as was Actaeon's; and the hounds CHIRON. I warrant you, madam, we will make that sure.
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy
Unmannerly intruder as thou art! That nice-preserved honesty of yours.
LAVINIA. Under your patience, gentle Emperess, LAVINIA. O Tamora! thou bearest a woman's faceTAMORA.
'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning, I will not hear her speak; away with her!
And to be doubted that your Moor and you LAVINIA. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.
Are singled forth to try thy experiments. DEMETRIUS. Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory
Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! To see her tears; but be your heart to them
'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.
BASSIANUS. Believe me, Queen, your swarth Cimmerian LAVINIA. When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?
Doth make your honour of his body's hue, O, do not learn her wrath- she taught it thee;
Spotted, detested, and abominable. The milk thou suck'dst from her did turn to marble,
Why are you sequest'red from all your train, Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny.
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:
And wand'red hither to an obscure plot, [To CHIRON] Do thou entreat her show a woman's pity.
Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, CHIRON. What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard? LAVINIA. 'Tis true, the raven
If foul desire had not conducted you? doth not hatch a lark.
LAVINIA. And, being intercepted in your sport, Yet have I heard- O, could I find it now!-
Great reason that my noble lord be rated The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure
For sauciness. I pray you let us hence, To have his princely paws par'd all away.
And let her joy her raven-coloured love; Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,
This valley fits the purpose passing well. The whilst their own birds famish in their nests;
BASSIANUS. The King my brother shall have notice of this. LAVINIA. Ay, for these slips O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,
have made him noted long. Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!
Good king, to be so mightily abused! TAMORA. I know not what it means; away with her!
TAMORA. Why, I have patience to endure all this. LAVINIA. O, let me teach thee! For my father's sake,
Enter CHIRON and DEMETRIUS That gave thee life when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf
DEMETRIUS. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your Highness ears.
look TAMORA. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,
so pale and wan? Even for his sake am I pitiless.
TAMORA. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain
These two have 'ticed me hither to this place. To save your brother from the sacrifice;
But fierce Andronicus would not relent. O brother, help me with thy fainting handIf
Therefore away with her, and use her as you will; fear hath made thee faint, as me it hathOut
The worse to her the better lov'd of me. of this fell devouring receptacle,
LAVINIA. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.
And with thine own hands kill me in this place! QUINTUS. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out,
For 'tis not life that I have begg'd so long; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
Poor I was slain when Bassianus died. I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
TAMORA. What beg'st thou, then? Fond woman, let me go. Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.
LAVINIA. 'Tis present death I beg; and one thing more, I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.
That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: MARTIUS. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.
O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, QUINTUS. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,
And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Till thou art here aloft, or I below.
Where never man's eye may behold my body; Thou canst not come to me- I come to thee. [Falls in]
Do this, and be a charitable murderer. Enter the EMPEROR and AARON the Moor
TAMORA. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee; SATURNINUS. Along with me! I'll see what hole is here,
No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. And what he is that now is leapt into it.
DEMETRIUS. Away! for thou hast stay'd us here too long. Say, who art thou that lately didst descend
LAVINIA. No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature, Into this gaping hollow of the earth?
The blot and enemy to our general name! MARTIUS. The unhappy sons of old Andronicus,
Confusion fallCHIRON. Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
Nay, then I'll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband. To find thy brother Bassianus dead.
This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. SATURNINUS. My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest:
DEMETRIUS throws the body He and his lady both are at the lodge
of BASSIANUS into the pit; then exeunt Upon the north side of this pleasant chase;
DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, dragging off LAVINIA 'Tis not an hour since I left them there.
TAMORA. Farewell, my sons; see that you make her sure. MARTIUS. We know not where you left them all alive;
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed But, out alas! here have we found him dead.Re-enter TAMORA, with
Till all the Andronici be made away. attendants; TITUS ANDRONICUS and Lucius
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,And let my spleenful sons this trull deflower. Exit TAMORA. Where is my lord the King?
Re-enter AARON, with two SATURNINUS. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing grief. TAMORA. Where is thy brother
of TITUS' sons, QUINTUS and MARTIUS Bassianus?
AARON. Come on, my lords, the better foot before; SATURNINUS. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound;
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
Where I espied the panther fast asleep. TAMORA. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,
QUINTUS. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. The complot of this timeless tragedy;
MARTIUS. And mine, I promise you; were it not for shame, And wonder greatly that man's face can fold
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.
[Falls into the pit] QUINTUS. What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this, Whose [She giveth SATURNINE a letter] SATURNINUS. [Reads] 'An if we miss to meet him
mouth is covered with rude-growing briers, handsomely, Sweet huntsman- Bassianus 'tis we meanDo
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood thou so much as dig the grave for him.
As fresh as morning dew distill'd on flowers? Thou know'st our meaning. Look for thy reward
A very fatal place it seems to me. Among the nettles at the elder-tree
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall? Which overshades the mouth of that same pit
MARTIUS. O brother, with the dismal'st object hurt Where we decreed to bury Bassianus.
That ever eye with sight made heart lament! Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.'
AARON. [Aside] Now will I fetch the King to find them here, That he thereby may have a O Tamora! was ever heard the like?
likely guess This is the pit and this the elder-tree.
How these were they that made away his brother. Exit MARTIUS. Why dost not comfort me, Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out
and help me out That should have murdered Bassianus here.
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole? AARON. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.
QUINTUS. I am surprised with an uncouth fear; SATURNINUS. [To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints; kind,
My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. Have here bereft my brother of his life.
MARTIUS. To prove thou hast a true divining heart, Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison;
Aaron and thou look down into this den, There let them bide until we have devis'd
And see a fearful sight of blood and death. Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
QUINTUS. Aaron is gone, and my compassionate heart TAMORA. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing!
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold How easily murder is discovered!
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; TITUS. High Emperor, upon my feeble knee
O, tell me who it is, for ne'er till now I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed,
Was I a child to fear I know not what. That this fell fault of my accursed sonsAccursed
MARTIUS. Lord Bassianus lies beray'd in blood, if the fault be prov'd in themSATURNINUS.
All on a heap, like to a slaughtered lamb, If it be prov'd! You see it is apparent.
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?
QUINTUS. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? TAMORA. Andronicus himself did take it up.
MARTIUS. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear TITUS. I did, my lord, yet let me be their bail;
A precious ring that lightens all this hole, For, by my fathers' reverend tomb, I vow
Which, like a taper in some monument, They shall be ready at your Highness' will
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, To answer their suspicion with their lives.
And shows the ragged entrails of this pit; SATURNINUS. Thou shalt not bail them; see thou follow me. Some bring the murdered body,
So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus some the murderers;
When he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood. Let them not speak a word- the guilt is plain;
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
That end upon them should be executed. YOUR OR OTHERS
TAMORA. Andronicus, I will entreat the King. PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough. COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
TITUS. Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them. Exeunt SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
SCENE IV. DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Another part of the forest ACT III. SCENE I.
Enter the Empress' sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, with LAVINIA, her hands cut off, and her Rome. A street
tongue cut out, and ravish'd Enter the JUDGES, TRIBUNES, and SENATORS, with TITUS' two sons MARTIUS and
DEMETRIUS. So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, QUINTUS bound,
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee. passing on the stage to the place of execution, and TITUS going before, pleading
CHIRON. Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so, TITUS. Hear me, grave fathers; noble Tribunes, stay!
An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe. For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
DEMETRIUS. See how with signs and tokens she can scrowl. In dangerous wars whilst you securely slept;
CHIRON. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands. For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed,
DEMETRIUS. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash; And so let's leave her to her For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd,
silent walks. And for these bitter tears, which now you see
CHIRON. An 'twere my cause, I should go hang myself. Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks,
DEMETRIUS. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord. Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought.
Wind horns. Enter MARCUS, from hunting For two and twenty sons I never wept,
MARCUS. Who is this?- my niece, that flies away so fast? Because they died in honour's lofty bed.
Cousin, a word: where is your husband?If I do dream, would all my wealth would wake me! [ANDRONICUS lieth down, and the judges
If I do wake, some planet strike me down, pass by him with the prisoners, and exeunt]
That I may slumber an eternal sleep! For these, Tribunes, in the dust I write
Speak, gentle niece. What stern ungentle hands My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears.
Hath lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite;My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and
Of her two branches- those sweet ornaments blush.
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep in, O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain
And might not gain so great a happiness That shall distil from these two ancient urns,
As half thy love? Why dost not speak to me? Than youthful April shall with all his show'rs.
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still;
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, In winter with warm tears I'll melt the snow
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips, And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
Coming and going with thy honey breath. So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
But sure some Tereus hath deflowered thee, Enter Lucius with his weapon drawn
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. O reverend Tribunes! O gentle aged men!
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame! Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death,
And notwithstanding all this loss of bloodAs And let me say, that never wept before,
from a conduit with three issuing spoutsYet My tears are now prevailing orators.
do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face LUCIUS. O noble father, you lament in vain;
Blushing to be encount'red with a cloud. The Tribunes hear you not, no man is by,
Shall I speak for thee? Shall I say 'tis so? And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
O, that I knew thy heart, and knew the beast, TITUS. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead!
That I might rail at him to ease my mind! Grave Tribunes, once more I entreat of you.
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, LUCIUS. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you speak.
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. TITUS. Why, 'tis no matter, man: if they did hear,
Fair Philomel, why she but lost her tongue, They would not mark me; if they did mark,
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind; They would not pity me; yet plead I must,
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee. And bootless unto them.
A craftier Tereus, cousin, hast thou met, Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones;
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off Who though they cannot answer my distress,
That could have better sew'd than Philomel. Yet in some sort they are better than the Tribunes,
O, had the monster seen those lily hands For that they will not intercept my tale.
Tremble like aspen leaves upon a lute When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me;
He would not then have touch'd them for his life! And were they but attired in grave weeds,
Or had he heard the heavenly harmony Rome could afford no tribunes like to these.
Which that sweet tongue hath made, A stone is soft as wax: tribunes more hard than stones. A stone is silent and offendeth
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep, not,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet. And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind, [Rises] But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn?
For such a sight will blind a father's eye; LUCIUS. To rescue my two brothers from their death;
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads, For which attempt the judges have pronounc'd
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes? My everlasting doom of banishment.
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee; TITUS. O happy man! they have befriended thee.
O, could our mourning case thy misery! Exeunt Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers?
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Tigers must prey, and Rome affords no prey
BY PROJECT But me and mine; how happy art thou then
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. From these devourers to be banished!
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE But who comes with our brother Marcus here?
Enter MARCUS with LAVINIA And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears?
MARCUS. Titus, prepare thy aged eyes to weep, Or shall we cut away our hands like thine?
Or if not so, thy noble heart to break. Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. Pass the remainder of our hateful days?
TITUS. Will it consume me? Let me see it then. What shall we do? Let us that have our tongues
MARCUS. This was thy daughter. Plot some device of further misery
TITUS. Why, Marcus, so she is. To make us wonder'd at in time to come.
LUCIUS. Ay me! this object kills me. LUCIUS. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your grief See how my wretched sister sobs
TITUS. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon her. and weeps.
Speak, Lavinia, what accursed hand MARCUS. Patience, dear niece. Good Titus, dry thine eyes. TITUS. Ah, Marcus, Marcus!
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? Brother, well I wot
What fool hath added water to the sea, Thy napkin cannot drink a tear of mine,
Or brought a fagot to bright-burning Troy? For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.
My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, LUCIUS. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
And now like Nilus it disdaineth bounds. TITUS. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs.
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too, Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain; That to her brother which I said to thee:
And they have nurs'd this woe in feeding life; His napkin, with his true tears all bewet,
In bootless prayer have they been held up, Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks.
And they have serv'd me to effectless use. O, what a sympathy of woe is this
Now all the service I require of them As far from help as Limbo is from bliss!
Is that the one will help to cut the other. Enter AARON the Moor
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; AARON. Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor
For hands to do Rome service is but vain. Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons,
LUCIUS. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee? Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
MARCUS. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts Or any one of you, chop off your hand
That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence And send it to the King: he for the same
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage,Where like a sweet melodious bird it sung Will send thee hither both thy sons alive,
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
LUCIUS. O, say thou for her, who hath done this deed? TITUS. O gracious Emperor! O gentle Aaron!
MARCUS. O, thus I found her straying in the park, Did ever raven sing so like a lark
Seeking to hide herself as doth the deer That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?With all my heart I'll send the Emperor my hand.
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?
TITUS. It was my dear, and he that wounded her LUCIUS. Stay, father! for that noble hand of thine,
Hath hurt me more than had he kill'd me dead; That hath thrown down so many enemies,
For now I stand as one upon a rock, Shall not be sent. My hand will serve the turn,
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea, My youth can better spare my blood than you,
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.
Expecting ever when some envious surge MARCUS. Which of your hands hath not defended Rome
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe,
This way to death my wretched sons are gone; Writing destruction on the enemy's castle?
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man, O, none of both but are of high desert!
And here my brother, weeping at my woes. My hand hath been but idle; let it serve
But that which gives my soul the greatest spurn To ransom my two nephews from their death;
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, AARON. Nay, come, agree whose hand shall go along,
It would have madded me; what shall I do For fear they die before their pardon come.
Now I behold thy lively body so? MARCUS. My hand shall go.
Thou hast no hands to wipe away thy tears, LUCIUS. By heaven, it shall not go!
Nor tongue to tell me who hath martyr'd thee; TITUS. Sirs, strive no more; such with'red herbs as these Are meet for plucking up, and
Thy husband he is dead, and for his death therefore mine.
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this. LUCIUS. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
Look, Marcus! Ah, son Lucius, look on her! Let me redeem my brothers both from death.
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears MARCUS. And for our father's sake and mother's care,
Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey dew Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
Upon a gath'red lily almost withered. TITUS. Agree between you; I will spare my hand.
MARCUS. Perchance she weeps because they kill'd her husband; Perchance because she LUCIUS. Then I'll go fetch an axe.
knows MARCUS. But I will use the axe.
them innocent. Exeunt LUCIUS and MARCUS TITUS. Come hither, Aaron, I'll deceive them both;
TITUS. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. AARON. [Aside] If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, And never whilst I live
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; deceive men so;
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. But I'll deceive you in another sort,
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips, And that you'll say ere half an hour pass.
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease. [He cuts off TITUS' hand]
Shall thy good uncle and thy brother Lucius Re-enter LUCIUS and MARCUS
And thou and I sit round about some fountain, TITUS. Now stay your strife. What shall be is dispatch'd.
Looking all downwards to behold our cheeks Good Aaron, give his Majesty my hand;
How they are stain'd, like meadows yet not dry Tell him it was a hand that warded him
With miry slime left on them by a flood? From thousand dangers; bid him bury it.
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, More hath it merited- that let it have.
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, As for my sons, say I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; For these two heads do seem to speak to me,
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. And threat me I shall never come to bliss
AARON. I go, Andronicus; and for thy hand Till all these mischiefs be return'd again
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee. Even in their throats that have committed them.
[Aside] Their heads I mean. O, how this villainy Come, let me see what task I have to do.
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! You heavy people, circle me about,
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace: That I may turn me to each one of you
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. Exit TITUS. O, here I lift this one hand up And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs.
to heaven, The vow is made. Come, brother, take a head,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth; And in this hand the other will I bear.
If any power pities wretched tears, And, Lavinia, thou shalt be employ'd in this;
To that I call! [To LAVINIA] What, would'st thou kneel with me? Do, then, dear heart; for Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
heaven shall hear our prayers, Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight;
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay.
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. Hie to the Goths and raise an army there;
MARCUS. O brother, speak with possibility, And if ye love me, as I think you do,
And do not break into these deep extremes. Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
TITUS. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom? Exeunt all but Lucius LUCIUS. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father,
Then be my passions bottomless with them. The woefull'st man that ever liv'd in Rome.
MARCUS. But yet let reason govern thy lament. Farewell, proud Rome; till Lucius come again,
TITUS. If there were reason for these miseries, He leaves his pledges dearer than his life.
Then into limits could I bind my woes. Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister;
When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? O, would thou wert as thou tofore hast been!
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, But now nor Lucius nor Lavinia lives
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swol'n face? But in oblivion and hateful griefs.
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil? If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs
I am the sea; hark how her sighs do blow. And make proud Saturnine and his emperess
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth; Beg at the gates like Tarquin and his queen.
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs; Now will I to the Goths, and raise a pow'r
Then must my earth with her continual tears To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. Exit
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd; SCENE II.
For why my bowels cannot hide her woes,But like a drunkard must I vomit them. Rome. TITUS' houseA banquet.
Then give me leave; for losers will have leave Enter TITUS, MARCUS, LAVINIA, and the boy YOUNG LUCIUS
To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. TITUS. So so, now sit; and look you eat no more
Enter a MESSENGER, with two heads and a hand Than will preserve just so much strength in us
MESSENGER. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
For that good hand thou sent'st the Emperor. Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot;
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons; Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent backThy And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
grief their sports, thy resolution mock'd, With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
That woe is me to think upon thy woes, Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;
More than remembrance of my father's death. Exit MARCUS. Now let hot Aetna cool in Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,
Sicily, Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
And be my heart an ever-burning hell! Then thus I thump it down.
These miseries are more than may be borne. [To LAVINIA] Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs! When thy poor heart beats
To weep with them that weep doth ease some deal, with outrageous beating,
But sorrow flouted at is double death. Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
LUCIUS. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a wound, Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans;
And yet detested life not shrink thereat! Or get some little knife between thy teeth
That ever death should let life bear his name, And just against thy heart make thou a hole,
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe! That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall
[LAVINIA kisses TITUS] MARCUS. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless May run into that sink and, soaking in,
As frozen water to a starved snake. Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
TITUS. When will this fearful slumber have an end? MARCUS. Fie, brother, fie! Teach her not thus to lay
MARCUS. Now farewell, flatt'ry; die, Andronicus. Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Thou dost not slumber: see thy two sons' heads, TITUS. How now! Has sorrow made thee dote already?
Thy warlike hand, thy mangled daughter here; Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I.
Thy other banish'd son with this dear sight What violent hands can she lay on her life?
Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands?
Even like a stony image, cold and numb. To bid Aeneas tell the tale twice o'er
Ah! now no more will I control thy griefs. How Troy was burnt and he made miserable?
Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands,
Gnawing with thy teeth; and be this dismal sight Lest we remember still that we have none.
The closing up of our most wretched eyes. Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk,
Now is a time to storm; why art thou still? As if we should forget we had no hands,
TITUS. Ha, ha, ha! If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
MARCUS. Why dost thou laugh? It fits not with this hour. Come, let's fall to; and, gentle girl, eat this:
TITUS. Why, I have not another tear to shed; Here is no drink. Hark, Marcus, what she saysI
Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, can interpret all her martyr'd signs;
And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes She says she drinks no other drink but tears,
And make them blind with tributary tears. Brew'd with her sorrow, mesh'd upon her cheeks.
Then which way shall I find Revenge's cave? Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care
As begging hermits in their holy prayers. Read to her sons than she hath read to thee
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator.
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, MARCUS. Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus? BOY. My lord, I know not, I,
But I of these will wrest an alphabet, nor can I guess,
And by still practice learn to know thy meaning. Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her;
BOY. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments; For I have heard my grandsire say full oft
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. Extremity of griefs would make men mad;
MARCUS. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, And I have read that Hecuba of Troy
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. Ran mad for sorrow. That made me to fear;
TITUS. Peace, tender sapling; thou art made of tears, Although, my lord, I know my noble aunt
And tears will quickly melt thy life away. Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,
[MARCUS strikes the dish with a knife] What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife? And would not, but in fury, fright my youth;
MARCUS. At that that I have kill'd, my lord- a fly. Which made me down to throw my books, and flyCauseless,
TITUS. Out on thee, murderer, thou kill'st my heart! perhaps. But pardon me, sweet aunt;
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny; And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
A deed of death done on the innocent I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone; MARCUS. Lucius, I will. [LAVINIA turns over with her
I see thou art not for my company. stumps the books which Lucius has let fall] TITUS. How now, Lavinia! Marcus, what means
MARCUS. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. this?
TITUS. 'But!' How if that fly had a father and mother? Some book there is that she desires to see.
How would he hang his slender gilded wings Which is it, girl, of these?- Open them, boy.-
And buzz lamenting doings in the air! But thou art deeper read and better skill'd;
Poor harmless fly, Come and take choice of all my library,
That with his pretty buzzing melody And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Came here to make us merry! And thou hast kill'd him. Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed.
MARCUS. Pardon me, sir; it was a black ill-favour'd fly, Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus?
Like to the Empress' Moor; therefore I kill'd him. MARCUS. I think she means that there were more than one
TITUS. O, O, O! Confederate in the fact; ay, more there was,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee, Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
For thou hast done a charitable deed. TITUS. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him, BOY. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses;
Flattering myself as if it were the Moor My mother gave it me.
Come hither purposely to poison me.There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. MARCUS. For love of her that's gone,
Ah, sirrah! Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.
Yet, I think, we are not brought so low TITUS. Soft! So busily she turns the leaves! Help her.
But that between us we can kill a fly What would she find? Lavinia, shall I read?This is the tragic tale of Philomel
That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. And treats of Tereus' treason and his rape;
MARCUS. Alas, poor man! grief has so wrought on him, And rape, I fear, was root of thy annoy.
He takes false shadows for true substances. MARCUS. See, brother, see! Note how she quotes the leaves. TITUS. Lavinia, wert thou thus
TITUS. Come, take away. Lavinia, go with me; surpris'd, sweet girl,
I'll to thy closet, and go read with thee Ravish'd and wrong'd as Philomela was,
Sad stories chanced in the times of old. Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods?
Come, boy, and go with me; thy sight is young, See, see!
And thou shalt read when mine begin to dazzle. Exeunt Ay, such a place there is where we did huntO,
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM had we never, never hunted there!-
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Pattern'd by that the poet here describes,
BY PROJECT By nature made for murders and for rapes.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. MARCUS. O, why should nature build so foul a den,
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Unless the gods delight in tragedies?
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR TITUS. Give signs, sweet girl, for here are none but friends, What Roman lord it was
YOUR OR OTHERS durst do the deed.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed?
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR MARCUS. Sit down, sweet niece; brother, sit down by me.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
ACT IV. SCENE I. Inspire me, that I may this treason find!
Rome. TITUS' garden My lord, look here! Look here, Lavinia!
Enter YOUNG LUCIUS and LAVINIA running after him, [He writes his name with his
and the boy flies from her with his books under his arm. staff, and guides it with feet and mouth]
Enter TITUS and MARCUS This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst,
BOY. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia This after me. I have writ my name
Follows me everywhere, I know not why. Without the help of any hand at all.
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes! Curs'd be that heart that forc'd us to this shift!
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. Write thou, good niece, and here display at last
MARCUS. Stand by me, Lucius; do not fear thine aunt. What God will have discovered for revenge.
TITUS. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
BOY. Ay, when my father was in Rome she did. That we may know the traitors and the truth!
MARCUS. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs? [She takes the staff in her mouth
TITUS. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean. and guides it with stumps, and writes]
See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee. O, do ye read, my lord, what she hath writ?
Somewhither would she have thee go with her. TITUS. 'Stuprum- Chiron- Demetrius.'
MARCUS. What, what! the lustful sons of Tamora And so I leave you both- [Aside] like bloody villains.
Performers of this heinous bloody deed? Exeunt YOUNG LUCIUS and attendant DEMETRIUS. What's here? A scroll, and written round
TITUS. Magni Dominator poli, about. Let's see:
Tam lentus audis scelera? tam lentus vides? [Reads] 'Integer vitae, scelerisque purus,
MARCUS. O, calm thee, gentle lord! although I know Non eget Mauri iaculis, nec arcu.'
There is enough written upon this earth CHIRON. O, 'tis a verse in Horace, I know it well;
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, I read it in the grammar long ago.
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. AARON. Ay, just- a verse in Horace. Right, you have it.
My lord, kneel down with me; Lavinia, kneel; [Aside] Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope; Here's no sound jest! The old man hath found their guilt, And sends them weapons wrapp'd
And swear with me- as, with the woeful fere about with lines
And father of that chaste dishonoured dame, That wound, beyond their feeling, to the quick.
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rapeThat But were our witty Empress well afoot,
we will prosecute, by good advice, She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, But let her rest in her unrest awhileAnd
And see their blood or die with this reproach. now, young lords, was't not a happy star
TITUS. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how; Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
But if you hunt these bear-whelps, then beware: Captives, to be advanced to this height?
The dam will wake; and if she wind ye once, It did me good before the palace gate
She's with the lion deeply still in league, To brave the Tribune in his brother's hearing.
And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back, DEMETRIUS. But me more good to see so great a lord
And when he sleeps will she do what she list. Basely insinuate and send us gifts.
You are a young huntsman, Marcus; let alone; AARON. Had he not reason, Lord Demetrius?
And come, I will go get a leaf of brass, Did you not use his daughter very friendly?
And with a gad of steel will write these words, DEMETRIUS. I would we had a thousand Roman dames
And lay it by. The angry northern wind At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust.
Will blow these sands like Sibyl's leaves abroad, CHIRON. A charitable wish and full of love.
And where's our lesson, then? Boy, what say you? AARON. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen.
BOY. I say, my lord, that if I were a man CHIRON. And that would she for twenty thousand more.
Their mother's bedchamber should not be safe DEMETRIUS. Come, let us go and pray to all the gods
For these base bondmen to the yoke of Rome. For our beloved mother in her pains.
MARCUS. Ay, that's my boy! Thy father hath full oft AARON. [Aside] Pray to the devils; the gods have given us over.
For his ungrateful country done the like. [Trumpets sound] DEMETRIUS. Why do the Emperor's trumpets flourish thus?
BOY. And, uncle, so will I, an if I live. CHIRON. Belike, for joy the Emperor hath a son.
TITUS. Come, go with me into mine armoury. DEMETRIUS. Soft! who comes here?
Lucius, I'll fit thee; and withal my boy Enter NURSE, with a blackamoor CHILDNURSE. Good morrow, lords.
Shall carry from me to the Empress' sonsPresents that I intend to send them both. O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor?
Come, come; thou'lt do my message, wilt thou not? AARON. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
BOY. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. Here Aaron is; and what with Aaron now?
TITUS. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another course. NURSE. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone!
Lavinia, come. Marcus, look to my house. Now help, or woe betide thee evermore!
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court; AARON. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep!
Ay, marry, will we, sir! and we'll be waited on. What dost thou wrap and fumble in thy arms?
Exeunt TITUS, LAVINIA, and YOUNG LUCIUS MARCUS. O heavens, can you hear a good NURSE. O, that which I would hide from heaven's eye:
man groan Our Empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace!
And not relent, or not compassion him? She is delivered, lord; she is delivered.
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy, AARON. To whom?
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart NURSE. I mean she is brought a-bed.
Than foemen's marks upon his batt'red shield, AARON. Well, God give her good rest! What hath he sent her? NURSE. A devil.
But yet so just that he will not revenge. AARON. Why, then she is the devil's dam;
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus! Exit A joyful issue.
SCENE II. NURSE. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue!
Rome. The palace Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
Enter AARON, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, at one door; and at the other door, YOUNG Amongst the fair-fac'd breeders of our clime;
LUCIUS and The Empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal,
another with a bundle of weapons, and verses writ upon them And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.
CHIRON. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; AARON. Zounds, ye whore! Is black so base a hue?
He hath some message to deliver us. Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom sure.
AARON. Ay, some mad message from his mad grandfather. DEMETRIUS. Villain, what hast thou done?
BOY. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, AARON. That which thou canst not undo.
I greet your honours from Andronicus- CHIRON. Thou hast undone our mother.
[Aside] And pray the Roman gods confound you both! AARON. Villain, I have done thy mother.
DEMETRIUS. Gramercy, lovely Lucius. What's the news? DEMETRIUS. And therein, hellish dog, thou hast undone her. Woe to her chance, and damn'd
BOY. [Aside] That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, For villains mark'd with her loathed choice!
rape.- May it please you, Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend!
My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me CHIRON. It shall not live.
The goodliest weapons of his armoury AARON. It shall not die.
To gratify your honourable youth, NURSE. Aaron, it must; the mother wills it so.
The hope of Rome; for so he bid me say; AARON. What, must it, nurse? Then let no man but I
And so I do, and with his gifts present Do execution on my flesh and blood.
Your lordships, that, whenever you have need, DEMETRIUS. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point.
You may be armed and appointed well. Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon dispatch it.
AARON. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. And substituted in the place of mine,
[Takes the CHILD from the NURSE, and draws] Stay, murderous villains, will you kill your To calm this tempest whirling in the court;
brother! And let the Emperor dandle him for his own.
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky Hark ye, lords. You see I have given her physic,
That shone so brightly when this boy was got, [Pointing to the NURSE] And you must needs bestow her funeral;
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms.
That touches this my first-born son and heir. This done, see that you take no longer days,
I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, But send the midwife presently to me.
With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood, The midwife and the nurse well made away,
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, Then let the ladies tattle what they please.
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. CHIRON. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air
What, what, ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! With secrets.
Ye white-lim'd walls! ye alehouse painted signs! DEMETRIUS. For this care of Tamora,
Coal-black is better than another hue Herself and hers are highly bound to thee.
In that it scorns to bear another hue; Exeunt DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, bearing off the dead NURSE
For all the water in the ocean AARON. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies,
Can never turn the swan's black legs to white, There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood. And secretly to greet the Empress' friends.
Tell the Empress from me I am of age Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence;
To keep mine own- excuse it how she can. For it is you that puts us to our shifts.
DEMETRIUS. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? I'll make you feed on berries and on roots,
AARON. My mistress is my mistress: this my self, And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,
The vigour and the picture of my youth. And cabin in a cave, and bring you up
This before all the world do I prefer; To be a warrior and command a camp.
This maugre all the world will I keep safe, Exit with the CHILD
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. SCENE III.
DEMETRIUS. By this our mother is for ever sham'd. Rome. A public place
CHIRON. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. Enter TITUS, bearing arrows with letters on the ends of them; with him MARCUS, YOUNG
NURSE. The Emperor in his rage will doom her death. LUCIUS, and other gentlemen,
CHIRON. I blush to think upon this ignomy. PUBLIUS, SEMPRONIUS, and CAIUS, with bows
AARON. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears: TITUS. Come, Marcus, come; kinsmen, this is the way.
Fie, treacherous hue, that will betray with blushing Sir boy, let me see your archery;
The close enacts and counsels of thy heart! Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight.
Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer. Terras Astrea reliquit,
Look how the black slave smiles upon the father, Be you rememb'red, Marcus; she's gone, she's fled.
As who should say 'Old lad, I am thine own.' Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
He is your brother, lords, sensibly fed Go sound the ocean and cast your nets;Happily you may catch her in the sea;
Of that self-blood that first gave life to you; Yet there's as little justice as at land.
And from your womb where you imprisoned were No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it;
He is enfranchised and come to light.Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade,
Although my seal be stamped in his face. And pierce the inmost centre of the earth;
NURSE. Aaron, what shall I say unto the Empress? Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
DEMETRIUS. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, I pray you deliver him this petition.
And we will all subscribe to thy advice. Tell him it is for justice and for aid,
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. And that it comes from old Andronicus,
AARON. Then sit we down and let us all consult. Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome.
My son and I will have the wind of you: Ah, Rome! Well, well, I made thee miserable
Keep there; now talk at pleasure of your safety. What time I threw the people's suffrages
[They sit] DEMETRIUS. How many women saw this child of his? On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me.
AARON. Why, so, brave lords! When we join in league Go get you gone; and pray be careful all,
I am a lamb; but if you brave the Moor, And leave you not a man-of-war unsearch'd.
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness, This wicked Emperor may have shipp'd her hence;
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
But say, again, how many saw the child? MARCUS. O Publius, is not this a heavy case,
NURSE. Cornelia the midwife and myself; To see thy noble uncle thus distract?
And no one else but the delivered Empress. PUBLIUS. Therefore, my lords, it highly us concerns
AARON. The Emperess, the midwife, and yourself. By day and night t' attend him carefully,
Two may keep counsel when the third's away: And feed his humour kindly as we may
Go to the Empress, tell her this I said. [He kills her] Weeke weeke! Till time beget some careful remedy.
So cries a pig prepared to the spit. MARCUS. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
DEMETRIUS. What mean'st thou, Aaron? Wherefore didst thou this? AARON. O Lord, sir, 'tis Join with the Goths, and with revengeful war
a deed of policy. Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
Shall she live to betray this guilt of oursA And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
long-tongu'd babbling gossip? No, lords, no. TITUS. Publius, how now? How now, my masters?
And now be it known to you my full intent: What, have you met with her?
Not far, one Muliteus, my countrymanHis PUBLIUS. No, my good lord; but Pluto sends you word,
wife but yesternight was brought to bed; If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall.
His child is like to her, fair as you are. Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd,
Go pack with him, and give the mother gold, He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else,
And tell them both the circumstance of all, So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, TITUS. He doth me wrong to feed me with delays.
And be received for the Emperor's heir I'll dive into the burning lake below
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. others. The EMPEROR brings the arrows in his hand that TITUS shot at him
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we, SATURNINUS. Why, lords, what wrongs are these! Was ever seen An emperor in Rome thus
No big-bon'd men fram'd of the Cyclops' size; overborne,
But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back, Troubled, confronted thus; and, for the extent
Yet wrung with wrongs more than our backs can bear; Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt?
And, sith there's no justice in earth nor hell, My lords, you know, as know the mightful gods,
We will solicit heaven, and move the gods However these disturbers of our peace
To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs. Buzz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. But even with law against the wilful sons
[He gives them the arrows] 'Ad Jovem' that's for you; here 'Ad Apollinem.' Of old Andronicus. And what an if
'Ad Martem' that's for myself. His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits,
Here, boy, 'To Pallas'; here 'To Mercury.' Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
'To Saturn,' Caius- not to Saturnine: His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness?
You were as good to shoot against the wind. And now he writes to heaven for his redress.
To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid. See, here's 'To Jove' and this 'To Mercury';
Of my word, I have written to effect; This 'To Apollo'; this 'To the God of War'-
There's not a god left unsolicited. Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome!
MARCUS. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court; What's this but libelling against the Senate,
We will afflict the Emperor in his pride. And blazoning our unjustice every where?
TITUS. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot] O, well said, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo's lap! A goodly humour, is it not, my lords?
Give it Pallas. As who would say in Rome no justice were.
MARCUS. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; But if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Your letter is with Jupiter by this. Shall be no shelter to these outrages;
TITUS. Ha! ha! But he and his shall know that justice lives
Publius, Publius, hast thou done? In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep,
See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. He'll so awake as he in fury shall
MARCUS. This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.
The Bull, being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock TAMORA. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,
That down fell both the Ram's horns in the court; Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts,
And who should find them but the Empress' villain? Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
She laugh'd, and told the Moor he should not choose Th' effects of sorrow for his valiant sons
But give them to his master for a present. Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep and scarr'd his heart; And rather comfort his distressed
TITUS. Why, there it goes! God give his lordship joy! plight
Enter the CLOWN, with a basket and two pigeons in it Than prosecute the meanest or the best
News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. For these contempts. [Aside] Why, thus it shall become High-witted Tamora to gloze with
Sirrah, what tidings? Have you any letters? all.
Shall I have justice? What says Jupiter? But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick,
CLOWN. Ho, the gibbet-maker? He says that he hath taken them down again, for the man Thy life-blood out; if Aaron now be wise,
must Then is all safe, the anchor in the port.
not be hang'd till the next week. TITUS. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee?CLOWN. Alas, sir, I Enter CLOWN
know not Jupiter; I never drank with him in all my life. How now, good fellow! Wouldst thou speak with us?
TITUS. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, an your mistriship be Emperial.TAMORA. Empress I am, but yonder
CLOWN. Ay, of my pigeons, sir; nothing else. sits the Emperor.
TITUS. Why, didst thou not come from heaven? CLOWN. 'Tis he.- God and Saint Stephen give you godden. I have brought you a letter and a
CLOWN. From heaven! Alas, sir, I never came there. God forbid I should be so bold to couple of pigeons here.
press to heaven in my young days. Why, I am going with my pigeons to the Tribunal Plebs, [SATURNINUS reads the letter] SATURNINUS. Go take him away, and hang him presently.
to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the Emperal's men. MARCUS. Why, CLOWN. How much money must I have?
sir, that is as fit as can be to serve for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons TAMORA. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.
to the Emperor from you. TITUS. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the Emperor with a CLOWN. Hang'd! by'r lady, then I have brought up a neck to a fair end. [Exit guarded]
grace? SATURNINUS. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs!
CLOWN. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all my life. TITUS. Sirrah, come Shall I endure this monstrous villainy?
hither. Make no more ado, I know from whence this same device proceeds.
But give your pigeons to the Emperor; May this be borne- as if his traitorous sons
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. That died by law for murder of our brother
Hold, hold! Meanwhile here's money for thy charges. Have by my means been butchered wrongfully?
Give me pen and ink. Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver up a supplication? Go drag the villain hither by the hair;
CLOWN. Ay, sir. Nor age nor honour shall shape privilege.
TITUS. Then here is a supplication for you. And when you come to him, at the first For this proud mock I'll be thy slaughterman,
approach you must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your pigeons; and then look Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
for your reward. I'll be at hand, sir; see you do it bravely. In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.
CLOWN. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. Enter NUNTIUS AEMILIUS
TITUS. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come let me see it. What news with thee, Aemilius?
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration; AEMILIUS. Arm, my lords! Rome never had more cause.
For thou hast made it like a humble suppliant. The Goths have gathered head; and with a power
And when thou hast given it to the Emperor, Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil,
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. They hither march amain, under conduct
CLOWN. God be with you, sir; I will. Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus;
TITUS. Come, Marcus, let us go. Publius, follow me. Exeunt Who threats in course of this revenge to do
SCENE IV. As much as ever Coriolanus did.
Rome. Before the palace SATURNINUS. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths?
Enter the EMPEROR, and the EMPRESS and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON; These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
LORDS and As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.
Ay, now begins our sorrows to approach. ALL THE GOTHS. And as he saith, so say we all with him.
'Tis he the common people love so much; LUCIUS. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
Myself hath often heard them sayWhen But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth?
I have walked like a private manThat Enter a GOTH, leading AARON with his CHILD in his arms
Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, SECOND GOTH. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I stray'd
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. To gaze upon a ruinous monastery;
TAMORA. Why should you fear? Is not your city strong? And as I earnestly did fix mine eye
SATURNINUS. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius, Upon the wasted building, suddenly
And will revolt from me to succour him. I heard a child cry underneath a wall.
TAMORA. King, be thy thoughts imperious like thy name! I made unto the noise, when soon I heard
Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it? The crying babe controll'd with this discourse:
The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 'Peace, tawny slave, half me and half thy dam!
And is not careful what they mean thereby, Did not thy hue bewray whose brat thou art,
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings Had nature lent thee but thy mother's look,
He can at pleasure stint their melody; Villain, thou mightst have been an emperor;
Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome. But where the bull and cow are both milk-white,
Then cheer thy spirit; for know thou, Emperor, They never do beget a coal-black calf.
I will enchant the old Andronicus Peace, villain, peace!'- even thus he rates the babe-
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, 'For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth,
Than baits to fish or honey-stalks to sheep, Who, when he knows thou art the Empress' babe,
When as the one is wounded with the bait, Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.'
The other rotted with delicious feed. With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,
SATURNINUS. But he will not entreat his son for us. Surpris'd him suddenly, and brought him hither
TAMORA. If Tamora entreat him, then he will; To use as you think needful of the man.
For I can smooth and fill his aged ears LUCIUS. O worthy Goth, this is the incarnate devil
With golden promises, that, were his heart That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand;
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, This is the pearl that pleas'd your Empress' eye;
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. And here's the base fruit of her burning lust.
[To AEMILIUS] Go thou before to be our ambassador; Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey
Say that the Emperor requests a parley This growing image of thy fiend-like face?
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting Why dost not speak? What, deaf? Not a word?
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. A halter, soldiers! Hang him on this tree,
SATURNINUS. Aemilius, do this message honourably; And by his side his fruit of bastardy.
And if he stand on hostage for his safety, AARON. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. LUCIUS. Too like the sire for ever being good.
AEMILIUS. Your bidding shall I do effectually. Exit TAMORA. Now will I to that old First hang the child, that he may see it sprawlA
Andronicus, sight to vex the father's soul withal.
And temper him with all the art I have, Get me a ladder.
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. [A ladder brought, which AARON is made to climb] AARON. Lucius, save the child,
And now, sweet Emperor, be blithe again, And bear it from me to the Emperess.
And bury all thy fear in my devices. If thou do this, I'll show thee wondrous things
SATURNINUS. Then go successantly, and plead to him. That highly may advantage thee to hear;
Exeunt<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED I'll speak no more but 'Vengeance rot you all!'
BY PROJECT LUCIUS. Say on; an if it please me which thou speak'st,
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd.AARON. An if it please thee! Why, assure thee,
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Lucius,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak;
YOUR OR OTHERS For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Complots of mischief, treason, villainies,
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd;
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> And this shall all be buried in my death,
ACT V. SCENE I. Unless thou swear to me my child shall live.
Plains near Rome LUCIUS. Tell on thy mind; I say thy child shall live.
Enter LUCIUS with an army of GOTHS with drums and colours AARON. Swear that he shall, and then I will begin.
LUCIUS. Approved warriors and my faithful friends, LUCIUS. Who should I swear by? Thou believest no god;
I have received letters from great Rome That granted, how canst thou believe an oath?
Which signifies what hate they bear their Emperor AARON. What if I do not? as indeed I do not;
And how desirous of our sight they are. Yet, for I know thou art religious
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, And hast a thing within thee called conscience,
Imperious and impatient of your wrongs; With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies
And wherein Rome hath done you any scath, Which I have seen thee careful to observe,
Let him make treble satisfaction. Therefore I urge thy oath. For that I know
FIRST GOTH. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andronicus, Whose name was once our terror, An idiot holds his bauble for a god,
now our comfort, And keeps the oath which by that god he swears,
Whose high exploits and honourable deeds To that I'll urge him. Therefore thou shalt vow
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, By that same god- what god soe'er it be
Be bold in us: we'll follow where thou lead'st, That thou adorest and hast in reverenceTo
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, save my boy, to nourish and bring him up;
Led by their master to the flow'red fields, Or else I will discover nought to thee.
And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. LUCIUS. Even by my god I swear to thee I will.
AARON. First know thou, I begot him on the Empress. Willing you to demand your hostages,
LUCIUS. O most insatiate and luxurious woman! And they shall be immediately deliver'd.
AARON. Tut, Lucius, this was but a deed of charity FIRST GOTH. What says our general?
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon. LUCIUS. Aemilius, let the Emperor give his pledges
'Twas her two sons that murdered Bassianus; Unto my father and my uncle Marcus.
They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, And we will come. March away. Exeunt
And cut her hands, and trimm'd her as thou sawest. SCENE II.
LUCIUS. O detestable villain! Call'st thou that trimming? AARON. Why, she was wash'd, and Rome. Before TITUS' house
cut, and trimm'd, and 'twas Trim sport for them which had the doing of it. Enter TAMORA, and her two sons, DEMETRIUS and CHIRON, disguised
LUCIUS. O barbarous beastly villains like thyself! TAMORA. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,
AARON. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them. I will encounter with Andronicus,
That codding spirit had they from their mother, And say I am Revenge, sent from below
As sure a card as ever won the set; To join with him and right his heinous wrongs.
That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, Knock at his study, where they say he keeps
As true a dog as ever fought at head. To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. Tell him Revenge is come to join with him,
I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole And work confusion on his enemies.
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay; They knock and TITUS opens his study door, above
I wrote the letter that thy father found, TITUS. Who doth molest my contemplation?
And hid the gold within that letter mention'd, Is it your trick to make me ope the door,
Confederate with the Queen and her two sons; That so my sad decrees may fly away
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, And all my study be to no effect?
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? You are deceiv'd; for what I mean to do
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand, See here in bloody lines I have set down;
And, when I had it, drew myself apart And what is written shall be executed.
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. TAMORA. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.
I pried me through the crevice of a wall, TITUS. No, not a word. How can I grace my talk,
When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads; Wanting a hand to give it that accord?
Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily Thou hast the odds of me; therefore no more.
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his; TAMORA. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk with me. TITUS. I am not mad, I know
And when I told the Empress of this sport, thee well enough:
She swooned almost at my pleasing tale, Witness this wretched stump, witness these crimson lines; Witness these trenches made by
And for my tidings gave me twenty kisses. grief and care;
GOTH. What, canst thou say all this and never blush? Witness the tiring day and heavy night;
AARON. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. Witness all sorrow that I know thee well
LUCIUS. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? For our proud Empress, mighty Tamora.
AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Is not thy coming for my other hand?
Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think, TAMORA. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora:
Few come within the compass of my curseWherein She is thy enemy and I thy friend.
I did not some notorious ill; I am Revenge, sent from th' infernal kingdom
As kill a man, or else devise his death; To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind
Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; Come down and welcome me to this world's light;
Set deadly enmity between two friends; Confer with me of murder and of death;
Make poor men's cattle break their necks; There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place,
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, No vast obscurity or misty vale,
And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Where bloody murder or detested rape
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, Can couch for fear but I will find them out;
And set them upright at their dear friends' door And in their ears tell them my dreadful nameRevenge,
Even when their sorrows almost was forgot, which makes the foul offender quake.TITUS. Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, To be a torment to mine enemies?
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' TAMORA. I am; therefore come down and welcome me.
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things TITUS. Do me some service ere I come to thee.
As willingly as one would kill a fly; Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stands;
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed Now give some surance that thou art RevengeStab
But that I cannot do ten thousand more. them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels;
LUCIUS. Bring down the devil, for he must not die And then I'll come and be thy waggoner
So sweet a death as hanging presently. And whirl along with thee about the globes.
AARON. If there be devils, would I were a devil, Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as jet,
To live and burn in everlasting fire, To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,
So I might have your company in hell And find out murderers in their guilty caves;
But to torment you with my bitter tongue! And when thy car is loaden with their heads,
LUCIUS. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no more. I will dismount, and by thy waggon wheel
Enter AEMILIUS Trot, like a servile footman, all day long,
GOTH. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome Even from Hyperion's rising in the east
Desires to be admitted to your presence. Until his very downfall in the sea.
LUCIUS. Let him come near. And day by day I'll do this heavy task,
Welcome, Aemilius. What's the news from Rome? So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.
AEMILIUS. Lord Lucius, and you Princes of the Goths, TAMORA. These are my ministers, and come with me.
The Roman Emperor greets you all by me; TITUS. Are they thy ministers? What are they call'd?
And, for he understands you are in arms, TAMORA. Rape and Murder; therefore called so
He craves a parley at your father's house, 'Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men.
TITUS. Good Lord, how like the Empress' sons they are! Or else I'll call my brother back again,
And you the Empress! But we worldly men And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. TAMORA. [Aside to her sons] What say you, boys? Will you abide
O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee; with him,
And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, Whiles I go tell my lord the Emperor
I will embrace thee in it by and by. How I have govern'd our determin'd jest?
TAMORA. This closing with him fits his lunacy. Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair,
Whate'er I forge to feed his brain-sick humours, And tarry with him till I turn again.
Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, TITUS. [Aside] I knew them all, though they suppos'd me mad, And will o'er reach them in
For now he firmly takes me for Revenge; their own devices,
And, being credulous in this mad thought, A pair of cursed hell-hounds and their dam.
I'll make him send for Lucius his son, DEMETRIUS. Madam, depart at pleasure; leave us here.
And whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, TAMORA. Farewell, Andronicus, Revenge now goes
I'll find some cunning practice out of hand To lay a complot to betray thy foes.
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, TITUS. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, farewell.
Or, at the least, make them his enemies. Exit TAMORA CHIRON. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd?
See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. TITUS. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.
Enter TITUS, below Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine.
TITUS. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee. Enter PUBLIUS, CAIUS, and VALENTINE
Welcome, dread Fury, to my woeful house. PUBLIUS. What is your will?
Rapine and Murder, you are welcome too. TITUS. Know you these two?
How like the Empress and her sons you are! PUBLIUS. The Empress' sons, I take them: Chiron, Demetrius. TITUS. Fie, Publius, fie!
Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor. thou art too much deceiv'd.
Could not all hell afford you such a devil? The one is Murder, and Rape is the other's name;
For well I wot the Empress never wags And therefore bind them, gentle PubliusCaius
But in her company there is a Moor; and Valentine, lay hands on them.
And, would you represent our queen aright, Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,
It were convenient you had such a devil. And now I find it; therefore bind them sure,
But welcome as you are. What shall we do? And stop their mouths if they begin to cry. Exit
TAMORA. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus? [They lay hold on CHIRON and DEMETRIUS]
DEMETRIUS. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. CHIRON. Villains, forbear! we are the Empress' sons.
CHIRON. Show me a villain that hath done a rape, PUBLIUS. And therefore do we what we are commanded.
And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word.
TAMORA. Show me a thousand that hath done thee wrong, Is he sure bound? Look that you bind them fast.
And I will be revenged on them all. Re-enter TITUS ANDRONICUS
TITUS. Look round about the wicked streets of Rome, with a knife, and LAVINIA, with a basin
And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, TITUS. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are bound.
Good Murder, stab him; he's a murderer. Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me;
Go thou with him, and when it is thy hap But let them hear what fearful words I utter.
To find another that is like to thee, O villains, Chiron and Demetrius!
Good Rapine, stab him; he is a ravisher. Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with mud;
Go thou with them; and in the Emperor's court This goodly summer with your winter mix'd.
There is a queen, attended by a Moor; You kill'd her husband; and for that vile fault
Well shalt thou know her by thine own proportion, Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death,
For up and down she doth resemble thee. My hand cut off and made a merry jest;
I pray thee, do on them some violent death; Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear
They have been violent to me and mine. Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,
TAMORA. Well hast thou lesson'd us; this shall we do. Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd.What would you say, if I should let you speak?
But would it please thee, good Andronicus, Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
To send for Lucius, thy thrice-valiant son, Hark, wretches! how I mean to martyr you.
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths, This one hand yet is left to cut your throats,
And bid him come and banquet at thy house; Whiles that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,I will bring in the Empress and her sons, The basin that receives your guilty blood.
The Emperor himself, and all thy foes; You know your mother means to feast with me,
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, And calls herself Revenge, and thinks me mad.
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. Hark, villains! I will grind your bones to dust,
What says Andronicus to this device? And with your blood and it I'll make a paste;
TITUS. Marcus, my brother! 'Tis sad Titus calls. And of the paste a coffin I will rear,
Enter MARCUS And make two pasties of your shameful heads;
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; And bid that strumpet, your unhallowed dam,
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths. Like to the earth, swallow her own increase.
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him This is the feast that I have bid her to,
Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths; And this the banquet she shall surfeit on;
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are. For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter,
Tell him the Emperor and the Empress too And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd.
Feast at my house, and he shall feast with them. And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come,
This do thou for my love; and so let him, Receive the blood; and when that they are dead,
As he regards his aged father's life. Let me go grind their bones to powder small,
MARCUS. This will I do, and soon return again. Exit TAMORA. Now will I hence about thy And with this hateful liquor temper it;
business, And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd.
And take my ministers along with me. Come, come, be every one officious
TITUS. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me, To make this banquet, which I wish may prove
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. TITUS. Why, there they are, both baked in this pie,
[He cuts their throats] So. Whereof their mother daintily hath fed,
Now bring them in, for I will play the cook, Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred.
And see them ready against their mother comes. 'Tis true, 'tis true: witness my knife's sharp point.
Exeunt, bearing the dead bodies [He stabs the EMPRESS] SATURNINUS. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed!
SCENE III. [He stabs TITUS] LUCIUS. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?
The court of TITUS' house There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.
Enter Lucius, MARCUS, and the GOTHS, with AARON prisoner, [He stabs SATURNINUS. A great tumult. LUCIUS,
and his CHILD in the arms of an attendant MARCUS, and their friends go up into the balcony]
LUCIUS. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind MARCUS. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of Rome,
That I repair to Rome, I am content. By uproars sever'd, as a flight of fowl
FIRST GOTH. And ours with thine, befall what fortune will. LUCIUS. Good uncle, take you Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts?
in this barbarous Moor, O, let me teach you how to knit again
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil; This scattered corn into one mutual sheaf,
Let him receive no sust'nance, fetter him, These broken limbs again into one body;
Till he be brought unto the Empress' face Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself,
For testimony of her foul proceedings. And she whom mighty kingdoms curtsy to,
And see the ambush of our friends be strong; Like a forlorn and desperate castaway,
I fear the Emperor means no good to us. Do shameful execution on herself.
AARON. Some devil whisper curses in my ear, But if my frosty signs and chaps of age,
And prompt me that my tongue may utter forth Grave witnesses of true experience,
The venomous malice of my swelling heart! Cannot induce you to attend my words,
LUCIUS. Away, inhuman dog, unhallowed slave! [To Lucius] Speak, Rome's dear friend, as erst our ancestor, When with his solemn tongue
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. he did discourse
Exeunt GOTHS with AARON. Flourish within The trumpets show the Emperor is at hand. To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear
Sound trumpets. Enter SATURNINUS and The story of that baleful burning night,
TAMORA, with AEMILIUS, TRIBUNES, SENATORS, and others When subtle Greeks surpris'd King Priam's Troy.
SATURNINUS. What, hath the firmament more suns than one? Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,
LUCIUS. What boots it thee to can thyself a sun? Or who hath brought the fatal engine in
MARCUS. Rome's Emperor, and nephew, break the parle; That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.
These quarrels must be quietly debated. My heart is not compact of flint nor steel;
The feast is ready which the careful Titus Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,
Hath ordain'd to an honourable end, But floods of tears will drown my oratory
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome. And break my utt'rance, even in the time
Please you, therefore, draw nigh and take your places. When it should move ye to attend me most,
SATURNINUS. Marcus, we will. And force you to commiseration.
[A table brought in. The company sit down] Here's Rome's young Captain, let him tell the tale;
Trumpets sounding, enter TITUS While I stand by and weep to hear him speak.
like a cook, placing the dishes, and LAVINIA LUCIUS. Then, gracious auditory, be it known to you
with a veil over her face; also YOUNG LUCIUS, and others That Chiron and the damn'd Demetrius
TITUS. Welcome, my lord; welcome, dread Queen; Were they that murd'red our Emperor's brother;
Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius;And welcome all. Although the cheer be poor, And they it were that ravished our sister.For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded,
'Twill fill your stomachs; please you eat of it. Our father's tears despis'd, and basely cozen'd
SATURNINUS. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? Of that true hand that fought Rome's quarrel out
TITUS. Because I would be sure to have all well And sent her enemies unto the grave.
To entertain your Highness and your Empress. Lastly, myself unkindly banished,
TAMORA. We are beholding to you, good Andronicus. The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,
TITUS. An if your Highness knew my heart, you were. To beg relief among Rome's enemies;
My lord the Emperor, resolve me this: Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears,
Was it well done of rash Virginius And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend.
To slay his daughter with his own right hand, I am the turned forth, be it known to you,
Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflower'd? That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood
SATURNINUS. It was, Andronicus. And from her bosom took the enemy's point,
TITUS. Your reason, mighty lord. Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body.
SATURNINUS. Because the girl should not survive her shame, And by her presence still Alas! you know I am no vaunter, I;
renew his sorrows. My scars can witness, dumb although they are,
TITUS. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; That my report is just and full of truth.
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant But, soft! methinks I do digress too much,
For me, most wretched, to perform the like. Citing my worthless praise. O, pardon me!
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee; [He kills her] And with thy shame thy For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.
father's sorrow die! MARCUS. Now is my turn to speak. Behold the child.
SATURNINUS. What hast thou done, unnatural and unkind? [Pointing to the CHILD in an attendant's arms] Of this was Tamora delivered,
TITUS. Kill'd her for whom my tears have made me blind. The issue of an irreligious Moor,
I am as woeful as Virginius was, Chief architect and plotter of these woes.
And have a thousand times more cause than he The villain is alive in Titus' house,
To do this outrage; and it now is done. Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true.
SATURNINUS. What, was she ravish'd? Tell who did the deed. TITUS. Will't please you eat? Now judge what cause had Titus to revenge
Will't please your Highness feed? TAMORA. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter thus? These wrongs unspeakable, past patience,
TITUS. Not I; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius. Or more than any living man could bear.
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue; Now have you heard the truth: what say you, Romans?
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. Have we done aught amiss, show us wherein,
SATURNINUS. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. And, from the place where you behold us pleading,
The poor remainder of Andronici <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
Will, hand in hand, all headlong hurl ourselves, SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
And on the ragged stones beat forth our souls, BY PROJECT
And make a mutual closure of our house. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
Speak, Romans, speak; and if you say we shall, ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
AEMILIUS. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, YOUR OR OTHERS
And bring our Emperor gently in thy hand, PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
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MARCUS. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house, 1602
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor THE HISTORY OF TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
To be adjudg'd some direful slaught'ring death, by William Shakespeare
As punishment for his most wicked life. Exeunt some DRAMATIS PERSONAE
attendants. LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend ALL. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious PRIAM, King of Troy
governor! His sons:
LUCIUS. Thanks, gentle Romans! May I govern so HECTOR
To heal Rome's harms and wipe away her woe! TROILUS
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, PARIS
For nature puts me to a heavy task. DEIPHOBUS
Stand all aloof; but, uncle, draw you near HELENUS
To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. MARGARELON, a bastard son of Priam
O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. [Kisses TITUS] These sorrowful drops upon Trojan commanders:
thy blood-stain'd face, AENEAS
The last true duties of thy noble son! ANTENOR
MARCUS. Tear for tear and loving kiss for kiss CALCHAS, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks
Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips. PANDARUS, uncle to Cressida
O, were the sum of these that I should pay AGAMEMNON, the Greek general
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! MENELAUS, his brother
LUCIUS. Come hither, boy; come, come, come, and learn of us To melt in showers. Thy Greek commanders:
grandsire lov'd thee well; ACHILLES
Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, AJAX
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; ULYSSES
Many a story hath he told to thee, NESTOR
And bid thee bear his pretty tales in mind DIOMEDES
And talk of them when he was dead and gone. PATROCLUS
MARCUS. How many thousand times hath these poor lips, THERSITES, a deformed and scurrilous Greek
When they were living, warm'd themselves on thine! ALEXANDER, servant to CressidaSERVANT to Troilus
O, now, sweet boy, give them their latest kiss! SERVANT to Paris
Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; SERVANT to Diomedes
Do them that kindness, and take leave of them. HELEN, wife to Menelaus
BOY. O grandsire, grandsire! ev'n with all my heart ANDROMACHE, wife to Hector
Would I were dead, so you did live again! CASSANDRA, daughter to Priam, a prophetess
O Lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping;My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. CRESSIDA, daughter to Calchas
Re-enter attendants with AARON Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants
A ROMAN. You sad Andronici, have done with woes; SCENE:
Give sentence on the execrable wretch Troy and the Greek camp before it
That hath been breeder of these dire events. PROLOGUE
LUCIUS. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him; TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
There let him stand and rave and cry for food. PROLOGUE
If any one relieves or pities him, In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
For the offence he dies. This is our doom. The princes orgillous, their high blood chaf'd,
Some stay to see him fast'ned in the earth. Have to the port of Athens sent their ships
AARON. Ah, why should wrath be mute and fury dumb? Fraught with the ministers and instruments
I am no baby, I, that with base prayers Of cruel war. Sixty and nine that wore
I should repent the evils I have done; Their crownets regal from th' Athenian bay
Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did Put forth toward Phrygia; and their vow is made
Would I perform, if I might have my will. To ransack Troy, within whose strong immures
If one good deed in all my life I did, The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen,
I do repent it from my very soul. With wanton Paris sleeps-and that's the quarrel.
LUCIUS. Some loving friends convey the Emperor hence, To Tenedos they come,
And give him burial in his father's grave. And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
My father and Lavinia shall forthwith Their war-like fraughtage. Now on Dardan plains
Be closed in our household's monument. The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch
As for that ravenous tiger, Tamora, Their brave pavilions: Priam's six-gated city,
No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weed, Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chetas, Troien,
No mournful bell shall ring her burial; And Antenorides, with massy staples
But throw her forth to beasts and birds to prey. And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Her life was beastly and devoid of pity, Sperr up the sons of Troy.
And being dead, let birds on her take pity. Exeunt Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits
THE END On one and other side, Troyan and Greek,
Sets all on hazard-and hither am I come The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
A Prologue arm'd, but not in confidence Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me,
Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love her;
In like conditions as our argument, But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils, The knife that made it.
Beginning in the middle; starting thence away, PANDARUS. I speak no more than truth.
To what may be digested in a play. TROILUS. Thou dost not speak so much.
Like or find fault; do as your pleasures are; PANDARUS. Faith, I'll not meddle in it. Let her be as she is: if she be fair, 'tis the
Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. better for her; an she be not, she has the mends in her own hands.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM TROILUS. Good Pandarus! How now, Pandarus!
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED PANDARUS. I have had my labour for my travail, ill thought on of her and ill thought on
BY PROJECT of you; gone between and between, but small thanks for my labour.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. TROILUS. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? What, with me?
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE PANDARUS. Because she's kin to me, therefore she's not so fair as Helen. An she were not
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR kin to me, she would be as fair a Friday as Helen is on Sunday. But what care I? I care
YOUR OR OTHERS not an she were a blackamoor; 'tis all one to me.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED TROILUS. Say I she is not fair?
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY PANDARUS. I do not care whether you do or no. She's a fool to stay behind her father. Let
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR her to the Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her. For my part, I'll meddle
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> nor make no more i' th' matter.
ACT I. SCENE 1. TROILUS. Pandarus!
Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace PANDARUS. Not I.
Enter TROILUS armed, and PANDARUS TROILUS. Sweet Pandarus!
TROILUS. Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again. PANDARUS. Pray you, speak no more to me: I will leave all as I found it, and there an
Why should I war without the walls of Troy end. Exit. Sound alarum TROILUS. Peace, you ungracious clamours! Peace, rude sounds!
That find such cruel battle here within? Fools on both sides! Helen must needs be fair,
Each Troyan that is master of his heart, When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
Let him to field; Troilus, alas, hath none! I cannot fight upon this argument;
PANDARUS. Will this gear ne'er be mended? It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
TROILUS. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength, Fierce to their skill, and But Pandarus-O gods, how do you plague me!
to their fierceness valiant; But I am weaker than a woman's tear, I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar;
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo
Less valiant than the virgin in the night, As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
And skilless as unpractis'd infancy. Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love,
PANDARUS. Well, I have told you enough of this; for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?
farther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat must needs tarry the grinding.TROILUS. Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl;
Have I not tarried? Between our Ilium and where she resides
PANDARUS. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting. TROILUS. Have I not tarried? Let it be call'd the wild and wand'ring flood;
PANDARUS. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening. TROILUS. Still have I Ourself the merchant, and this sailing Pandar
tarried. Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
PANDARUS. Ay, to the leavening; but here's yet in the word 'hereafter' the kneading, the Alarum. Enter AENEASAENEAS. How now, Prince Troilus! Wherefore not afield?
making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the TROILUS. Because not there. This woman's answer sorts,
cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips. For womanish it is to be from thence.
TROILUS. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, What news, Aeneas, from the field to-day?
Doth lesser blench at suff'rance than I do. AENEAS. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
At Priam's royal table do I sit; TROILUS. By whom, Aeneas?
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughtsSo, AENEAS. Troilus, by Menelaus.
traitor, then she comes when she is thence. TROILUS. Let Paris bleed: 'tis but a scar to scorn;
PANDARUS. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum] AENEAS. Hark what good sport is out of town
else. to-day!
TROILUS. I was about to tell thee: when my heart, TROILUS. Better at home, if 'would I might' were 'may.'
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain, But to the sport abroad. Are you bound thither?
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, AENEAS. In all swift haste.
I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, TROILUS. Come, go we then together. Exeunt
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile. ACT I. SCENE 2.
But sorrow that is couch'd in seeming gladness Troy. A street
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. Enter CRESSIDA and her man ALEXANDER
PANDARUS. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's- well, go to- there were no CRESSIDA. Who were those went by?
more comparison between the women. But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as ALEXANDER. Queen Hecuba and Helen.
they term it, praise her, but I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I CRESSIDA. And whither go they?
will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; butTROILUS. O Pandarus! I tell thee, ALEXANDER. Up to the eastern tower,
PandarusWhen Whose height commands as subject all the vale,
I do tell thee there my hopes lie drown'd, To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Reply not in how many fathoms deep Is as a virtue fix'd, to-day was mov'd.
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee I am mad He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer;
In Cressid's love. Thou answer'st 'She is fair'- And, like as there were husbandry in war,
Pourest in the open ulcer of my heartHer Before the sun rose he was harness'd light,
eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice, And to the field goes he; where every flower
Handlest in thy discourse. O, that her hand, Did as a prophet weep what it foresaw
In whose comparison all whites are ink In Hector's wrath.
Writing their own reproach; to whose soft seizure CRESSIDA. What was his cause of anger?
ALEXANDER. The noise goes, this: there is among the Greeks A lord of Troyan blood, nephew
to Hector;
They call him Ajax.
CRESSIDA. Good; and what of him?
ALEXANDER. They say he is a very man per se,
And stands alone.
CRESSIDA. So do all men, unless they are drunk, sick, or have no legs.
ALEXANDER. This man, lady, hath robb'd many beasts of their particular additions: he is
as valiant as a lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant-a man into whom nature
hath so crowded humours that his valour is crush'd into folly, his folly sauced with
discretion. There is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a glimpse of, nor any man an
attaint but he carries some stain of it; he is melancholy without cause and merry against
the hair; he hath the joints of every thing; but everything so out of joint that he is a
gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.
CRESSIDA. But how should this man, that makes me smile, make Hector
angry?
ALEXANDER. They say he yesterday cop'd Hector in the battle and struck him down, the
disdain and shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and waking.
Enter PANDARUS
CRESSIDA. Who comes here?
ALEXANDER. Madam, your uncle Pandarus.
CRESSIDA. Hector's a gallant man.
ALEXANDER. As may be in the world, lady.
PANDARUS. What's that? What's that?
CRESSIDA. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
PANDARUS. Good morrow, cousin Cressid. What do you talk of?- Good morrow, Alexander.-
How
do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? CRESSIDA. This morning, uncle.
PANDARUS. What were you talking of when I came? Was Hector arm'd and gone ere you
came to
Ilium? Helen was not up, was she? CRESSIDA. Hector was gone; but Helen was not up.
PANDARUS. E'en so. Hector was stirring early.
CRESSIDA. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
PANDARUS. Was he angry?
CRESSIDA. So he says here.
PANDARUS. True, he was so; I know the cause too; he'll lay about him today, I can tell
them that. And there's Troilus will not come far behind him; let them take heed of
Troilus, I can tell them that too.
CRESSIDA. What, is he angry too?
PANDARUS. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man of the two. CRESSIDA. O Jupiter!
there's no comparison.
PANDARUS. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do you know a man if you see him?
CRESSIDA. Ay, if I ever saw him before and knew him.PANDARUS. Well, I say Troilus is
Troilus.
CRESSIDA. Then you say as I say, for I am sure he is not Hector. PANDARUS. No, nor Hector
is not Troilus in some degrees.
CRESSIDA. 'Tis just to each of them: he is himself.
PANDARUS. Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! I would he were!
CRESSIDA. So he is.
PANDARUS. Condition I had gone barefoot to India.
CRESSIDA. He is not Hector.
PANDARUS. Himself! no, he's not himself. Would 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above;
time must friend or end. Well, Troilus, well! I would my heart were in her body! No,
Hector is not a better man than Troilus.
CRESSIDA. Excuse me.
PANDARUS. He is elder.
CRESSIDA. Pardon me, pardon me.
PANDARUS. Th' other's not come to't; you shall tell me another tale when th' other's come
to't. Hector shall not have his wit this year.
CRESSIDA. He shall not need it if he have his own.
PANDARUS. Nor his qualities.
CRESSIDA. No matter.
PANDARUS. Nor his beauty.
CRESSIDA. 'Twould not become him: his own's better.
PANDARUS. YOU have no judgment, niece. Helen herself swore th' other day that Troilus,
for a brown favour, for so 'tis, I must confess- not brown neitherCRESSIDA.
No, but brown.
PANDARUS. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
CRESSIDA. To say the truth, true and not true.
PANDARUS. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
CRESSIDA. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
PANDARUS. So he has.
CRESSIDA. Then Troilus should have too much. If she prais'd him above, his complexion is
higher than his; he having colour enough, and the other higher, is too flaming praise for
a good complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus for a copper
nose.
PANDARUS. I swear to you I think Helen loves him better than Paris. CRESSIDA. Then she's
a merry Greek indeed.
PANDARUS. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him th' other day into the compass'd
window-and you know he has not past three or four hairs on his chinCRESSIDA.
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 chinCRESSIDA.
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 TroilusCRESSIDA.
Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove it so.
PANDARUS. Troilus! Why, he esteems her no more than I esteem an addle egg.
CRESSIDA. If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat
chickens i' th' shell.
PANDARUS. I cannot choose but laugh to think how she tickled his chin. Indeed, she has a
marvell's white hand, I must needs confess.
CRESSIDA. Without the rack.
PANDARUS. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair on his chin. CRESSIDA. Alas, poor
chin! Many a wart is richer.
PANDARUS. But there was such laughing! Queen Hecuba laugh'd that her eyes ran o'er.
CRESSIDA. With millstones.
PANDARUS. And Cassandra laugh'd.
CRESSIDA. But there was a more temperate fire under the pot of her eyes. Did her eyes run
o'er too?
PANDARUS. And Hector laugh'd.
CRESSIDA. At what was all this laughing?
PANDARUS. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied on Troilus' chin.
CRESSIDA. An't had been a green hair I should have laugh'd too. PANDARUS. They laugh'd
not so much at the hair as at his pretty answer.
CRESSIDA. What was his answer?
PANDARUS. Quoth she 'Here's but two and fifty hairs on your chin, and one of them is
white.'
CRESSIDA. This is her question.
PANDARUS. That's true; make no question of that. 'Two and fifty hairs,' quoth he 'and one
white. That white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons.' 'Jupiter!' quoth she
'which of these hairs is Paris my husband?' 'The forked one,' quoth he, 'pluck't out and
give it him.' But there was such laughing! and Helen so blush'd, and Paris so chaf'd; andall the
rest so laugh'd that it pass'd.
CRESSIDA. So let it now; for it has been a great while going by. PANDARUS. Well, cousin,
I told you a thing yesterday; think on't. CRESSIDA. So I do.
PANDARUS. I'll be sworn 'tis true; he will weep you, and 'twere a man born in April.
CRESSIDA. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a nettle against May. [Sound a
retreat] PANDARUS. Hark! they are coming from the field. Shall we stand up here and see
them as they pass toward Ilium? Good niece, do, sweet niece Cressida.
CRESSIDA. At your pleasure.
PANDARUS. Here, here, here's an excellent place; here we may see most bravely. I'll tell
you them all by their names as they pass by; but mark Troilus above the rest.
AENEAS passes
CRESSIDA. Speak not so loud.
PANDARUS. That's Aeneas. Is not that a brave man? He's one of the flowers of Troy, I can
tell you. But mark Troilus; you shall see anon.
ANTENOR passes
CRESSIDA. Who's that?
PANDARUS. That's Antenor. He has a shrewd wit, I can tell you; and he's a man good
enough; he's one o' th' soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of
person. When comes Troilus? I'll show you Troilus anon. If he see me, you shall see him
nod at me.
CRESSIDA. Will he give you the nod?
PANDARUS. You shall see.
CRESSIDA. If he do, the rich shall have more.
HECTOR passes Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.
PANDARUS. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that; there's a fellow! Go thy way, That she belov'd knows nought that knows not this:
Hector! There's a brave man, niece. O brave Hector! Look how he looks. There's a Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is.
countenance! Is't not a brave man? That she was never yet that ever knew
CRESSIDA. O, a brave man! Love got so sweet as when desire did sue;
PANDARUS. Is 'a not? It does a man's heart good. Look you what hacks are on his helmet! Therefore this maxim out of love I teach:
Look you yonder, do you see? Look you there. There's no jesting; there's laying on; Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech.
take't off who will, as they say. There be hacks. Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
CRESSIDA. Be those with swords? Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. Exit
PANDARUS. Swords! anything, he cares not; an the devil come to him, it's all one. By ACT I. SCENE 3.
God's lid, it does one's heart good. Yonder comes Paris, yonder comes Paris. The Grecian camp. Before AGAMEMNON'S tent
PARIS passes Sennet. Enter AGAMEMNON, NESTOR, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, MENELAUS, and others
Look ye yonder, niece; is't not a gallant man too, is't not? Why, this is brave now. Who AGAMEMNON. Princes,
said he came hurt home to-day? He's not hurt. Why, this will do Helen's heart good now, What grief hath set these jaundies o'er your cheeks?
ha! Would I could see Troilus now! You shall see Troilus anon. The ample proposition that hope makes
HELENUS passes In all designs begun on earth below
CRESSIDA. Who's that? Fails in the promis'd largeness; checks and disasters
PANDARUS. That's Helenus. I marvel where Troilus is. That's Helenus. I think he went not Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd,
forth to-day. That's Helenus. CRESSIDA. Can Helenus fight, uncle? As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
PANDARUS. Helenus! no. Yes, he'll fight indifferent well. I marvel where Troilus is. Infects the sound pine, and diverts his grain
Hark! do you not hear the people cry 'Troilus'? Helenus is a priest. Tortive and errant from his course of growth.
CRESSIDA. What sneaking fellow comes yonder? Nor, princes, is it matter new to us
TROILUS passes That we come short of our suppose so far
PANDARUS. Where? yonder? That's Deiphobus. 'Tis Troilus. There's a man, niece. Hem! That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls stand;
Brave Sith every action that hath gone before,
Troilus, the prince of chivalry! CRESSIDA. Peace, for shame, peace! Whereof we have record, trial did draw
PANDARUS. Mark him; note him. O brave Troilus! Look well upon him, niece; look you how Bias and thwart, not answering the aim,
his sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than Hector's; and how he looks, and how And that unbodied figure of the thought
he goes! O admirable youth! he never saw three and twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes,
way. Had I a sister were a grace or a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works
admirable man! Paris? Paris is dirt to him; and, I warrant, Helen, to change, would give And call them shames, which are, indeed, nought else
an eye to boot. But the protractive trials of great Jove
CRESSIDA. Here comes more. To find persistive constancy in men;
Common soldiers pass The fineness of which metal is not found
PANDARUS. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff and bran! porridge after meat! I In fortune's love? For then the bold and coward,
could live and die in the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look; the eagles are gone. The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
Crows and daws, crows and daws! I had rather be such a man as Troilus than Agamemnon The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin.
and But in the wind and tempest of her frown
all Greece. Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
CRESSIDA. There is amongst the Greeks Achilles, a better man than Troilus. Puffing at all, winnows the light away;
PANDARUS. Achilles? A drayman, a porter, a very camel! And what hath mass or matter by itself
CRESSIDA. Well, well. Lies rich in virtue and unmingled.
PANDARUS. Well, well! Why, have you any discretion? Have you any eyes? Do you know NESTOR. With due observance of thy godlike seat,Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
what aman is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance
virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man? CRESSIDA. Lies the true proof of men. The sea being smooth,
Ay, a minc'd man; and then to be bak'd with no date in the pie, for then the man's date How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
is out. Upon her patient breast, making their way
PANDARUS. You are such a woman! A man knows not at what ward you lie. With those of nobler bulk!
CRESSIDA. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
secrecy, to defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty; and you, to defend all The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
these; and at all these wards I lie at, at a thousand watches. The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut,
PANDARUS. Say one of your watches. Bounding between the two moist elements
CRESSIDA. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's one of the chiefest of them too. If I Like Perseus' horse. Where's then the saucy boat,
cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how I took the blow; Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
unless it swell past hiding, and then it's past watching Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled
PANDARUS. You are such another! Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Enter TROILUS' BOY Doth valour's show and valour's worth divide
BOY. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. In storms of fortune; for in her ray and brightness
PANDARUS. Where? The herd hath more annoyance by the breeze
BOY. At your own house; there he unarms him. Than by the tiger; but when the splitting wind
PANDARUS. Good boy, tell him I come. Exit Boy I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
niece. And flies fled under shade-why, then the thing of courage As rous'd with rage, with rage
CRESSIDA. Adieu, uncle. doth sympathise,
PANDARUS. I will be with you, niece, by and by. And with an accent tun'd in self-same key
CRESSIDA. To bring, uncle. Retorts to chiding fortune.
PANDARUS. Ay, a token from Troilus. ULYSSES. Agamemnon,
CRESSIDA. By the same token, you are a bawd. Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Exit PANDARUS Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit
He offers in another's enterprise; In whom the tempers and the minds of all
But more in Troilus thousand-fold I see Should be shut up-hear what Ulysses speaks.
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be, Besides the applause and approbation
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing:
The which, [To AGAMEMNON] most mighty, for thy place and sway, [To NESTOR] And, thou Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
most Of pale and bloodless emulation.
reverend, for thy stretch'd-out life, I give to both your speeches- which were such And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
Should hold up high in brass; and such again Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, NESTOR. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle-tree The fever whereof all our power is sick.
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish ears AGAMEMNON. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
To his experienc'd tongue-yet let it please both, What is the remedy?
Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. ULYSSES. The great Achilles, whom opinion crowns
AGAMEMNON. Speak, Prince of Ithaca; and be't of less expect That matter needless, of The sinew and the forehand of our host,
importless burden, Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Divide thy lips than we are confident, Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws, Lies mocking our designs; with him Patroclus
We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. Upon a lazy bed the livelong day
ULYSSES. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, Breaks scurril jests;
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, And with ridiculous and awkward actionWhich,
But for these instances: slanderer, he imitation callsHe
The specialty of rule hath been neglected; pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
And look how many Grecian tents do stand Thy topless deputation he puts on;
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. And like a strutting player whose conceit
When that the general is not like the hive, Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To whom the foragers shall all repair, To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldageSuch
Th' unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, He acts thy greatness in; and when he speaks
Observe degree, priority, and place, 'Tis like a chime a-mending; with terms unsquar'd,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd,
Office, and custom, in all line of order; Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling,
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause;
Amidst the other, whose med'cinable eye Cries 'Excellent! 'tis Agamemnon just.
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard,
And posts, like the commandment of a king, As he being drest to some oration.'
Sans check, to good and bad. But when the planets That's done-as near as the extremest ends
In evil mixture to disorder wander, Of parallels, as like Vulcan and his wife;
What plagues and what portents, what mutiny, Yet god Achilles still cries 'Excellent!
What raging of the sea, shaking of earth, 'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patroclus,
Commotion in the winds! Frights, changes, horrors, Arming to answer in a night alarm.'
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate, And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
The unity and married calm of states Must be the scene of mirth: to cough and spit
Quite from their fixture! O, when degree is shak'd, And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget,
Which is the ladder of all high designs, Shake in and out the rivet. And at this sport
The enterprise is sick! How could communities, Sir Valour dies; cries 'O, enough, Patroclus;
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, Or give me ribs of steel! I shall split all
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fashion
The primogenity and due of birth, All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, Severals and generals of grace exact,
But by degree, stand in authentic place? Achievements, plots, orders, preventions,
Take but degree away, untune that string,And hark what discord follows! Each thing melts Excitements to the field or speech for truce,
In mere oppugnancy: the bounded waters Success or loss, what is or is not, serves
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
And make a sop of all this solid globe; NESTOR. And in the imitation of these twainWho,
Strength should be lord of imbecility, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
And the rude son should strike his father dead; With an imperial voice-many are infect.Ajax is grown self-will'd and bears his head
Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrongBetween In such a rein, in full as proud a place
whose endless jar justice residesShould As broad Achilles; keeps his tent like him;
lose their names, and so should justice too. Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war
Then everything includes itself in power, Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites,
Power into will, will into appetite; A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint,
And appetite, an universal wolf, To match us in comparisons with dirt,
So doubly seconded with will and power, To weaken and discredit our exposure,
Must make perforce an universal prey, How rank soever rounded in with danger.
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, ULYSSES. They tax our policy and call it cowardice,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate, Count wisdom as no member of the war,
Follows the choking. Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
And this neglection of degree it is But that of hand. The still and mental parts
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose That do contrive how many hands shall strike
It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd When fitness calls them on, and know, by measure
By him one step below, he by the next, Of their observant toil, the enemies' weightWhy,
That next by him beneath; so ever step, this hath not a finger's dignity:
Exampl'd by the first pace that is sick They call this bed-work, mapp'ry, closet-war;
So that the ram that batters down the wall, Shall make it good or do his best to do it:
For the great swinge and rudeness of his poise, He hath a lady wiser, fairer, truer,
They place before his hand that made the engine, Than ever Greek did couple in his arms;
Or those that with the fineness of their souls And will to-morrow with his trumpet call
By reason guide his execution. Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy
NESTOR. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse To rouse a Grecian that is true in love.
Makes many Thetis' sons. [Tucket] AGAMEMNON. What trumpet? Look, Menelaus. If any come, Hector shall honour him;
MENELAUS. From Troy. If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires,
Enter AENEAS The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not worth
AGAMEMNON. What would you fore our tent? The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
AENEAS. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I pray you? AGAMEMNON. This shall be told our lovers, Lord Aeneas.
AGAMEMNON. Even this. If none of them have soul in such a kind,
AENEAS. May one that is a herald and a prince We left them all at home. But we are soldiers;
Do a fair message to his kingly eyes? And may that soldier a mere recreant prove
AGAMEMNON. With surety stronger than Achilles' an That means not, hath not, or is not in love.
Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice If then one is, or hath, or means to be,
Call Agamemnon head and general. That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he.
AENEAS. Fair leave and large security. How may NESTOR. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
A stranger to those most imperial looks When Hector's grandsire suck'd. He is old now;
Know them from eyes of other mortals? But if there be not in our Grecian mould
AGAMEMNON. How? One noble man that hath one spark of fire
AENEAS. Ay; To answer for his love, tell him from me
I ask, that I might waken reverence, I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn,
Modest as Morning when she coldly eyes And, meeting him, will tell him that my lady
The youthful Phoebus. Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste
Which is that god in office, guiding men? As may be in the world. His youth in flood,
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon? I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood.
AGAMEMNON. This Troyan scorns us, or the men of Troy AENEAS. Now heavens forfend such scarcity of youth!
Are ceremonious courtiers. ULYSSES. Amen.
AENEAS. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd, AGAMEMNON. Fair Lord Aeneas, let me touch your hand;
As bending angels; that's their fame in peace. To our pavilion shall I lead you, first.
But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, Achilles shall have word of this intent;
Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's accord, Nothing so full of heart. But So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent.
peace, Aeneas, Yourself shall feast with us before you go,
Peace, Troyan; lay thy finger on thy lips. And find the welcome of a noble foe.
The worthiness of praise distains his worth, Exeunt all but ULYSSES and NESTOR ULYSSES. Nestor!
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth; NESTOR. What says Ulysses?
But what the repining enemy commends, ULYSSES. I have a young conception in my brain;
That breath fame blows; that praise, sole pure, transcends. AGAMEMNON. Sir, you of Troy, Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
call you yourself Aeneas? NESTOR. What is't?
AENEAS. Ay, Greek, that is my name. ULYSSES. This 'tis:
AGAMEMNON. What's your affair, I pray you? Blunt wedges rive hard knots. The seeded pride
AENEAS. Sir, pardon; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. That hath to this maturity blown up
AGAMEMNON. He hears nought privately that comes from Troy. AENEAS. Nor I from Troy In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd
come Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil
not to whisper with him; To overbulk us all.
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, NESTOR. Well, and how?
To set his sense on the attentive bent, ULYSSES. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends,
And then to speak. However it is spread in general name,
AGAMEMNON. Speak frankly as the wind; Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour. NESTOR. True. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance Whose grossness little
That thou shalt know, Troyan, he is awake, characters sum up;
He tells thee so himself. And, in the publication, make no strain
AENEAS. Trumpet, blow loud, But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; As banks of Libya-though, Apollo knows,
And every Greek of mettle, let him know 'Tis dry enough-will with great speed of judgment,
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke aloud.[Sound trumpet] We have, great Agamemnon, Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
here in Troy Pointing on him.
A prince called Hector-Priam is his fatherWho ULYSSES. And wake him to the answer, think you?
in this dull and long-continued truce NESTOR. Why, 'tis most meet. Who may you else oppose
Is resty grown; he bade me take a trumpet That can from Hector bring those honours off,
And to this purpose speak: Kings, princes, lords! If not Achilles? Though 't be a sportful combat,Yet in this trial much opinion dwells;
If there be one among the fair'st of Greece For here the Troyans taste our dear'st repute
That holds his honour higher than his ease, With their fin'st palate; and trust to me, Ulysses,
That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril, Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd
That knows his valour and knows not his fear, In this vile action; for the success,
That loves his mistress more than in confession Although particular, shall give a scantling
With truant vows to her own lips he loves, Of good or bad unto the general;
And dare avow her beauty and her worth And in such indexes, although small pricks
In other arms than hers-to him this challenge. To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
Hector, in view of Troyans and of Greeks, The baby figure of the giant mas
Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd thou? A red murrain o' thy jade's tricks!
He that meets Hector issues from our choice; AJAX. Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, THERSITES. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou strikest me thus? AJAX. The
Makes merit her election, and doth boil, proclamation!
As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd THERSITES. Thou art proclaim'd, a fool, I think.
Out of our virtues; who miscarrying, AJAX. Do not, porpentine, do not; my fingers itch.
What heart receives from hence a conquering part, THERSITES. I would thou didst itch from head to foot and I had the scratching of thee; I
To steel a strong opinion to themselves? would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth in the incursions,
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, thou strikest as slow as another.
In no less working than are swords and bows AJAX. I say, the proclamation.
Directive by the limbs. THERSITES. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of
ULYSSES. Give pardon to my speech. envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty-ay, that thou bark'st at him.
Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. AJAX. Mistress Thersites!
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares THERSITES. Thou shouldst strike him.
And think perchance they'll sell; if not, the lustre AJAX. Cobloaf!
Of the better yet to show shall show the better, THERSITES. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit.
By showing the worst first. Do not consent AJAX. You whoreson cur! [Strikes him] THERSITES. Do, do.
That ever Hector and Achilles meet; AJAX. Thou stool for a witch!
For both our honour and our shame in this THERSITES. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witted lord! Thou hast no more brain than I have in
Are dogg'd with two strange followers. mine elbows; an assinico may tutor thee. You scurvy valiant ass! Thou art here but to
NESTOR. I see them not with my old eyes. What are they? thrash Troyans, and thou art bought and sold among those of any wit like a barbarian
ULYSSES. What glory our Achilles shares from Hector, slave. If thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel and tell what thou art by inches,
Were he not proud, we all should wear with him; thou thing of no bowels, thou! AJAX. You dog!
But he already is too insolent; THERSITES. You scurvy lord!
And it were better parch in Afric sun AJAX. You cur! [Strikes him] THERSITES. Mars his idiot! Do, rudeness; do, camel; do, do.
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS
Should he scape Hector fair. If he were foil'd, ACHILLES. Why, how now, Ajax! Wherefore do you thus?
Why, then we do our main opinion crush How now, Thersites! What's the matter, man?
In taint of our best man. No, make a lott'ry; THERSITES. You see him there, do you?
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw ACHILLES. Ay; what's the matter?
The sort to fight with Hector. Among ourselves THERSITES. Nay, look upon him.
Give him allowance for the better man; ACHILLES. So I do. What's the matter?
For that will physic the great Myrmidon, THERSITES. Nay, but regard him well.
Who broils in loud applause, and make him fall ACHILLES. Well! why, so I do.
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. THERSITES. But yet you look not well upon him; for who some ever you take him to be, he
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, is Ajax.
We'll dress him up in voices; if he fail, ACHILLES. I know that, fool.
Yet go we under our opinion still THERSITES. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
That we have better men. But, hit or miss, AJAX. Therefore I beat thee.
Our project's life this shape of sense assumesAjax THERSITES. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he utters! His evasions have ears thus
employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. long. I have bobb'd his brain more than he has beat my bones. I will buy nine sparrows
NESTOR. Now, Ulysses, I begin to relish thy advice; for a penny, and his pia mater is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord,
And I will give a taste thereof forthwith Achilles, Ajax-who wears his wit in his belly and his guts in his head-I'll tell you what
To Agamemnon. Go we to him straight. I say of him.
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone ACHILLES. What?
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. Exeunt THERSITES. I say this Ajax- [AJAX offers to strike him] ACHILLES. Nay, good Ajax.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM THERSITES. Has not so much witACHILLES.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Nay, I must hold you.
BY PROJECT THERSITES. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for whom he comes to fight.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. ACHILLES. Peace, fool.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE THERSITES. I would have peace and quietness, but the fool will nothe there; that he; look
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR you there.
YOUR OR OTHERS AJAX. O thou damned cur! I shallACHILLES.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Will you set your wit to a fool's?
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY THERSITES. No, I warrant you, the fool's will shame it.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR PATROCLUS. Good words, Thersites.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> ACHILLES. What's the quarrel?
ACT II. SCENE 1. AJAX. I bade the vile owl go learn me the tenour of the
The Grecian camp proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Enter Ajax and THERSITES THERSITES. I serve thee not.
AJAX. Thersites! AJAX. Well, go to, go to.
THERSITES. Agamemnon-how if he had boils full, an over, generally? AJAX. Thersites! THERSITES. I serve here voluntary.
THERSITES. And those boils did run-say so. Did not the general run then? Were not that a ACHILLES. Your last service was suff'rance; 'twas not voluntary. No man is beaten
botchy core? voluntary. Ajax was here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.
AJAX. Dog! THERSITES. E'en so; a great deal of your wit too lies in your sinews, or else there be
THERSITES. Then there would come some matter from him; liars. Hector shall have a great catch an he knock out either of your brains: 'a were as
I see none now. good crack a fusty nut with no kernel.
AJAX. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear? Feel, then.[Strikes him] THERSITES. The ACHILLES. What, with me too, Thersites?
plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord! THERSITES. There's Ulysses and old Nestor-whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires had
AJAX. Speak, then, thou whinid'st leaven, speak. I will beat thee into handsomeness. nails on their toes-yoke you like draught oxen, and make you plough up the wars.
THERSITES. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness; but I think thy horse will ACHILLES. What, what?
sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book. Thou canst strike, canst THERSITES. Yes, good sooth. To Achilles, to Ajax, toAJAX.I shall cut out your tongue.
THERSITES. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as thou TROILUS. What's aught but as 'tis valued?
afterwards. HECTOR. But value dwells not in particular will:It holds his estimate and dignity
PATROCLUS. No more words, Thersites; peace! As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
THERSITES. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach bids me, shall I? As in the prizer. 'Tis mad idolatry
ACHILLES. There's for you, Patroclus. To make the service greater than the god-I
THERSITES. I will see you hang'd like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents. I will And the will dotes that is attributive
keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. Exit PATROCLUS. A good To what infectiously itself affects,
riddance. Without some image of th' affected merit.
ACHILLES. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all our host, That Hector, by the fifth TROILUS. I take to-day a wife, and my election
hour of the sun, Is led on in the conduct of my will;
Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy, My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears,
To-morrow morning, call some knight to arms Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
That hath a stomach; and such a one that dare Of will and judgment: how may I avoid,
Maintain I know not what; 'tis trash. Farewell. Although my will distaste what it elected,
AJAX. Farewell. Who shall answer him? The wife I chose? There can be no evasion
ACHILLES. I know not; 'tis put to lott'ry. Otherwise. He knew his man. To blench from this and to stand firm by honour.
AJAX. O, meaning you! I will go learn more of it. Exeunt We turn not back the silks upon the merchant
ACT II. SCENE 2. When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands
Troy. PRIAM'S palace We do not throw in unrespective sieve,
Enter PRIAM, HECTOR, TROILUS, PARIS, and HELENUS Because we now are full. It was thought meet
PRIAM. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent, Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks;
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: Your breath with full consent benied his sails;
'Deliver Helen, and all damage elseAs The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a truce,
honour, loss of time, travail, expense, And did him service. He touch'd the ports desir'd;
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held captive
In hot digestion of this cormorant warShall He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and freshness
be struck off.' Hector, what say you to't? Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morning.
HECTOR. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, Why keep we her? The Grecians keep our aunt.
As far as toucheth my particular, Is she worth keeping? Why, she is a pearl
Yet, dread Priam, Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
There is no lady of more softer bowels, And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants.
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear, If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris wentAs
More ready to cry out 'Who knows what follows?' you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go'-
Than Hector is. The wound of peace is surety, If you'll confess he brought home worthy prizeAs
Surety secure; but modest doubt is call'd you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands,
The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches And cried 'Inestimable!' -why do you now
To th' bottom of the worst. Let Helen go. The issue of your proper wisdoms rate,
Since the first sword was drawn about this question, And do a deed that never fortune didBeggar
Every tithe soul 'mongst many thousand dismes the estimation which you priz'd
Hath been as dear as Helen-I mean, of ours. Richer than sea and land? O theft most base,
If we have lost so many tenths of ours That we have stol'n what we do fear to keep!
To guard a thing not ours, nor worth to us, But thieves unworthy of a thing so stol'n
Had it our name, the value of one ten, That in their country did them that disgrace
What merit's in that reason which denies We fear to warrant in our native place!
The yielding of her up? CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans, cry.
TROILUS. Fie, fie, my brother! PRIAM. What noise, what shriek is this?
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king, TROILUS. 'Tis our mad sister; I do know her voice.
So great as our dread father's, in a scale CASSANDRA. [Within] Cry, Troyans.
Of common ounces? Will you with counters sum HECTOR. It is Cassandra.
The past-proportion of his infinite, Enter CASSANDRA, raving
And buckle in a waist most fathomless CASSANDRA. Cry, Troyans, cry. Lend me ten thousand eyes,
With spans and inches so diminutive And I will fill them with prophetic tears.
As fears and reasons? Fie, for godly shame! HECTOR. Peace, sister, peace.
HELENUS. No marvel though you bite so sharp at reasons, CASSANDRA. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrinkled eld,
You are so empty of them. Should not our father Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry,
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, Add to my clamours. Let us pay betimes
Because your speech hath none that tells him so? A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
TROILUS. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest; You fur your gloves with Cry, Troyans, cry. Practise your eyes with tears.
reason. Here are your reasons: You know an enemy intends you harm; Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand;
You know a sword employ'd is perilous, Our firebrand brother, Paris, burns us all.
And reason flies the object of all harm. Cry, Troyans, cry, A Helen and a woe!
Who marvels, then, when Helenus beholds Cry, cry. Troy burns, or else let Helen go. Exit HECTOR. Now, youthful Troilus, do not
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set these high strains
The very wings of reason to his heels Of divination in our sister work
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, Some touches of remorse, or is your blood
Or like a star disorb'd? Nay, if we talk of reason, So madly hot that no discourse of reason,
Let's shut our gates and sleep. Manhood and honour Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their thoughts With this cramm'd reason. Can qualify the same?
Reason and respect TROILUS. Why, brother Hector,
Make livers pale and lustihood deject. We may not think the justness of each act
HECTOR. Brother, she is not worth what she doth, cost Such and no other than event doth form it;
The keeping. Nor once deject the courage of our minds
Because Cassandra's mad. Her brain-sick raptures TROILUS. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design.
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel Were it not glory that we more affected
Which hath our several honours all engag'd Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
To make it gracious. For my private part, I would not wish a drop of Troyan blood
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons;And Jove forbid there should be done amongst us Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen She is a theme of honour and renown,
To fight for and maintain. A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds,
PARIS. Else might the world convince of levity Whose present courage may beat down our foes,
As well my undertakings as your counsels; And fame in time to come canonize us;
But I attest the gods, your full consent For I presume brave Hector would not loseSo rich advantage of a promis'd glory
Gave wings to my propension, and cut of As smiles upon the forehead of this action
All fears attending on so dire a project. For the wide world's revenue.
For what, alas, can these my single arms? HECTOR. I am yours,
What propugnation is in one man's valour You valiant offspring of great Priamus.
To stand the push and enmity of those I have a roisting challenge sent amongst
This quarrel would excite? Yet, I protest, The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks
Were I alone to pass the difficulties, Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits.
And had as ample power as I have will, I was advertis'd their great general slept,
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done Whilst emulation in the army crept.
Nor faint in the pursuit. This, I presume, will wake him. Exeunt
PRIAM. Paris, you speak ACT II. SCENE 3.
Like one besotted on your sweet delights. The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES
You have the honey still, but these the gall; Enter THERSITES, solus
So to be valiant is no praise at all. THERSITES. How now, Thersites! What, lost in the labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the
PARIS. Sir, I propose not merely to myself elephant Ajax carry it thus? He beats me, and I rail at him. O worthy satisfaction! Would
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it; it were otherwise: that I could beat him, whilst he rail'd at me! 'Sfoot, I'll learn to
But I would have the soil of her fair rape conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations. Then
Wip'd off in honourable keeping her. there's Achilles, a rare engineer! If Troy be not taken till these two undermine it, the
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, walls will stand till they fall of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus,
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, forget that thou art Jove, the king of gods, and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft
Now to deliver her possession up of thy caduceus, if ye take not that little little less-than-little wit from them that
On terms of base compulsion! Can it be they have! which short-arm'd ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will not in
That so degenerate a strain as this circumvention deliver a fly from a spider without drawing their massy irons and cutting
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? the web. After this, the vengeance on the whole camp! or, rather, the Neapolitan
There's not the meanest spirit on our party bone-ache! for that, methinks, is the curse depending on those that war for a placket. I
Without a heart to dare or sword to draw have said my prayers; and devil Envy say 'Amen.' What ho! my Lord Achilles!
When Helen is defended; nor none so noble Enter PATROCLUS
Whose life were ill bestow'd or death unfam'd PATROCLUS. Who's there? Thersites! Good Thersites, come in and rail.
Where Helen is the subject. Then, I say, THERSITES. If I could 'a rememb'red a gilt counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipp'd out
Well may we fight for her whom we know well of my contemplation; but it is no matter; thyself upon thyself! The common curse of
The world's large spaces cannot parallel. mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! Heaven bless thee from a tutor,
HECTOR. Paris and Troilus, you have both said well; and discipline come not near thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy death. Then if
And on the cause and question now in hand she that lays thee out says thou art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't she
Have gloz'd, but superficially; not much never shrouded any but lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles?
Unlike young men, whom Aristode thought PATROCLUS. What, art thou devout? Wast thou in prayer?
Unfit to hear moral philosophy. THERSITES. Ay, the heavens hear me!
The reasons you allege do more conduce PATROCLUS. Amen.
To the hot passion of distemp'red blood Enter ACHILLES
Than to make up a free determination ACHILLES. Who's there?
'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge PATROCLUS. Thersites, my lord.
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice ACHILLES. Where, where? O, where? Art thou come? Why, my cheese, my digestion, why
Of any true decision. Nature craves hast
All dues be rend'red to their owners. Now, thou not served thyself in to my table so many meals? Come, what's Agamemnon?
What nearer debt in all humanity THERSITES. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell me, Patroclus, what's Achilles?
Than wife is to the husband? If this law PATROCLUS. Thy lord, Thersites. Then tell me, I pray thee, what's Thersites?
Of nature be corrupted through affection; THERSITES. Thy knower, Patroclus. Then tell me, Patroclus, what art thou?
And that great minds, of partial indulgence PATROCLUS. Thou must tell that knowest.
To their benumbed wills, resist the same; ACHILLES. O, tell, tell,
There is a law in each well-order'd nation THERSITES. I'll decline the whole question. Agamemnon commands Achilles; Achilles is my
To curb those raging appetites that are lord; I am Patroclus' knower; and Patroclus is a fool.
Most disobedient and refractory. PATROCLUS. You rascal!
If Helen, then, be wife to Sparta's kingAs THERSITES. Peace, fool! I have not done.
it is known she is-these moral laws ACHILLES. He is a privileg'd man. Proceed, Thersites.
Of nature and of nations speak aloud THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool; Achilles is a fool; Thersites is a fool; and, as
To have her back return'd. Thus to persist aforesaid, Patroclus is a fool.
In doing wrong extenuates not wrong, ACHILLES. Derive this; come.
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion THERSITES. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be
Is this, in way of truth. Yet, ne'er the less, commanded of Agamemnon; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool; and this Patroclus is a
My spritely brethren, I propend to you fool positive. PATROCLUS. Why am I a fool?
In resolution to keep Helen still; THERSITES. Make that demand of the Creator. It suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence here?
Upon our joint and several dignities. ACHILLES. Come, Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. Come in with me, Thersites. Exit
THERSITES. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and such knavery. All the argument is a AJAX. Will you subscribe his thought and say he is?
whore and a cuckold-a good quarrel to draw emulous factions and bleed to death upon. Now AGAMEMNON. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much
the dry serpigo on the subject, and war and lechery confound all! Exit more gentle, and altogether more tractable. AJAX. Why should a man be proud? How doth
Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, pride grow? I know not what pride is.
AJAX, and CALCHASAGAMEMNON. Where is Achilles? AGAMEMNON. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer. He that is proud
PATROCLUS. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and
AGAMEMNON. Let it be known to him that we are here. whateverpraises itself but in the deed devours the deed in the praise.
He shent our messengers; and we lay by Re-enter ULYSSES
Our appertainings, visiting of him. AJAX. I do hate a proud man as I do hate the engend'ring of toads. NESTOR. [Aside] And
Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think yet he loves himself: is't not strange? ULYSSES. Achilles will not to the field
We dare not move the question of our place to-morrow.
Or know not what we are. AGAMEMNON. What's his excuse?
PATROCLUS. I shall say so to him. Exit ULYSSES. We saw him at the opening of his tent. ULYSSES. He doth rely on none;
He is not sick. But carries on the stream of his dispose,
AJAX. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart. You may call it melancholy, if you will favour Without observance or respect of any,
the man; but, by my head, 'tis pride. But why, why? Let him show us a cause. A word, my In will peculiar and in self-admission.
lord. AGAMEMNON. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
[Takes AGAMEMNON aside] NESTOR. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him? Untent his person and share the air with us?
ULYSSES. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. ULYSSES. Things small as nothing, for request's sake only, He makes important; possess'd
NESTOR.Who, Thersites? he is with greatness,
ULYSSES. He. And speaks not to himself but with a pride
NESTOR. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost his argument ULYSSES. No; you see he That quarrels at self-breath. Imagin'd worth
is his argument that has his argumentAchilles. Holds in his blood such swol'n and hot discourse
NESTOR. All the better; their fraction is more our wish than their faction. But it was a That 'twixt his mental and his active parts
strong composure a fool could disunite! ULYSSES. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages,
may easily untie. And batters down himself. What should I say?
Re-enter PATROCLUS He is so plaguy proud that the death tokens of it
Here comes Patroclus. Cry 'No recovery.'
NESTOR. No Achilles with him. AGAMEMNON. Let Ajax go to him.
ULYSSES. The elephant hath joints, but none for courtesy; his legs are legs for Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent.
necessity, not for flexure. 'Tis said he holds you well; and will be led
PATROCLUS. Achilles bids me say he is much sorry At your request a little from himself.
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure ULYSSES. O Agamemnon, let it not be so!
Did move your greatness and this noble state We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
To call upon him; he hopes it is no other When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord
But for your health and your digestion sake, That bastes his arrogance with his own seam
An after-dinner's breath. And never suffers matter of the world
AGAMEMNON. Hear you, Patroclus. Enter his thoughts, save such as doth revolve
We are too well acquainted with these answers; And ruminate himself-shall he be worshipp'd
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, Of that we hold an idol more than he?
Cannot outfly our apprehensions. No, this thrice-worthy and right valiant lord
Much attribute he hath, and much the reason Shall not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd,
Why we ascribe it to him. Yet all his virtues, Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit,
Not virtuously on his own part beheld, As amply titled as Achilles is,
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss; By going to Achilles.
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, That were to enlard his fat-already pride,
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him And add more coals to Cancer when he burns
We come to speak with him; and you shall not sin With entertaining great Hyperion.
If you do say we think him over-proud This lord go to him! Jupiter forbid,
And under-honest, in self-assumption greater And say in thunder 'Achilles go to him.'
Than in the note of judgment; and worthier than himself Here tend the savage strangeness NESTOR. [Aside] O, this is well! He rubs the vein of him. DIOMEDES. [Aside] And how his
he puts on, silence drinks up this applause! AJAX. If I go to him, with my armed fist I'll pash him
Disguise the holy strength of their command, o'er the face.
And underwrite in an observing kind AGAMEMNON. O, no, you shall not go.
His humorous predominance; yea, watch AJAX. An 'a be proud with me I'll pheeze his pride.
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if Let me go to him.
The passage and whole carriage of this action ULYSSES. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel.
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and ad AJAX. A paltry, insolent fellow!
That if he overhold his price so much NESTOR. [Aside] How he describes himself!
We'll none of him, but let him, like an engine AJAX. Can he not be sociable?
Not portable, lie under this report: ULYSSES. [Aside] The raven chides blackness.
Bring action hither; this cannot go to war. AJAX. I'll let his humours blood.
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give AGAMEMNON. [Aside] He will be the physician that should be the patient.
Before a sleeping giant. Tell him so. AJAX. An all men were a my mindULYSSES.
PATROCLUS. I shall, and bring his answer presently. Exit AGAMEMNON. In second voice [Aside] Wit would be out of fashion.
we'll AJAX. 'A should not bear it so, 'a should eat's words first. Shall pride carry it?
not be satisfied; NESTOR. [Aside] An 'twould, you'd carry half.
We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter you. ULYSSES. [Aside] 'A would have ten shares.
Exit ULYSSES AJAX. What is he more than another? AJAX. I will knead him, I'll make him supple.
AGAMEMNON. No more than what he thinks he is. NESTOR. [Aside] He's not yet through warm. Force him with praises; pour in, pour in; his
AJAX. Is he so much? Do you not think he thinks himself a better man than I am? ambition is dry.
AGAMEMNON. No question. ULYSSES. [To AGAMEMNON] My lord, you feed too much on this dislike. NESTOR. Our noble
general, do not do so. SERVANT. Wholly, sir.
DIOMEDES. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. PANDARUS. Who play they to?
ULYSSES. Why 'tis this naming of him does him harm. SERVANT. To the hearers, sir.
Here is a man-but 'tis before his face; PANDARUS. At whose pleasure, friend?
I will be silent. SERVANT. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music.
NESTOR. Wherefore should you so? PANDARUS. Command, I mean, friend.
He is not emulous, as Achilles is. SERVANT. Who shall I command, sir?
ULYSSES. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. PANDARUS. Friend, we understand not one another: I am to courtly, and thou art too
AJAX. A whoreson dog, that shall palter with us thus! cunning. At whose request do these men play? SERVANT. That's to't, indeed, sir. Marry,
Would he were a Troyan!NESTOR. What a vice were it in Ajax nowULYSSES. sir, at the request of Paris my lord, who is there in person; with him the mortal Venus,
If he were proud. the heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soulPANDARUS.
DIOMEDES. Or covetous of praise. Who, my cousin, Cressida?
ULYSSES. Ay, or surly borne. SERVANT. No, sir, Helen. Could not you find out that by her attributes?
DIOMEDES. Or strange, or self-affected. PANDARUS. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to
ULYSSES. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure Praise him that gat thee, speak with Paris from the Prince Troilus; I will make a complimental assault upon him,for my
she that gave thee suck; business seethes.
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature SERVANT. Sodden business! There's a stew'd phrase indeed!
Thrice-fam'd beyond, beyond all erudition; Enter PARIS and HELEN, attended
But he that disciplin'd thine arms to fightLet PANDARUS. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair company! Fair desires, in all
Mars divide eternity in twain fair measure, fairly guide them- especially to you, fair queen! Fair thoughts be your
And give him half; and, for thy vigour, fair pillow.
Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield HELEN. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, PANDARUS. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. Fair prince, here is good broken
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines music.
Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Nestor, PARIS. You have broke it, cousin; and by my life, you shall make it whole again; you
Instructed by the antiquary timesHe shall piece it out with a piece of your performance.
must, he is, he cannot but be wise; HELEN. He is full of harmony.
But pardon, father Nestor, were your days PANDARUS. Truly, lady, no.
As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd, HELEN. O, sirPANDARUS.
You should not have the eminence of him, Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude.
But be as Ajax. PARIS. Well said, my lord. Well, you say so in fits.
AJAX. Shall I call you father? PANDARUS. I have business to my lord, dear queen. My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word?
NESTOR. Ay, my good son. HELEN. Nay, this shall not hedge us out. We'll hear you sing, certainlyPANDARUS.
DIOMEDES. Be rul'd by him, Lord Ajax. Well sweet queen, you are pleasant with me. But, marry,
ULYSSES. There is no tarrying here; the hart Achilles thus, my lord: my dear lord and most esteemed friend, your brother TroilusHELEN.
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general My Lord Pandarus, honey-sweet lordPANDARUS.
To call together all his state of war; Go to, sweet queen, go to-commends himself most
Fresh kings are come to Troy. To-morrow affectionately to youHELEN.
We must with all our main of power stand fast; You shall not bob us out of our melody. If you do, our
And here's a lord-come knights from east to west melancholy upon your head!
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. PANDARUS. Sweet queen, sweet queen; that's a sweet queen, i' faith. HELEN. And to make a
AGAMEMNON. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep. sweet lady sad is a sour offence.
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. Exeunt PANDARUS. Nay, that shall not serve your turn; that shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM care not for such words; no, no. -And, my lord, he desires you that, if the King call for
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED him at supper, you will make his excuse.
BY PROJECT HELEN. My Lord Pandarus!
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. PANDARUS. What says my sweet queen, my very very sweet queen? PARIS. What exploit's
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE in
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR hand? Where sups he to-night?
YOUR OR OTHERS HELEN. Nay, but, my lordPANDARUS.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED What says my sweet queen?-My cousin will fall out with
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY you.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR HELEN. You must not know where he sups.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> PARIS. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
ACT III. SCENE 1. PANDARUS. No, no, no such matter; you are wide. Come, your disposer is sick.
Troy. PRIAM'S palace PARIS. Well, I'll make's excuse.
Music sounds within. Enter PANDARUS and a SERVANT PANDARUS. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say Cressida?
PANDARUS. Friend, you-pray you, a word. Do you not follow the young Lord Paris? No, your poor disposer's sick.
SERVANT. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. PARIS. I spy.
PANDARUS. You depend upon him, I mean? PANDARUS. You spy! What do you spy?-Come, give me an instrument. Now, sweet queen.
SERVANT. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. HELEN. Why, this is kindly done.
PANDARUS. You depend upon a notable gentleman; I must needs praise him. PANDARUS. My niece is horribly in love with a thing you have, sweet queen.
SERVANT. The lord be praised! HELEN. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my Lord Paris. PANDARUS. He! No, she'll
PANDARUS. You know me, do you not? none of him; they two are twain. HELEN. Falling in, after falling out, may make them
SERVANT. Faith, sir, superficially. three. PANDARUS. Come, come. I'll hear no more of this; I'll sing you a song now.
PANDARUS. Friend, know me better: I am the Lord Pandarus. SERVANT. I hope I shall know HELEN. Ay, ay, prithee now. By my troth, sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.
your honour better. PANDARUS. Ay, you may, you may.
PANDARUS. I do desire it. HELEN. Let thy song be love. This love will undo us all. O Cupid, Cupid, Cupid!
SERVANT. You are in the state of grace. PANDARUS. Love! Ay, that it shall, i' faith.
PANDARUS. Grace! Not so, friend; honour and lordship are my titles. What music is this? PARIS. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
SERVANT. I do but partly know, sir; it is music in parts. PANDARUS. Know you the PANDARUS. In good troth, it begins so. [Sings]
musicians? Love, love, nothing but love, still love, still more!
For, oh, love's bow My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse,
Shoots buck and doe; And all my powers do their bestowing lose,
The shaft confounds Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring
Not that it wounds, The eye of majesty.
But tickles still the sore. Re-enter PANDARUS With CRESSIDA
These lovers cry, O ho, they die! PANDARUS. Come, come, what need you blush? Shame's a baby.-Here she is now; swear
Yet that which seems the wound to kill the
Doth turn O ho! to ha! ha! he! oaths now to her that you have sworn to me.- What, are you gone again? You must be
So dying love lives still. watch'd ere you be made tame, must you? Come your ways, come your ways; an you draw
O ho! a while, but ha! ha! ha! backward, we'll put you i' th' fills.-Why do you not speak to her?-Come, draw this
O ho! groans out for ha! ha! ha!-hey ho! curtain and let's see your picture. Alas the day, how loath you are to offend daylight!
HELEN. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. An 'twere dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress How now, a kissin
PARIS. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets fee-farm! Build there, carpenter; the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts
hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love. out ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for all the ducks i' th' river. Go to, go
PANDARUS. Is this the generation of love: hot blood, hot thoughts, and hot deeds? Why,they to.
are vipers. Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, who's a-field today? TROILUS. You have bereft me of all words, lady.
PARIS. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and all the gallantry of Troy. I would fain PANDARUS. Words pay no debts, give her deeds; but she'll bereave you o' th' deeds too, if
have arm'd to-day, but my Nell would not have it so. How chance my brother Troilus went she call your activity in question. What, billing again? Here's 'In witness whereof the
not? parties interchangeably.' Come in, come in; I'll go get a fire. Exit
HELEN. He hangs the lip at something. You know all, Lord Pandarus. PANDARUS. Not I, CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord?
honey-sweet queen. I long to hear how they spend to-day. You'll remember your brother's TROILUS. O Cressid, how often have I wish'd me thus!
excuse? CRESSIDA. Wish'd, my lord! The gods grant-O my lord!
PARIS. To a hair. TROILUS. What should they grant? What makes this pretty abruption? What too curious dreg
PANDARUS. Farewell, sweet queen. espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our love?
HELEN. Commend me to your niece. CRESSIDA. More dregs than water, if my fears have eyes.
PANDARUS. I will, sweet queen. Exit. Sound a retreat PARIS. They're come from the field. TROILUS. Fears make devils of cherubims; they never see truly. CRESSIDA. Blind fear, that
Let us to Priam's hall To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you seeing reason leads, finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling without fear. To
To help unarm our Hector. His stubborn buckles, fear the worst oft cures the worse.
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, TROILUS. O, let my lady apprehend no fear! In all Cupid's pageant there is presented no
Shall more obey than to the edge of steel monster.
Or force of Greekish sinews; you shall do more CRESSIDA. Nor nothing monstrous neither?
Than all the island kings-disarm great Hector. TROILUS. Nothing, but our undertakings when we vow to weep seas, live in fire, cat rocks,
HELEN. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris; tame tigers; thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imposition enough than for us
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty to undergo any difficulty imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady, that the will
Gives us more palm in beauty than we have, is infinite, and the execution confin'd; that the desire is boundless, and the act a
Yea, overshines ourself. slave to limit.
PARIS. Sweet, above thought I love thee. Exeunt CRESSIDA. They say all lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve
ACT III. SCENE 2. an ability that they never perform; vowing more than the perfection of ten, and
Troy. PANDARUS' orchard discharging less than the tenth part of one. They that have the voice of lions and the
Enter PANDARUS and TROILUS' BOY, meeting act of hares, are they not monsters?
PANDARUS. How now! Where's thy master? At my cousin Cressida's? BOY. No, sir; he stays TROILUS. Are there such? Such are not we. Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we
for you to conduct him thither. prove; our head shall go bare till merit crown it. No perfection in reversion shall have
Enter TROILUS a praise in present. We will not name desert before his birth; and, being born, his
PANDARUS. O, here he comes. How now, how now! addition shall be humble. Few words to fair faith: Troilus shall be such to Cressid as
TROILUS. Sirrah, walk off. Exit Boy PANDARUS. Have you seen my cousin? what envy can say worst shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can speak truest
TROILUS. No, Pandarus. I stalk about her door not truer than Troilus.
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks CRESSIDA. Will you walk in, my lord?
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, Re-enter PANDARUS
And give me swift transportance to these fields PANDARUS. What, blushing still? Have you not done talking yet? CRESSIDA. Well, uncle,
Where I may wallow in the lily beds what folly I commit, I dedicate to you. PANDARUS. I thank you for that; if my lord get a
Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandar, boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to my lord; if he flinch, chide me for it.
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, TROILUS. You know now your hostages: your uncle's word and my firm faith.
And fly with me to Cressid! PANDARUS. Nay, I'll give my word for her too: our kindred, though they be long ere they
PANDARUS. Walk here i' th' orchard, I'll bring her straight. are wooed, they are constant being won; they are burs, I can tell you; they'll stick
Exit where they are thrown.
TROILUS. I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. CRESSIDA. Boldness comes to me now and brings me heart.
Th' imaginary relish is so sweet Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day
That it enchants my sense; what will it be For many weary months.
When that the wat'ry palate tastes indeed TROILUS. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win?
Love's thrice-repured nectar? Death, I fear me; CRESSIDA. Hard to seem won; but I was won, my lord,
Swooning destruction; or some joy too fine, With the first glance that ever-pardon me.
Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
For the capacity of my ruder powers. I love you now; but till now not so much
I fear it much; and I do fear besides But I might master it. In faith, I lie;
That I shall lose distinction in my joys; My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps Too headstrong for their mother. See, we fools!
The enemy flying. Why have I blabb'd? Who shall be true to us,
Re-enter PANDARUS When we are so unsecret to ourselves?
PANDARUS. She's making her ready, she'll come straight; you must be witty now. She does But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not;
so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if she were fray'd with a sprite. I'll fetch And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man,
her. It is the prettiest villain; she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en sparrow. Or that we women had men's privilege
Exit TROILUS. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom. Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue,
For in this rapture I shall surely speak CRESSIDA. Amen.
The thing I shall repent. See, see, your silence, PANDARUS. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a chamber
Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws and a bed; which bed, because it shall not speak of your pretty encounters, press it to
My very soul of counsel. Stop my mouth. death. Away!
TROILUS. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here,
PANDARUS. Pretty, i' faith. Bed, chamber, pander, to provide this gear! Exeunt
CRESSIDA. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me; ACT III. SCENE 3.
'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss. The Greek camp
I am asham'd. O heavens! what have I done? Flourish. Enter AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, DIOMEDES, NESTOR, AJAX, MENELAUS, and
For this time will I take my leave, my lord. CALCHAS
TROILUS. Your leave, sweet Cressid! CALCHAS. Now, Princes, for the service I have done,
PANDARUS. Leave! An you take leave till to-morrow morningCRESSIDA. Pray you, content Th' advantage of the time prompts me aloud
you. To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind
TROILUS. What offends you, lady? That, through the sight I bear in things to come,
CRESSIDA. Sir, mine own company. I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession,
TROILUS. You cannot shun yourself. Incurr'd a traitor's name, expos'd myself
CRESSIDA. Let me go and try.I have a kind of self resides with you; From certain and possess'd conveniences
But an unkind self, that itself will leave To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all
To be another's fool. I would be gone. That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
Where is my wit? I know not what I speak. Made tame and most familiar to my nature;And here, to do you service, am become
TROILUS. Well know they what they speak that speak so wisely. CRESSIDA. Perchance, my As new into the world, strange, unacquaintedI
lord, I show more craft than love; And fell so roundly to a large confession do beseech you, as in way of taste,
To angle for your thoughts; but you are wiseOr To give me now a little benefit
else you love not; for to be wise and love Out of those many regist'red in promise,
Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above. Which you say live to come in my behalf.
TROILUS. O that I thought it could be in a womanAs, AGAMEMNON. What wouldst thou of us, Troyan? Make demand.
if it can, I will presume in youTo CALCHAS. You have a Troyan prisoner call'd Antenor,
feed for aye her lamp and flames of love; Yesterday took; Troy holds him very dear.
To keep her constancy in plight and youth, Oft have you-often have you thanks thereforeDesir'
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind d my Cressid in right great exchange,
That doth renew swifter than blood decays! Whom Troy hath still denied; but this Antenor,
Or that persuasion could but thus convince me I know, is such a wrest in their affairs
That my integrity and truth to you That their negotiations all must slack
Might be affronted with the match and weight Wanting his manage; and they will almost
Of such a winnowed purity in love. Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
How were I then uplifted! but, alas, In change of him. Let him be sent, great Princes,
I am as true as truth's simplicity, And he shall buy my daughter; and her presence
And simpler than the infancy of truth. Shall quite strike off all service I have done
CRESSIDA. In that I'll war with you. In most accepted pain.
TROILUS. O virtuous fight, AGAMEMNON. Let Diomedes bear him,
When right with right wars who shall be most right! And bring us Cressid hither. Calchas shall have
True swains in love shall in the world to come What he requests of us. Good Diomed,
Approve their truth by Troilus, when their rhymes, Furnish you fairly for this interchange;
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, Withal, bring word if Hector will to-morrow
Want similes, truth tir'd with iterationAs Be answer'd in his challenge. Ajax is ready.
true as steel, as plantage to the moon, DIOMEDES. This shall I undertake; and 'tis a burden
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, Which I am proud to bear.
As iron to adamant, as earth to th' centreYet, Exeunt DIOMEDES and CALCHAS
after all comparisons of truth, ACHILLES and PATROCLUS stand in their tent
As truth's authentic author to be cited, ULYSSES. Achilles stands i' th' entrance of his tent.
'As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse Please it our general pass strangely by him,
And sanctify the numbers. As if he were forgot; and, Princes all,
CRESSIDA. Prophet may you be! Lay negligent and loose regard upon him.
If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me
When time is old and hath forgot itself, Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on him?
When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, If so, I have derision med'cinable
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, To use between your strangeness and his pride,
And mighty states characterless are grated Which his own will shall have desire to drink.
To dusty nothing-yet let memory It may do good. Pride hath no other glass
From false to false, among false maids in love, To show itself but pride; for supple knees
Upbraid my falsehood when th' have said 'As false Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, AGAMEMNON. We'll execute your purpose, and put on
As fox to lamb, or wolf to heifer's calf, A form of strangeness as we pass along.
Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son'- So do each lord; and either greet him not,
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
'As false as Cressid.' Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.
PANDARUS. Go to, a bargain made; seal it, seal it; I'll be the witness. Here I hold your ACHILLES. What comes the general to speak with me?
hand; here my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another, since I have taken such You know my mind. I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.
pains to bring you together, let all pitiful goers- between be call'd to the world's end AGAMEMNON. What says Achilles? Would he aught with us?
after my name-call them all Pandars; let all constant men be Troiluses, all false women NESTOR. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?
Cressids, and all brokers between Pandars. Say 'Amen.' ACHILLES. No.
TROILUS. Amen. NESTOR. Nothing, my lord.
AGAMEMNON. The better. renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
Exeunt AGAMEMNON and NESTOR ACHILLES. Good day, good day. While some men leave to do!
MENELAUS. How do you? How do you? Exit ACHILLES. What, does the cuckold scorn me? How some men creep in skittish Fortune's-hall,
AJAX. How now, Patroclus? Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes!
ACHILLES. Good morrow, Ajax. How one man eats into another's pride,
AJAX. Ha? While pride is fasting in his wantonness!
ACHILLES. Good morrow. To see these Grecian lords!-why, even already
AJAX. Ay, and good next day too. Exit ACHILLES. What mean these fellows? Know they not They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder,
Achilles? PATROCLUS. They pass by strangely. They were us'd to bend, To send their smiles As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
before them to Achilles, And great Troy shrinking.
To come as humbly as they us'd to creep ACHILLES. I do believe it; for they pass'd by me
To holy altars. As misers do by beggars-neither gave to me
ACHILLES. What, am I poor of late? Good word nor look. What, are my deeds forgot?
'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune, ULYSSES. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Must fall out with men too. What the declin'd is, Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others A great-siz'd monster of ingratitudes.
As feel in his own fall; for men, like butterflies, Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
And not a man for being simply man As done. Perseverance, dear my lord,
Hath any honour, but honour for those honours Keeps honour bright. To have done is to hang
That are without him, as place, riches, and favour,Prizes of accident, as oft as merit; Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, In monumental mock'ry. Take the instant way;
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, For honour travels in a strait so narrow -
Doth one pluck down another, and together Where one but goes abreast. Keep then the path,
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me: For emulation hath a thousand sons
Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy That one by one pursue; if you give way,Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
At ample point all that I did possess Like to an ent'red tide they all rush by
Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find out And leave you hindmost;
Something not worth in me such rich beholding Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses. Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
I'll interrupt his reading. O'er-run and trampled on. Then what they do in present, Though less than yours in past,
How now, Ulysses! must o'ertop yours;
ULYSSES. Now, great Thetis' son! For Time is like a fashionable host,
ACHILLES. What are you reading? That slightly shakes his parting guest by th' hand;
ULYSSES. A strange fellow here And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Writes me that man-how dearly ever parted, Grasps in the corner. The welcome ever smiles,
How much in having, or without or inCannot And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue seek
make boast to have that which he hath, Remuneration for the thing it was;
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; For beauty, wit,
As when his virtues shining upon others High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Heat them, and they retort that heat again Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To the first giver. To envious and calumniating Time.
ACHILLES. This is not strange, Ulysses. One touch of nature makes the whole world kinThat
The beauty that is borne here in the face all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
The bearer knows not, but commends itself Though they are made and moulded of things past,
To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itselfThat And give to dust that is a little gilt
most pure spirit of sense-behold itself, More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
Not going from itself; but eye to eye opposed The present eye praises the present object.
Salutes each other with each other's form; Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
For speculation turns not to itself That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax,
Till it hath travell'd, and is mirror'd there Since things in motion sooner catch the eye
Where it may see itself. This is not strange at all. Than what stirs not. The cry went once on thee,
ULYSSES. I do not strain at the positionIt And still it might, and yet it may again,
is familiar-but at the author's drift; If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive
Who, in his circumstance, expressly proves And case thy reputation in thy tent,
That no man is the lord of anything, Whose glorious deeds but in these fields of late
Though in and of him there be much consisting, Made emulous missions 'mongst the gods themselves,
Till he communicate his parts to others; And drave great Mars to faction.
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught ACHILLES. Of this my privacy
Till he behold them formed in th' applause I have strong reasons.
Where th' are extended; who, like an arch, reverb'rate ULYSSES. But 'gainst your privacy
The voice again; or, like a gate of steel The reasons are more potent and heroical.
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this; With one of Priam's daughters.
And apprehended here immediately ACHILLES. Ha! known!
Th' unknown Ajax. Heavens, what a man is there! ULYSSES. Is that a wonder?
A very horse that has he knows not what! The providence that's in a watchful state
Nature, what things there are Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold;
Most abject in regard and dear in use! Finds bottom in th' uncomprehensive deeps;
What things again most dear in the esteem Keeps place with thought, and almost, like the gods,
And poor in worth! Now shall we see to-morrowAn Do thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
act that very chance doth throw upon himAjax There is a mystery-with whom relation
Durst never meddle-in the soul of state, PATROCLUS. And to procure safe conduct from Agamemnon.
Which hath an operation more divine THERSITES. Agamemnon!
Than breath or pen can give expressure to. PATROCLUS. Ay, my lord.
All the commerce that you have had with Troy THERSITES. Ha!
As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord; PATROCLUS. What you say to't?
And better would it fit Achilles much THERSITES. God buy you, with all my heart.
To throw down Hector than Polyxena. PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir.
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, THERSITES. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven of the clock it will go one way or
When fame shall in our island sound her trump, other. Howsoever, he shall pay for me ere he has me.
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing PATROCLUS. Your answer, sir.
'Great Hector's sister did Achilles win; THERSITES. Fare ye well, with all my heart.
But our great Ajax bravely beat down him.' ACHILLES. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he?
Farewell, my lord. I as your lover speak. THERSITES. No, but he's out a tune thus. What music will be in him when Hector has
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. Exit PATROCLUS. To this effect, knock'd out his brains I know not; but, I am sure, none; unless the fiddler Apollo get
Achilles, have I mov'd you. his sinews to make catlings on.
A woman impudent and mannish grown ACHILLES. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him straight. THERSITES. Let me carry another
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man to his horse; for that's the more capable creature.
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this; ACHILLES. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
They think my little stomach to the war And I myself see not the bottom of it.
And your great love to me restrains you thus. Exeunt ACHILLES and PATROCLUS THERSITES. Would the fountain of your mind were clear
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid again, that I might water an ass at it. I had rather be a tick in a sheep than such a
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, valiant ignorance. Exit
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ACHILLES. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus. ACT IV. SCENE 1.
I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him Troy. A streetEnter, at one side, AENEAS, and servant with a torch; at another, PARIS,
T' invite the Troyan lords, after the combat, DEIPHOBUS,
To see us here unarm'd. I have a woman's longing, ANTENOR, DIOMEDES the Grecian, and others, with torches
An appetite that I am sick withal, PARIS. See, ho! Who is that there?
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace; DEIPHOBUS. It is the Lord Aeneas.
To talk with him, and to behold his visage, AENEAS. Is the Prince there in person?
Even to my full of view. Had I so good occasion to lie long
Enter THERSITES As you, Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business
A labour sav'd! Should rob my bed-mate of my company.
THERSITES. A wonder! DIOMEDES. That's my mind too. Good morrow, Lord Aeneas.
ACHILLES. What? PARIS. A valiant Greek, Aeneas -take his hand:
THERSITES. Ajax goes up and down the field asking for himself. ACHILLES. How so? Witness the process of your speech, wherein
THERSITES. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hector, and is so prophetically proud of You told how Diomed, a whole week by days,
an heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying nothing. Did haunt you in the field.
ACHILLES. How can that be? AENEAS. Health to you, valiant sir,
THERSITES. Why, 'a stalks up and down like a peacock-a stride and a stand; ruminaies like During all question of the gentle truce;
an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down her reckoning, bites his lip But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance
with a politic regard, as who should say 'There were wit in this head, an 'twould out'; As heart can think or courage execute.
and so there is; but it lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint, which will not show DIOMEDES. The one and other Diomed embraces.
without knocking. The man's undone for ever; for if Hector break not his neck i' th' Our bloods are now in calm; and so long health!
combat, he'll break't himself in vainglory. He knows not me. I said 'Good morrow, Ajax'; But when contention and occasion meet,
and he replies 'Thanks, Agamemnon.' What think you of this man that takes me for the By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life
general? He's grown a very land fish, languageless, a monster. A plague of opinion! A man With all my force, pursuit, and policy.
may wear it on both sides, like leather jerkin. AENEAS. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will fly
ACHILLES. Thou must be my ambassador to him, Thersites. With his face backward. In humane gentleness,
THERSITES. Who, I? Why, he'll answer nobody; he professes not answering. Speaking is for Welcome to Troy! now, by Anchises' life,
beggars: he wears his tongue in's arms. I will put on his presence. Let Patroclus make Welcome indeed! By Venus' hand I swear
his demands to me, you shall see the pageant of Ajax. No man alive can love in such a sort
ACHILLES. To him, Patroclus. Tell him I humbly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
valorous Hector to come unarm'd to my tent; and to procure safe conduct for his person of DIOMEDES. We sympathise. Jove let Aeneas live,
the magnanimous and most illustrious six-or-seven-times-honour'd Captain General of the If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
Grecian army, et cetera, Agamemnon. Do this. A thousand complete courses of the sun!
PATROCLUS. Jove bless great Ajax! But in mine emulous honour let him die
THERSITES. Hum! With every joint a wound, and that to-morrow!
PATROCLUS. I come from the worthy AchillesTHERSITES. AENEAS. We know each other well.
Ha! DIOMEDES.We do; and long to know each other worse.
PATROCLUS. Who most humbly desires you to invite Hector to his tentTHERSITES. PARIS. This is the most despiteful'st gentle greeting
Hum! The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of.
What business, lord, so early? And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's one up.
AENEAS. I was sent for to the King; but why, I know not. PANDARUS. [Within] What's all the doors open here?
PARIS. His purpose meets you: 'twas to bring this Greek TROILUS. It is your uncle.
To Calchas' house, and there to render him, Enter PANDARUS
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid. CRESSIDA. A pestilence on him! Now will he be mocking.
Let's have your company; or, if you please, I shall have such a life!
Haste there before us. I constantly believeOr PANDARUS. How now, how now! How go maidenheads?
rather call my thought a certain knowledgeMy Here, you maid! Where's my cousin Cressid?
brother Troilus lodges there to-night. CRESSIDA. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking uncle.
Rouse him and give him note of our approach, You bring me to do, and then you flout me too.
With the whole quality wherefore; I fear PANDARUS. To do what? to do what? Let her say what.
We shall be much unwelcome. What have I brought you to do?
AENEAS. That I assure you: CRESSIDA. Come, come, beshrew your heart! You'll ne'er be good, Nor suffer others.
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece PANDARUS. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor capocchia! hast not slept to-night? Would he
Than Cressid borne from Troy. not, a naughty man, let it sleep? A bugbear take him!
PARIS. There is no help; CRESSIDA. Did not I tell you? Would he were knock'd i' th' head!
The bitter disposition of the time [One knocks] Who's that at door? Good uncle, go and see.
Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you. My lord, come you again into my chamber.
AENEAS. Good morrow, all. Exit with servant PARIS. And tell me, noble Diomed-faith, tell You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily.
me true, TROILUS. Ha! ha!
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowshipWho CRESSIDA. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such thing. [Knock]
in your thoughts deserves fair Helen best, How earnestly they knock! Pray you come in:
Myself or Menelaus? I would not for half Troy have you seen here.
DIOMEDES. Both alike: Exeunt TROILUS and CRESSIDA PANDARUS. Who's there? What's the matter? Will you beat
He merits well to have her that doth seek her, down
Not making any scruple of her soilure, the door? How now? What's the matter?
With such a hell of pain and world of charge; Enter AENEAS
And you as well to keep her that defend her, AENEAS. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
Not palating the taste of her dishonour, PANDARUS. Who's there? My lord Aeneas? By my troth,
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends. I knew you not. What news with you so early?
He like a puling cuckold would drink up AENEAS. Is not Prince Troilus here?
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece; PANDARUS. Here! What should he do here?
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins AENEAS. Come, he is here, my lord; do not deny him.
Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors. It doth import him much to speak with me.
Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more; PANDARUS. Is he here, say you? It's more than I know, I'll be sworn. For my own part, I
But he as he, the heavier for a whore. came in late. What should he do here? AENEAS. Who!-nay, then. Come, come, you'll do him
PARIS. You are too bitter to your country-woman. wrong ere you are ware; you'll be so true to him to be false to him. Do not you know of
DIOMEDES. She's bitter to her country. Hear me, Paris: him, but yet go fetch him hither; go.Re-enter TROILUS
For every false drop in her bawdy veins TROILUS. How now! What's the matter?
A Grecian's life hath sunk; for every scrupleOf her contaminated carrion weight AENEAS. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you,
A Troyan hath been slain; since she could speak, My matter is so rash. There is at hand
She hath not given so many good words breath Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
As for her Greeks and Troyans suff'red death. The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
PARIS. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, Deliver'd to us; and for him forthwith,
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy; Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour,
But we in silence hold this virtue well: We must give up to Diomedes' hand
We'll not commend what we intend to sell. The Lady Cressida.
Here lies our way. Exeunt TROILUS. Is it so concluded?
ACT IV. SCENE 2. AENEAS. By Priam, and the general state of Troy.
Troy. The court of PANDARUS' house They are at hand and ready to effect it.
Enter TROILUS and CRESSIDA TROILUS. How my achievements mock me!
TROILUS. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold. I will go meet them; and, my lord Aeneas,
CRESSIDA. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle down; He shall unbolt the gates. We met by chance; you did not find me here.
TROILUS. Trouble him not; AENEAS. Good, good, my lord, the secrets of neighbour Pandar Have not more gift in
To bed, to bed! Sleep kill those pretty eyes, taciturnity.
And give as soft attachment to thy senses Exeunt TROILUS and AENEAS PANDARUS. Is't possible? No sooner got but lost? The devil
As infants' empty of all thought! take
CRESSIDA. Good morrow, then. Antenor! The young prince will go mad. A plague upon Antenor! I would they had broke's
TROILUS. I prithee now, to bed. neck.
CRESSIDA. Are you aweary of me? Re-enter CRESSIDA
TROILUS. O Cressida! but that the busy day, CRESSIDA. How now! What's the matter? Who was here?
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows, PANDARUS. Ah, ah!
And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, CRESSIDA. Why sigh you so profoundly? Where's my lord? Gone? Tell me, sweet uncle,
I would not from thee. what's
CRESSIDA. Night hath been too brief. the matter?
TROILUS. Beshrew the witch! with venomous wights she stays As tediously as hell, but PANDARUS. Would I were as deep under the earth as I am above! CRESSIDA. O the gods!
flies the grasps of love What's the matter?
With wings more momentary-swift than thought. PANDARUS. Pray thee, get thee in. Would thou hadst ne'er been born! I knew thou wouldst
You will catch cold, and curse me. be his death! O, poor gentleman! A plague upon Antenor!
CRESSIDA. Prithee tarry. CRESSIDA. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my knees I beseech you, what's the matter?
You men will never tarry. PANDARUS. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be gone; thou art chang'd for Antenor;
O foolish Cressid! I might have still held off, thou
must to thy father, and be gone from Troilus. 'Twill be his death; 'twill be his bane; he Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
cannot bear it. Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
CRESSIDA. O you immortal gods! I will not go. Even in the birth of our own labouring breath.
PANDARUS. Thou must. We two, that with so many thousand sighs
CRESSIDA. I will not, uncle. I have forgot my father; Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
I know no touch of consanguinity, With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me Injurious time now with a robber's haste
As the sweet Troilus. O you gods divine, Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how.
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, As many farewells as be stars in heaven,
If ever she leave Troilus! Time, force, and death, With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them,
Do to this body what extremes you can, He fumbles up into a loose adieu,
But the strong base and building of my love And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Is as the very centre of the earth, Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
Drawing all things to it. I'll go in and weepPANDARUS. AENEAS. [Within] My lord, is the lady ready?
Do, do. TROILUS. Hark! you are call'd. Some say the Genius so
CRESSIDA. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks, Crack my clear voice with Cries 'Come' to him that instantly must die.
sobs and break my heart, Bid them have patience; she shall come anon.
With sounding 'Troilus.' I will not go from Troy. PANDARUS. Where are my tears? Rain, to lay this wind, or my heart will be blown up by th'
Exeunt root? Exit CRESSIDA. I must then to the Grecians?
ACT IV. SCENE 3. TROILUS. No remedy.
Troy. A street before PANDARUS' house CRESSIDA. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
Enter PARIS, TROILUS, AENEAS, DEIPHOBUS, ANTENOR, and DIOMEDES When shall we see again?
PARIS. It is great morning; and the hour prefix'd TROILUS. Hear me, my love. Be thou but true of heartCRESSIDA.
For her delivery to this valiant Greek I true! how now! What wicked deem is this?
Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus, TROILUS. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly,
Tell you the lady what she is to do For it is parting from us.
And haste her to the purpose. I speak not 'Be thou true' as fearing thee,
TROILUS. Walk into her house. For I will throw my glove to Death himself
I'll bring her to the Grecian presently; That there's no maculation in thy heart;
And to his hand when I deliver her, But 'Be thou true' say I to fashion in
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus My sequent protestation: be thou true,
A priest, there off'ring to it his own heart. Exit PARIS. I know what 'tis to love, And I will see thee.
And would, as I shall pity, I could help! CRESSIDA. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers
Please you walk in, my lords. Exeunt As infinite as imminent! But I'll be true.
ACT IV. SCENE 4. TROILUS. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this sleeve. CRESSIDA. And you this
Troy. PANDARUS' house glove. When shall I see you?
Enter PANDARUS and CRESSIDAPANDARUS. Be moderate, be moderate. TROILUS. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels
CRESSIDA. Why tell you me of moderation? To give thee nightly visitation.But yet be true.
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, CRESSIDA. O heavens! 'Be true' again!
And violenteth in a sense as strong TROILUS. Hear why I speak it, love.
As that which causeth it. How can I moderate it? The Grecian youths are full of quality;
If I could temporize with my affections They're loving, well compos'd with gifts of nature,
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, And flowing o'er with arts and exercise.
The like allayment could I give my grief. How novelties may move, and parts with person,
My love admits no qualifying dross; Alas, a kind of godly jealousy,
No more my grief, in such a precious loss. Which I beseech you call a virtuous sin,
Enter TROILUS Makes me afeard.
PANDARUS. Here, here, here he comes. Ah, sweet ducks! CRESSIDA. O heavens! you love me not.
CRESSIDA. O Troilus! Troilus! [Embracing him] TROILUS. Die I a villain, then!
PANDARUS. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let me embrace too. 'O heart,' as the goodly In this I do not call your faith in question
saying is, So mainly as my merit. I cannot sing,
O heart, heavy heart, Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk,
Why sigh'st thou without breaking? Nor play at subtle games-fair virtues all,
where he answers again To which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant;
Because thou canst not ease thy smart But I can tell that in each grace of these
By friendship nor by speaking. There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast away nothing, for we may live to have need of That tempts most cunningly. But be not tempted.
such a verse. We see it, we see it. How now, lambs! CRESSIDA. Do you think I will?
TROILUS. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity TROILUS. No.
That the bless'd gods, as angry with my fancy, But something may be done that we will not;
More bright in zeal than the devotion which And sometimes we are devils to ourselves,
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from me. When we will tempt the frailty of our powers,
CRESSIDA. Have the gods envy? Presuming on their changeful potency.
PANDARUS. Ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case. AENEAS. [Within] Nay, good my lord!
CRESSIDA. And is it true that I must go from Troy? TROILUS. Come, kiss; and let us part.
TROILUS. A hateful truth. PARIS. [Within] Brother Troilus!
CRESSIDA. What, and from Troilus too? TROILUS. Good brother, come you hither;
TROILUS. From Troy and Troilus. And bring Aeneas and the Grecian with you.
CRESSIDA. Is't possible? CRESSIDA. My lord, will you be true?
TROILUS. And suddenly; where injury of chance TROILUS. Who, I? Alas, it is my vice, my fault!
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion,
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips I with great truth catch mere simplicity;
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, DIOMEDES. Even she.
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. AGAMEMNON. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet lady. NESTOR. Our general doth
Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, DEIPHOBUS, and DIOMEDES salute
Fear not my truth: the moral of my wit you with a kiss.
Is 'plain and true'; there's all the reach of it. ULYSSES. Yet is the kindness but particular;
Welcome, Sir Diomed! Here is the lady 'Twere better she were kiss'd in general.
Which for Antenor we deliver you; NESTOR. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin.
At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand, So much for Nestor.
And by the way possess thee what she is. ACHILLES. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady. Achilles bids you welcome.
Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, MENELAUS. I had good argument for kissing once.
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, PATROCLUS. But that's no argument for kissing now;
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment,
As Priam is in Ilion. And parted thus you and your argument.
DIOMEDES. Fair Lady Cressid, ULYSSES. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns!
So please you, save the thanks this prince expects. For which we lose our heads to gild his horns.
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, PATROCLUS. The first was Menelaus' kiss; this, mine-
Pleads your fair usage; and to Diomed [Kisses her again] Patroclus kisses you.
You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. MENELAUS. O, this is trim!
TROILUS. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously PATROCLUS. Paris and I kiss evermore for him.
To shame the zeal of my petition to the MENELAUS. I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your leave.
In praising her. I tell thee, lord of Greece, CRESSIDA. In kissing, do you render or receive?
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises PATROCLUS. Both take and give.
As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. CRESSIDA. I'll make my match to live,
I charge thee use her well, even for my charge; The kiss you take is better than you give;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, Therefore no kiss.
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, MENELAUS. I'll give you boot; I'll give you three for one. CRESSIDA. You are an odd man;
I'll cut thy throat. give even or give none.
DIOMEDES. O, be not mov'd, Prince Troilus. MENELAUS. An odd man, lady? Every man is odd.
Let me be privileg'd by my place and message CRESSIDA. No, Paris is not; for you know 'tis true
To be a speaker free: when I am hence That you are odd, and he is even with you.
I'll answer to my lust. And know you, lord, MENELAUS. You fillip me o' th' head.
I'll nothing do on charge: to her own worth CRESSIDA. No, I'll be sworn.
She shall be priz'd. But that you say 'Be't so,' ULYSSES. It were no match, your nail against his horn.
I speak it in my spirit and honour, 'No.' May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you?
TROILUS. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Diomed, CRESSIDA. You may.
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. ULYSSES. I do desire it.
Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk, CRESSIDA. Why, beg then.
To our own selves bend we our needful talk. ULYSSES. Why then, for Venus' sake give me a kiss
Exeunt TROILUS, CRESSIDA, and DIOMEDES When Helen is a maid again, and his.
[Sound trumpet]PARIS. Hark! Hector's trumpet. CRESSIDA. I am your debtor; claim it when 'tis due.
AENEAS. How have we spent this morning! ULYSSES. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you.DIOMEDES. Lady, a word. I'll bring you to
The Prince must think me tardy and remiss, your father.
That swore to ride before him to the field. Exit with CRESSIDA NESTOR. A woman of quick sense.
PARIS. 'Tis Troilus' fault. Come, come to field with him. DEIPHOBUS. Let us make ready ULYSSES. Fie, fie upon her!
straight. There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
AENEAS. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels. At every joint and motive of her body.
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie O these encounters so glib of tongue
On his fair worth and single chivalry. Exeunt That give a coasting welcome ere it comes,
ACT IV. SCENE 5. And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts
The Grecian camp. Lists set out To every ticklish reader! Set them down
Enter AJAX, armed; AGAMEMNON, ACHILLES, PATROCLUS, MENELAUS, ULYSSES, For sluttish spoils of opportunity,
NESTOR, and others And daughters of the game. [Trumpet within] ALL. The Troyans' trumpet.
AGAMEMNON. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, Enter HECTOR, armed; AENEAS, TROILUS, PARIS, HELENUS,
Anticipating time with starting courage. and other Trojans, with attendants
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, AGAMEMNON. Yonder comes the troop.
Thou dreadful Ajax, that the appalled air AENEAS. Hail, all the state of Greece! What shall be done To him that victory commands?
May pierce the head of the great combatant, Or do you purpose
And hale him hither. A victor shall be known? Will you the knights
AJAX. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse. Shall to the edge of all extremity
Now crack thy lungs and split thy brazen pipe; Pursue each other, or shall they be divided
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek By any voice or order of the field?
Out-swell the colic of puff Aquilon'd. Hector bade ask.
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood: AGAMEMNON. Which way would Hector have it?
Thou blowest for Hector. [Trumpet sounds] ULYSSES. No trumpet answers. AENEAS. He cares not; he'll obey conditions.
ACHILLES. 'Tis but early days. ACHILLES. 'Tis done like Hector; but securely done,
Enter DIOMEDES, with CRESSIDA A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
AGAMEMNON. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' daughter? The knight oppos'd.
ULYSSES. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait: AENEAS. If not Achilles, sir,
He rises on the toe. That spirit of his What is your name?
In aspiration lifts him from the earth. ACHILLES. If not Achilles, nothing.
AGAMEMNON. Is this the lady Cressid? AENEAS. Therefore Achilles. But whate'er, know this:
In the extremity of great and little
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well,
And that which looks like pride is courtesy.
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood;
In love whereof half Hector stays at home;
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
This blended knight, half Troyan and half Greek.
ACHILLES. A maiden battle then? O, I perceive you!
Re-enter DIOMEDES
AGAMEMNON. Here is Sir Diomed. Go, gentle knight,
Stand by our Ajax. As you and Lord ]Eneas
Consent upon the order of their fight,
So be it; either to the uttermost,
Or else a breath. The combatants being kin
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.
[AJAX and HECTOR enter the lists] ULYSSES. They are oppos'd already.
AGAMEMNON. What Troyan is that same that looks so heavy?
ULYSSES. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word;
Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue;
Not soon provok'd, nor being provok'd soon calm'd;
His heart and hand both open and both free;
For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows,
Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty,
Nor dignifies an impair thought with breath;
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous;
For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes
To tender objects, but he in heat of action
Is more vindicative than jealous love.
They call him Troilus, and on him erect
A second hope as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says Aeneas, one that knows the youth
Even to his inches, and, with private soul,
Did in great Ilion thus translate him to me.
[Alarum. HECTOR and AJAX fight] AGAMEMNON. They are in action.
NESTOR. Now, Ajax, hold thine own!
TROILUS. Hector, thou sleep'st;Awake thee.
AGAMEMNON. His blows are well dispos'd. There, Ajax!
[Trumpets cease] DIOMEDES. You must no more.
AENEAS. Princes, enough, so please you.
AJAX. I am not warm yet; let us fight again.
DIOMEDES. As Hector pleases.
HECTOR. Why, then will I no more.
Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son,
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed;
The obligation of our blood forbids
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain:
Were thy commixtion Greek and Troyan so
That thou could'st say 'This hand is Grecian all,
And this is Troyan; the sinews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy; my mother's blood
Runs on the dexter cheek, and this sinister
Bounds in my father's'; by Jove multipotent,
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member
Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud; but the just gods gainsay
That any drop thou borrow'dst from thy mother,
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
Be drained! Let me embrace thee, Ajax.
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus.
Cousin, all honour to thee!
AJAX. I thank thee, Hector.
Thou art too gentle and too free a man.
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy death.
HECTOR. Not Neoptolemus so mirable,
On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st Oyes
Cries 'This is he' could promise to himself
A thought of added honour torn from Hector.
AENEAS. There is expectance here from both the sides
What further you will do.
HECTOR. We'll answer it:
The issue is embracement. Ajax, farewell.
AJAX. If I might in entreaties find success,
As seld I have the chance, I would desire
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.
DIOMEDES. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish; and great Achilles
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.
HECTOR. Aeneas, call my brother Troilus to me,
And signify this loving interview
To the expecters of our Troyan part;
Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my cousin;
I will go eat with thee, and see your knights.
AGAMEMNON and the rest of the Greeks come forward
AJAX. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.
HECTOR. The worthiest of them tell me name by name;
But for Achilles, my own searching eyes
Shall find him by his large and portly size.
AGAMEMNON.Worthy all arms! as welcome as to one
That would be rid of such an enemy.
But that's no welcome. Understand more clear,
What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks
And formless ruin of oblivion;
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing,
Bids thee with most divine integrity,
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
HECTOR. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon.
AGAMEMNON. [To Troilus] My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to you. MENELAUS. Let me
confirm my princely brother's greeting.
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
HECTOR. Who must we answer?
AENEAS. The noble Menelaus.
HECTOR. O you, my lord? By Mars his gauntlet, thanks!
Mock not that I affect the untraded oath;
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove.
She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.
MENELAUS. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme.
HECTOR. O, pardon; I offend.
NESTOR. I have, thou gallant Troyan, seen thee oft,Labouring for destiny, make cruel way
Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee,
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed,
Despising many forfeits and subduements,
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' th' air,
Not letting it decline on the declined;
That I have said to some my standers-by
'Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!'
And I have seen thee pause and take thy breath,
When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in,
Like an Olympian wrestling. This have I seen;
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire,
And once fought with him. He was a soldier good,
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all,
Never like thee. O, let an old man embrace thee;
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
AENEAS. 'Tis the old Nestor.
HECTOR. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle,
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time.
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.
NESTOR. I would my arms could match thee in contention
As they contend with thee in courtesy.
HECTOR. I would they could.
NESTOR. Ha!
By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome! I have seen the time.
ULYSSES. I wonder now how yonder city stands,
When we have here her base and pillar by us.
HECTOR. I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Troyan dead,
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
In Ilion on your Greekish embassy. But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
ULYSSES. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue. On the fair Cressid.
My prophecy is but half his journey yet; TROILUS. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much,
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, After we part from Agamemnon's tent,
Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, To bring me thither?
Must kiss their own feet. ULYSSES. You shall command me, sir.
HECTOR. I must not believe you. As gentle tell me of what honour was
There they stand yet; and modestly I think This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost That wails her absence?
A drop of Grecian blood. The end crowns all; TROILUS. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars
And that old common arbitrator, Time, A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord?
Will one day end it. She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth;
ULYSSES. So to him we leave it. But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. Exeunt
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HECTOR. Nay, I have done already. ACT V. SCENE 1.
ACHILLES. Thou art too brief. I will the second time, The Grecian camp. Before the tent of ACHILLES
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. Enter ACHILLES and PATROCLUS
HECTOR. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er; ACHILLES. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-night, Which with my scimitar I'll
But there's more in me than thou understand'st. cool to-morrow.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye? Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
ACHILLES. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his body Shall I destroy him? Whether PATROCLUS. Here comes Thersites.
there, or there, or there? That I may give the local wound a name, Enter THERSITES
And make distinct the very breach whereout ACHILLES. How now, thou core of envy!
Hector's great spirit flew. Answer me, heavens. Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?
HECTOR. It would discredit the blest gods, proud man, THERSITES. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here's
To answer such a question. Stand again. a letter for thee.
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly ACHILLES. From whence, fragment?
As to prenominate in nice conjecture THERSITES. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
Where thou wilt hit me dead? PATROCLUS. Who keeps the tent now?
ACHILLES. I tell thee yea. THERSITES. The surgeon's box or the patient's wound.
HECTOR. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, PATROCLUS. Well said, Adversity! and what needs these tricks? THERSITES. Prithee, be
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well; silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achilles' male varlet.
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; PATROCLUS. Male varlet, you rogue! What's that?
But, by the forge that stithied Mars his helm, THERSITES. Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the
I'll kill thee everywhere, yea, o'er and o'er. guts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel in the back, lethargies, cold palsies,
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag.His insolence draws folly from my lips; raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas,
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, limekilns i' th' palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled feesimple of the tetter,
Or may I neverAJAX. take and take again such preposterousdiscoveries!
Do not chafe thee, cousin; PATROCLUS. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?
And you, Achilles, let these threats alone THERSITES. Do I curse thee?
Till accident or purpose bring you to't. PATROCLUS. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson
You may have every day enough of Hector, indistinguishable cur, no.
If you have stomach. The general state, I fear, THERSITES. No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleid silk,
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, thou? Ah, how
HECTOR. I pray you let us see you in the field; the poor world is pest'red with such water-flies-diminutives of nature!
We have had pelting wars since you refus'd PATROCLUS. Out, gall!
The Grecians' cause. THERSITES. Finch egg!
ACHILLES. Dost thou entreat me, Hector? ACHILLES. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
To-morrow do I meet thee, fell as death; From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
To-night all friends. Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
HECTOR. Thy hand upon that match. A token from her daughter, my fair love,
AGAMEMNON. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; There in the full convive we; Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
afterwards, An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it.
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
Concur together, severally entreat him. My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
Beat loud the tambourines, let the trumpets blow, Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent;
That this great soldier may his welcome know. This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Exeunt all but TROILUS and ULYSSES TROILUS. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, Away, Patroclus! Exit with PATROCLUS THERSITES. With too much blood and too little brain
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep? these two may run mad; but, if with too much brain and to little blood they do, I'll be a
ULYSSES. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus. curer of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails,
There Diomed doth feast with him to-night, but he has not so much brain as ear-wax; and the goodly transformation of Jupiter there,
Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, 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 Fo, fo! come, tell a pin; you are a forswornCRESSIDA.
wit larded with malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were nothing: In faith, I cannot. What would you have me do?
he is both ass and ox. To an ox, were nothing: he is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a THERSITES. A juggling trick, to be secretly open.
mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, a put-tock, or a herring without a roe, DIOMEDES. What did you swear you would bestow on me?
I would not care; but to be Menelaus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what I CRESSIDA. I prithee, do not hold me to mine oath;
would be, if I were not Thersites; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, so I were Bid me do anything but that, sweet Greek.
not Menelaus. Hey-day! sprites and fires! DIOMEDES. Good night.
Enter HECTOR, TROILUS, AJAX, AGAMEMNON, ULYSSES, TROILUS. Hold, patience!
NESTOR, MENELAUS, and DIOMEDES, with lights ULYSSES. How now, Troyan!
AGAMEMNON. We go wrong, we go wrong. CRESSIDA. Diomed!
AJAX. No, yonder 'tis; DIOMEDES. No, no, good night; I'll be your fool no more.
There, where we see the lights. TROILUS. Thy better must.
HECTOR. I trouble you. CRESSIDA. Hark! a word in your ear.
AJAX. No, not a whit. TROILUS. O plague and madness!
Re-enter ACHILLES ULYSSES. You are moved, Prince; let us depart, I pray,
ULYSSES. Here comes himself to guide you. Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself
ACHILLES. Welcome, brave Hector; welcome, Princes all. To wrathful terms. This place is dangerous;
AGAMEMNON. So now, fair Prince of Troy, I bid good night; Ajax commands the guard to tend The time right deadly; I beseech you, go.
on you. TROILUS. Behold, I pray you.
HECTOR. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks' general. ULYSSES. Nay, good my lord, go off;
MENELAUS. Good night, my lord. You flow to great distraction; come, my lord.
HECTOR. Good night, sweet Lord Menelaus. TROILUS. I prithee stay.
THERSITES. Sweet draught! 'Sweet' quoth 'a? ULYSSES. You have not patience; come.
Sweet sink, sweet sewer! TROILUS. I pray you, stay; by hell and all hell's torments, I will not speak a word.
ACHILLES. Good night and welcome, both at once, to those DIOMEDES. And so, good night.
That go or tarry. CRESSIDA. Nay, but you part in anger.
AGAMEMNON. Good night. TROILUS. Doth that grieve thee? O withered truth!
Exeunt AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS ACHILLES. Old Nestor tarries; and you too, Diomed, ULYSSES. How now, my lord?
Keep Hector company an hour or two. TROILUS. By Jove, I will be patient.
DIOMEDES. I cannot, lord; I have important business, CRESSIDA. Guardian! Why, Greek!
The tide whereof is now. Good night, great Hector. DIOMEDES. Fo, fo! adieu! you palter.
HECTOR. Give me your hand. CRESSIDA. In faith, I do not. Come hither once again.
ULYSSES. [Aside to TROILUS] Follow his torch; he goes to ULYSSES. You shake, my lord, at something; will you go?
Calchas' tent; I'll keep you company. You will break out.
TROILUS. Sweet sir, you honour me. TROILUS. She strokes his cheek.
HECTOR. And so, good night. ULYSSES. Come, come.
Exit DIOMEDES; ULYSSES and TROILUS following ACHILLES. Come, come, enter my tent. TROILUS. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word:
Exeunt all but THERSITES THERSITES. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, a most There is between my will and all offences
unjust knave; I will no more trust him when he leers than I will a serpent when he A guard of patience. Stay a little while.
hisses. He will spend his mouth and promise, like Brabbler the hound; but when he THERSITES. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles these
performs, astronomers foretell it: it is prodigious, there will come some change; the sun together! Fry, lechery, fry!
borrows of the moon when Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see Hector than DIOMEDES. But will you, then?
not to dog him. They say he keeps a Troyan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent. I'll CRESSIDA. In faith, I will, lo; never trust me else.DIOMEDES. Give me some token for the
after. Nothing but lechery! All incontinent varlets! ExitACT V. SCENE 2. surety of it.
The Grecian camp. Before CALCHAS' tent CRESSIDA. I'll fetch you one. Exit ULYSSES. You have sworn patience.
Enter DIOMEDES TROILUS. Fear me not, my lord;
DIOMEDES. What, are you up here, ho? Speak. I will not be myself, nor have cognition
CALCHAS. [Within] Who calls? Of what I feel. I am all patience.
DIOMEDES. Diomed. Calchas, I think. Where's your daughter? CALCHAS. [Within] She comes Re-enter CRESSIDA
to THERSITES. Now the pledge; now, now, now!
you. CRESSIDA. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.
Enter TROILUS and ULYSSES, at a distance; after them TROILUS. O beauty! where is thy faith?
THERSITES ULYSSES. My lord!
ULYSSES. Stand where the torch may not discover us. TROILUS. I will be patient; outwardly I will.
Enter CRESSIDA CRESSIDA. You look upon that sleeve; behold it well.
TROILUS. Cressid comes forth to him. He lov'd me-O false wench!-Give't me again.
DIOMEDES. How now, my charge! DIOMEDES. Whose was't?
CRESSIDA. Now, my sweet guardian! Hark, a word with you. CRESSIDA. It is no matter, now I ha't again.
[Whispers] I will not meet with you to-morrow night.
TROILUS. Yea, so familiar! I prithee, Diomed, visit me no more.
ULYSSES. She will sing any man at first sight. THERSITES. Now she sharpens. Well said, whetstone.
THERSITES. And any man may sing her, if he can take her cliff; she's noted. DIOMEDES. I shall have it.
DIOMEDES. Will you remember? CRESSIDA. What, this?
CRESSIDA. Remember? Yes. DIOMEDES. Ay, that.
DIOMEDES. Nay, but do, then; CRESSIDA. O all you gods! O pretty, pretty pledge!
And let your mind be coupled with your words. Thy master now lies thinking on his bed
TROILUS. What shall she remember? Of thee and me, and sighs, and takes my glove,
ULYSSES. List! And gives memorial dainty kisses to it,
CRESSIDA. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me;
THERSITES. Roguery! He that takes that doth take my heart withal.
DIOMEDES. Nay, thenCRESSIDA. DIOMEDES. I had your heart before; this follows it.
I'll tell you whatDIOMEDES. TROILUS. I did swear patience.
CRESSIDA. You shall not have it, Diomed; faith, you shall not; I'll give you something As Ariachne's broken woof to enter.
else. Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates:
DIOMEDES. I will have this. Whose was it? Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven.
CRESSIDA. It is no matter. Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself:
DIOMEDES. Come, tell me whose it was. The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd; And with another knot,
CRESSIDA. 'Twas one's that lov'd me better than you will. But, now you have it, take it. five-finger-tied,
DIOMEDES. Whose was it? The fractions of her faith, orts of her love,
CRESSIDA. By all Diana's waiting women yond, The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics
And by herself, I will not tell you whose. Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed.
DIOMEDES. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm, ULYSSES. May worthy Troilus be half-attach'd
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. With that which here his passion doth express?
TROILUS. Wert thou the devil and wor'st it on thy horn, TROILUS. Ay, Greek; and that shall be divulged well
It should be challeng'd. In characters as red as Mars his heart
CRESSIDA. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; and yet it is not; I will not keep my word. Inflam'd with Venus. Never did young man fancy
DIOMEDES. Why, then farewell; With so eternal and so fix'd a soul.
Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,
CRESSIDA. You shall not go. One cannot speak a word So much by weight hate I her Diomed.
But it straight starts you. That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm;
DIOMEDES. I do not like this fooling. Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill
THERSITES. Nor I, by Pluto; but that that likes not you My sword should bite it. Not the dreadful spout
Pleases me best. Which shipmen do the hurricano call,
DIOMEDES. What, shall I come? The hourCRESSIDA. Constring'd in mass by the almighty sun,
Ay, come-O Jove! Do come. I shall be plagu'd. Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
DIOMEDES. Farewell till then. In his descent than shall my prompted sword
CRESSIDA. Good night. I prithee come. Exit DIOMEDES Troilus, farewell! One eye yet looks Falling on Diomed.
on thee; THERSITES. He'll tickle it for his concupy.
But with my heart the other eye doth see. TROILUS. O Cressid! O false Cressid! false, false, false! Let all untruths stand by thy
Ah, poor our sex! this fault in us I find, stained name,
The error of our eye directs our mind. And they'll seem glorious.
What error leads must err; O, then conclude, ULYSSES. O, contain yourself;
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turpitude. Exit THERSITES. A proof of strength she could Your passion draws ears hither.
not publish more, Unless she said 'My mind is now turn'd whore.' Enter AENEAS
ULYSSES. All's done, my lord. AENEAS. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord.
TROILUS. It is. Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy;
ULYSSES. Why stay we, then? Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.
TROILUS. To make a recordation to my soul TROILUS. Have with you, Prince. My courteous lord, adieu. Fairwell, revolted fair!-and,
Of every syllable that here was spoke. Diomed,
But if I tell how these two did coact, Stand fast and wear a castle on thy head.
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth? ULYSSES. I'll bring you to the gates.
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, TROILUS. Accept distracted thanks.
An esperance so obstinately strong, Exeunt TROILUS, AENEAS. and ULYSSES
That doth invert th' attest of eyes and ears; THERSITES. Would I could meet that rogue Diomed! I would croak like a raven; I would
As if those organs had deceptious functions bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me anything for the intelligence of this whore;
Created only to calumniate. the parrot will not do more for an almond than he for a commodious drab. Lechery,
Was Cressid here? lechery! Still wars and lechery! Nothing else holds fashion. A burning devil take them!
ULYSSES. I cannot conjure, Troyan. ExitACT V. SCENE 3.
TROILUS. She was not, sure.ULYSSES. Most sure she was. Troy. Before PRIAM'S palace
TROILUS. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. Enter HECTOR and ANDROMACHE
ULYSSES. Nor mine, my lord. Cressid was here but now. ANDROMACHE. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd
TROILUS. Let it not be believ'd for womanhood. To stop his ears against admonishment?
Think, we had mothers; do not give advantage Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.
To stubborn critics, apt, without a theme, HECTOR. You train me to offend you; get you in.
For depravation, to square the general sex By all the everlasting gods, I'll go.
By Cressid's rule. Rather think this not Cressid. ANDROMACHE. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day. HECTOR. No more, I say.
ULYSSES. What hath she done, Prince, that can soil our mothers? TROILUS. Nothing at all, Enter CASSANDRA
unless that this were she. CASSANDRA. Where is my brother Hector?
THERSITES. Will 'a swagger himself out on's own eyes? ANDROMACHE. Here, sister, arm'd, and bloody in intent.
TROILUS. This she? No; this is Diomed's Cressida. Consort with me in loud and dear petition,
If beauty have a soul, this is not she; Pursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimonies, Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
If sanctimony be the god's delight, Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.
If there be rule in unity itself, CASSANDRA. O, 'tis true!
This was not she. O madness of discourse, HECTOR. Ho! bid my trumpet sound.
That cause sets up with and against itself! CASSANDRA. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother! HECTOR. Be gone, I say.
Bifold authority! where reason can revolt The
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason gods have heard me swear.
Without revolt: this is, and is not, Cressid. CASSANDRA. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight They are polluted off'rings, more abhorr'd
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
Divides more wider than the sky and earth; ANDROMACHE. O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy
And yet the spacious breadth of this division To hurt by being just. It is as lawful,
Admits no orifex for a point as subtle For we would give much, to use violent thefts
And rob in the behalf of charity. Hark how Troy roars; how Hecuba cries out;
CASSANDRA. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth;
But vows to every purpose must not hold. Behold distraction, frenzy, and amazement,
Unarm, sweet Hector. Like witless antics, one another meet,
HECTOR. Hold you still, I say. And all cry, Hector! Hector's dead! O Hector!
Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate. TROILUS. Away, away!
Life every man holds dear; but the dear man CASSANDRA. Farewell!-yet, soft! Hector, I take my leave.
Holds honour far more precious dear than life. Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. Exit HECTOR. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her
Enter TROILUS exclaim.
How now, young man! Mean'st thou to fight to-day? Go in, and cheer the town; we'll forth, and fight,
ANDROMACHE. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at night.
Exit CASSANDRA HECTOR. No, faith, young Troilus; doff thy harness, youth; I am to-day i' PRIAM. Farewell. The gods with safety stand about thee!
th' vein of chivalry. Exeunt severally PRIAM and HECTOR. Alarums TROILUS. They are at it, hark! Proud
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, Diomed,
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. believe,
Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, I come to lose my arm or win my sleeve.
I'll stand to-day for thee and me and Troy. Enter PANDARUS
TROILUS. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you PANDARUS. Do you hear, my lord? Do you hear?
Which better fits a lion than a man. TROILUS. What now?
HECTOR. What vice is that, good Troilus? PANDARUS. Here's a letter come from yond poor girl.
Chide me for it. TROILUS. Let me read.
TROILUS. When many times the captive Grecian falls, PANDARUS. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally tisick so troubles me, and the foolish
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, fortune of this girl, and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave you one o'
You bid them rise and live. th's days; and I have a rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my bones that unless
HECTOR. O, 'tis fair play! a man were curs'd I cannot tell what to think on't. What says she there?
TROILUS. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. TROILUS. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart; Th' effect doth operate
HECTOR. How now! how now! another way.
TROILUS. For th' love of all the gods, [Tearing the letter] Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together.
Let's leave the hermit Pity with our mother; My love with words and errors still she feeds,
And when we have our armours buckled on, But edifies another with her deeds. Exeunt severally
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords, ACT V. SCENE 4.
Spur them to ruthful work, rein them from ruth! The plain between Troy and the Grecian camp
HECTOR. Fie, savage, fie! Enter THERSITES. Excursions
TROILUS. Hector, then 'tis wars. THERSITES. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; I'll go look on. That dissembling
HECTOR. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve
TROILUS. Who should withhold me? of Troy there in his helm. I would fain see them meet, that that same young Troyan ass
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars that loves the whore there might send that Greekish whoremasterly villain with the sleeve
Beck'ning with fiery truncheon my retire; back to the dissembling luxurious drab of a sleeve-less errand. A th' t'other side, the
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, policy of those crafty swearing rascals-that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor,
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses -is not prov'd worth a blackberry. They set me up, in
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of as bad a kind, Achilles; and now is
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, the cur, Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-day; whereupon theGrecians
But by my ruin. begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion.
Re-enter CASSANDRA, with PRIAMCASSANDRA. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast; Enter DIOMEDES, TROILUS following
He is thy crutch; now if thou lose thy stay, Soft! here comes sleeve, and t'other.
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, TROILUS. Fly not; for shouldst thou take the river Styx
Fall all together. I would swim after.
PRIAM. Come, Hector, come, go back. DIOMEDES. Thou dost miscall retire.
Thy wife hath dreamt; thy mother hath had visions; I do not fly; but advantageous care
Cassandra doth foresee; and I myself Withdrew me from the odds of multitude.
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt Have at thee.
To tell thee that this day is ominous. THERSITES. Hold thy whore, Grecian; now for thy whore,
Therefore, come back. Troyan-now the sleeve, now the sleeve!
HECTOR. Aeneas is a-field; Exeunt TROILUS and DIOMEDES fighting
And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, Enter HECTOR
Even in the faith of valour, to appear HECTOR. What art thou, Greek? Art thou for Hector's match? Art thou of blood and honour?
This morning to them. THERSITES. No, no-I am a rascal; a scurvy railing knave; a very filthy rogue.
PRIAM. Ay, but thou shalt not go. HECTOR. I do believe thee. Live. Exit THERSITES. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me;
HECTOR. I must not break my faith. but a plague break thy neck for frighting me! What's become of the wenching rogues? I
You know me dutiful; therefore, dear sir, think they have swallowed one another. I would laugh at that miracle. Yet, in a sort,
Let me not shame respect; but give me leave lechery eats itself. I'll seek them. Exit
To take that course by your consent and voice ACT V. SCENE 5.
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. Another part of the plain
CASSANDRA. O Priam, yield not to him! Enter DIOMEDES and A SERVANT
ANDROMACHE. Do not, dear father. DIOMEDES. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse;
HECTOR. Andromache, I am offended with you. Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid.
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. Fellow, commend my service to her beauty;
Exit ANDROMACHE TROILUS. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl Tell her I have chastis'd the amorous Troyan,
Makes all these bodements. And am her knight by proof.
CASSANDRA. O, farewell, dear Hector! SERVANT. I go, my lord. Exit
Look how thou diest. Look how thy eye turns pale. Enter AGAMEMNON
Look how thy wounds do bleed at many vents. AGAMEMNON. Renew, renew! The fierce Polydamus
Hath beat down enon; bastard Margarelon
Hath Doreus prisoner,
And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam,
Upon the pashed corses of the kings
Epistrophus and Cedius. Polixenes is slain;
Amphimacus and Thoas deadly hurt;
Patroclus ta'en, or slain; and Palamedes
Sore hurt and bruis'd. The dreadful Sagittary
Appals our numbers. Haste we, Diomed,
To reinforcement, or we perish all.
Enter NESTOR
NESTOR. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles,
And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame.
There is a thousand Hectors in the field;
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
And there lacks work; anon he's there afoot,
And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls
Before the belching whale; then is he yonder,
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge,
Fall down before him like the mower's swath.
Here, there, and everywhere, he leaves and takes;
Dexterity so obeying appetite
That what he will he does, and does so much
That proof is call'd impossibility.
Enter ULYSSES
ULYSSES. O, courage, courage, courage, Princes! Great
Achilles Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance. Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his
drowsy blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to
him, Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd and at it,
Roaring for Troilus; who hath done to-day
Mad and fantastic execution,Engaging and redeeming of himself
With such a careless force and forceless care
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning,
Bade him win all.
Enter AJAX
AJAX. Troilus! thou coward Troilus! Exit DIOMEDES. Ay, there, there.
NESTOR. So, so, we draw together.
Enter ACHILLES
ACHILLES. Where is this Hector?
Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face;
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector! where's Hector? I will none but Hector. Exeunt
ACT V. SCENE 6.
Another part of the plain
Enter AJAX
AJAX. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head.
Enter DIOMEDES
DIOMEDES. Troilus, I say! Where's Troilus?
AJAX. What wouldst thou?
DIOMEDES. I would correct him.
AJAX. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my office
Ere that correction. Troilus, I say! What, Troilus!
Enter TROILUS
TROILUS. O traitor Diomed! Turn thy false face, thou traitor, And pay thy life thou owest
me for my horse.
DIOMEDES. Ha! art thou there?
AJAX. I'll fight with him alone. Stand, Diomed.
DIOMEDES. He is my prize. I will not look upon.
TROILUS. Come, both, you cogging Greeks; have at you
Exeunt fighting
Enter HECTOR
HECTOR. Yea, Troilus? O, well fought, my youngest brother!
Enter ACHILLES
ACHILLES. Now do I see thee, ha! Have at thee, Hector!
HECTOR. Pause, if thou wilt.
ACHILLES. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Troyan.
Be happy that my arms are out of use;
My rest and negligence befriends thee now,
But thou anon shalt hear of me again;
Till when, go seek thy fortune. Exit HECTOR. Fare thee well.
I would have been much more a fresher man,
Had I expected thee.
Re-enter TROILUS
How now, my brother!
TROILUS. Ajax hath ta'en Aeneas. Shall it be?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven,
He shall not carry him; I'll be ta'en too,
Or bring him off. Fate, hear me what I say:
I reck not though thou end my life to-day. Exit
Enter one in armour
HECTOR. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly mark. No? wilt thou not? I like thy
armour well;
I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all
But I'll be master of it. Wilt thou not, beast, abide?
Why then, fly on; I'll hunt thee for thy hide. Exeunt
ACT V. SCENE 7.
Another part of the plainEnter ACHILLES, with Myrmidons
ACHILLES. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel;
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath;
And when I have the bloody Hector found,
Empale him with your weapons round about;
In fellest manner execute your arms.
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye.
It is decreed Hector the great must die. Exeunt
Enter MENELAUS and PARIS, fighting; then THERSITES
THERSITES. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker are at it. Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris,
'loo! now my double-horn'd Spartan! 'loo, Paris, 'loo! The bull has the game. Ware horns,
ho!
Exeunt PARIS and MENELAUS
Enter MARGARELON
MARGARELON. Turn, slave, and fight.
THERSITES. What art thou?
MARGARELON. A bastard son of Priam's.
THERSITES. I am a bastard too; I love bastards. I am a bastard begot, bastard instructed,
bastard in mind, bastard in valour, in everything illegitimate. One bear will not bite
another, and wherefore should one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us:
if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts judgment. Farewell, bastard.
Exit Exit
MARGARELON. The devil take thee, coward! Exit
ACT V. SCENE 8.
Another part of the plain
Enter HECTOR
HECTOR. Most putrified core so fair without,
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done; I'll take good breath:
Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death!
[Disarms]
Enter ACHILLES and his Myrmidons
ACHILLES. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set;
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels;
Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
HECTOR. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage, Greek.
ACHILLES. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I seek.
[HECTOR falls] So, Ilion, fall thou next! Come, Troy, sink down;
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone.
On, Myrmidons, and cry you an amain
'Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.'
[A retreat sounded] Hark! a retire upon our Grecian part.
MYRMIDON. The Troyan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
ACHILLES. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth
And, stickler-like, the armies separates.
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed.
[Sheathes his sword] Come, tie his body to my horse's tail;
Along the field I will the Troyan trail. Exeunt
ACT V. SCENE 9.
Another part of the plain
Sound retreat. Shout. Enter AGAMEMNON, AJAX, MENELAUS, NESTOR, DIOMEDES, and
the rest,
marching SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
AGAMEMNON. Hark! hark! what shout is this? BY PROJECT
NESTOR. Peace, drums! GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
SOLDIERS. [Within] Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain. Achilles! DIOMEDES. The bruit is ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
Hector's slain, and by Achilles. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
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Great Hector was as good a man as he.AGAMEMNON. March patiently along. Let one be sent PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
To pray Achilles see us at our tent. COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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Exeunt 1602
ACT V. SCENE 10. TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL
Another part of the plain by William Shakespeare
Enter AENEAS, PARIS, ANTENOR, and DEIPHOBUS DRAMATIS PERSONAE
AENEAS. Stand, ho! yet are we masters of the field. ORSINO, Duke of Illyria
Never go home; here starve we out the night. SEBASTIAN, brother of Viola
Enter TROILUS ANTONIO, a sea captain, friend of Sebastian
TROILUS. Hector is slain. A SEA CAPTAIN, friend of Viola
ALL. Hector! The gods forbid! VALENTINE, gentleman attending on the Duke
TROILUS. He's dead, and at the murderer's horse's tail, CURIO, gentleman attending on the Duke
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. SIR TOBY BELCH, uncle of Olivia
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed. SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy. MALVOLIO, steward to Olivia
I say at once let your brief plagues be mercy, FABIAN, servant to Olivia
And linger not our sure destructions on. FESTE, a clown, servant to Olivia
AENEAS. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. OLIVIA, a rich countess
TROILUS. You understand me not that tell me so. VIOLA, sister of Sebastian
I do not speak of flight, of fear of death, MARIA, Olivia's waiting woman
But dare all imminence that gods and men Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and Attendants
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba? SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd BY PROJECT
Go in to Troy, and say there 'Hector's dead.' GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
There is a word will Priam turn to stone; ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, YOUR OR OTHERS
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away; PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
Hector is dead; there is no more to say. COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
Stay yet. You vile abominable tents, SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains, DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Let Titan rise as early as he dare, SCENE:
I'll through and through you. And, thou great-siz'd coward, No space of earth shall A city in Illyria; and the sea-coast near it
sunder our two hates; ACT I. SCENE I.
I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, The DUKE'S palace
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy's thoughts. Enter ORSINO, Duke of Illyria, CURIO, and other LORDS; MUSICIANS attending
Strike a free march to Troy. With comfort go; DUKE. If music be the food of love, play on,
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
Enter PANDARUS The appetite may sicken and so die.
PANDARUS. But hear you, hear you! That strain again! It had a dying fall;
TROILUS. Hence, broker-lackey. Ignominy and shame O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
Pursue thy life and live aye with thy name! That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Exeunt all but PANDARUS PANDARUS. A goodly medicine for my aching bones! world! world! Stealing and giving odour! Enough, no more;
thus is the poor agent despis'd! traitors and bawds, how earnestly are you set a work, 'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
and how ill requited! Why should our endeavour be so lov'd, and the performance so O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
loathed? What verse for it? What instance for it? Let me see- That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting; Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
And being once subdu'd in armed trail, But falls into abatement and low price
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy,
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted That it alone is high fantastical.
cloths. As many as be here of pander's hall, CURIO. Will you go hunt, my lord?
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall; DUKE. What, Curio?
Or, if you cannot weep, yet give some groans, CURIO. The hart.
Though not for me, yet for your aching bones. DUKE. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have.
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Some two months hence my will shall here be made. Methought she purg'd the air of pestilence!
It should be now, but that my fear is this, That instant was I turn'd into a hart,
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss. And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases, E'er since pursue me.
And at that time bequeath you my diseases. Exit Enter VALENTINEHow now! what news from her?
THE END<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM 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, I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously,
Shall not behold her face at ample view; Conceal me what I am, and be my aid
But like a cloistress she will veiled walk, For such disguise as haply shall become
And water once a day her chamber round The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke:
With eye-offending brine; all this to season Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him;
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh It may be worth thy pains, for I can sing
And lasting in her sad remembrance. And speak to him in many sorts of music,
DUKE. O, she that hath a heart of that fine frame That will allow me very worth his service.
To pay this debt of love but to a brother, What else may hap to time I will commit;
How will she love when the rich golden shaft Only shape thou silence to my wit.
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else CAPTAIN. Be you his eunuch and your mute I'll be;
That live in her; when liver, brain, and heart, When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see.
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied and fill'd, VIOLA. I thank thee. Lead me on. Exeunt
Her sweet perfections, with one self king! SCENE III.
Away before me to sweet beds of flow'rs: OLIVIA'S house
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bow'rs. Enter SIR TOBY BELCH and MARIA
Exeunt SIR TOBY. What a plague means my niece to take the death of her brother thus? I am sure
SCENE II. care's an enemy to life.
The sea-coast MARIA. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come in earlier o' nights; your cousin, my lady,
Enter VIOLA, a CAPTAIN, and SAILORS takes great exceptions to your ill hours. SIR TOBY. Why, let her except before excepted.
VIOLA. What country, friends, is this? MARIA. Ay, but you must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
CAPTAIN. This is Illyria, lady. SIR TOBY. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer than I am. These clothes are good enough
VIOLA. And what should I do in Illyria? to drink in, and so be these boots too; an they be not, let them hang themselves in their
My brother he is in Elysium. own straps. MARIA. That quaffing and drinking will undo you; I heard my lady talk of it
Perchance he is not drown'd- what think you, sailors? yesterday, and of a foolish knight that you brought in one night here to be her wooer.
CAPTAIN. It is perchance that you yourself were saved. SIR TOBY. Who? Sir Andrew Aguecheek?
VIOLA. O my poor brother! and so perchance may he be. MARIA. Ay, he.
CAPTAIN. True, madam, and, to comfort you with chance, SIR TOBY. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
Assure yourself, after our ship did split, MARIA. What's that to th' purpose?
When you, and those poor number saved with you, SIR TOBY. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, MARIA. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these ducats; he's a very fool and a
Most provident in peril, bind himselfCourage prodigal.
and hope both teaching him the practiceTo SIR TOBY. Fie that you'll say so! He plays o' th' viol-de-gamboys, and speaks three or
a strong mast that liv'd upon the sea; four languages word for word without book, and hath all the good gifts of nature.
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, MARIA. He hath indeed, almost natural; for, besides that he's a fool, he's a great
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves quarreller; and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the gust he hath in
So long as I could see. quarrelling, 'tis thought among the prudent he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
VIOLA. For saying so, there's gold. SIR TOBY. By this hand, they are scoundrels and subtractors that say so of him. Who are
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, they?
Whereto thy speech serves for authority, MARIA. They that add, moreover, he's drunk nightly in your company. SIR TOBY. With
The like of him. Know'st thou this country? drinking healths to my niece; I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage in my
CAPTAIN. Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born throat and drink in Illyria. He's a coward and a coystrill that will not drink to my
Not three hours' travel from this very place. niece till his brains turn o' th' toe like a parish-top. What, wench! Castiliano vulgo!
VIOLA. Who governs here? for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface.
CAPTAIN. A noble duke, in nature as in name. Enter SIR ANDREW AGUECHEEK
VIOLA. What is his name? AGUECHEEK. Sir Toby Belch! How now, Sir Toby Belch!
CAPTAIN. Orsino. SIR TOBY. Sweet Sir Andrew!
VIOLA. Orsino! I have heard my father name him. AGUECHEEK. Bless you, fair shrew.
He was a bachelor then. MARIA. And you too, sir.
CAPTAIN. And so is now, or was so very late; SIR TOBY. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost.
For but a month ago I went from hence, AGUECHEEK. What's that?
And then 'twas fresh in murmur- as, you know, SIR TOBY. My niece's chambermaid.
What great ones do the less will prattle ofThat AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Accost, I desire better acquaintance. MARIA. My name is Mary,
he did seek the love of fair Olivia. sir.
VIOLA. What's she? AGUECHEEK. Good Mistress Mary AccostSIR
CAPTAIN. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count Toby. You mistake, knight. 'Accost' is front her, board her, woo her, assail her.
That died some twelvemonth since, then leaving her AGUECHEEK. By my troth, I would not undertake her in this company. Is that the meaning of
In the protection of his son, her brother, 'accost'?
Who shortly also died; for whose dear love, MARIA. Fare you well, gentlemen.
They say, she hath abjur'd the company SIR TOBY. An thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would thou mightst never draw sword again!
And sight of men. AGUECHEEK. An you part so, mistress, I would I might never draw sword again. Fair lady,
VIOLA. O that I serv'd that lady, do you think you have fools in hand? MARIA. Sir, I have not you by th' hand.
And might not be delivered to the world, AGUECHEEK. Marry, but you shall have; and here's my hand. MARIA. Now, sir, thought is
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, free. I pray you, bring your hand to th' buttry-bar and let it drink.
What my estate is! AGUECHEEK. Wherefore, sweetheart? What's your metaphor?
CAPTAIN. That were hard to compass, MARIA. It's dry, sir.
Because she will admit no kind of suitNo, AGUECHEEK. Why, I think so; I am not such an ass but I can keep my hand dry. But what's
not the Duke's. your jest?
VIOLA. There is a fair behaviour in thee, Captain; MARIA. A dry jest, sir.
And though that nature with a beauteous wall AGUECHEEK. Are you full of them?
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of theeI will believe thou hast a mind that suits MARIA. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers' ends; marry, now I let go your hand, I ambarren. Exit
With this thy fair and outward character. MARIA SIR TOBY. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary! When did I see thee
so put down? VIOLA. I think not so, my lord.DUKE. Dear lad, believe it,
AGUECHEEK. Never in your life, I think; unless you see canary put me down. Methinks For they shall yet belie thy happy years
sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian or an ordinary man has; but I am great That say thou art a man: Diana's lip
eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit. Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small pipe
SIR TOBY. No question. Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound,
AGUECHEEK. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. And all is semblative a woman's part.
SIR TOBY. Pourquoi, my dear knight? I know thy constellation is right apt
AGUECHEEK. What is 'pourquoi'- do or not do? I would I had bestowed that time in the For this affair. Some four or five attend himAll,
tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting. Oh, had I but followed the if you will, for I myself am best
arts! When least in company. Prosper well in this,
SIR TOBY. Then hadst thou had an excellent head of hair. And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord
AGUECHEEK. Why, would that have mended my hair? To call his fortunes thine.
SIR TOBY. Past question; for thou seest it will not curl by nature. AGUECHEEK. But it VIOLA. I'll do my best
becomes me well enough, does't not? To woo your lady. [Aside] Yet, a barful strife!
SIR TOBY. Excellent; it hangs like flax on a distaff, and I hope to see a huswife take Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife.
thee between her legs and spin it off. AGUECHEEK. Faith, I'll home to-morrow, Sir Toby. SCENE V.
Your niece will not be seen, or if she be, it's four to one she'll none of me; the Count OLIVIA'S house
himself here hard by woos her. Enter MARIA and CLOWN
SIR TOBY. She'll none o' th' Count; she'll not match above her degree, neither in estate, MARIA. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a
years, nor wit; I have heard her swear't. Tut, there's life in't, man. bristle may enter in way of thy excuse; my lady will hang thee for thy absence.
AGUECHEEK. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow o' th' strangest mind i' th' world; I CLOWN. Let her hang me. He that is well hang'd in this world needs to fear no colours.
delight in masques and revels sometimes altogether. MARIA. Make that good.
SIR TOBY. Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight? CLOWN. He shall see none to fear.
AGUECHEEK. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he be, under the degree of my betters; and MARIA. A good lenten answer. I can tell thee where that saying was born, of 'I fear no
yet I will not compare with an old man. SIR TOBY. What is thy excellence in a galliard, colours.'
knight? CLOWN. Where, good Mistress Mary?
AGUECHEEK. Faith, I can cut a caper. MARIA. In the wars; and that may you be bold to say in your foolery.
SIR TOBY. And I can cut the mutton to't. CLOWN. Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use
AGUECHEEK. And I think I have the back-trick simply as strong as any man in Illyria. their talents.
SIR TOBY. Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have these gifts a curtain before MARIA. Yet you will be hang'd for being so long absent; or to be turn'd away- is not that
'em? Are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall's picture? Why dost thou not go to as good as a hanging to you?
church in a galliard and come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig; I would CLOWN. Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage; and for turning away, let summer
not so much as make water but in a sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a world to bear
hide virtues in? I did think, by the excellent constitution of thy leg, it was form'd it out.
under the star of a galliard. MARIA. You are resolute, then?
AGUECHEEK. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indifferent well in flame-colour'd stock. Shall CLOWN. Not so, neither; but I am resolv'd on two points.
we set about some revels? MARIA. That if one break, the other will hold; or if both break, your gaskins fall.
SIR TOBY. What shall we do else? Were we not born under Taurus? AGUECHEEK. Taurus? CLOWN. Apt, in good faith, very apt! Well, go thy way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking,
That's thou wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria.
sides and heart. MARIA. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. Here comes my lady. Make your excuse wisely,
SIR TOBY. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see the caper. Ha, higher! Ha, ha, you were best. Exit
excellent! Exeunt Enter OLIVIA and MALVOLIO
SCENE IV. CLOWN. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good fooling! Those wits that think they have
The DUKE'S palace thee do very oft prove fools; and I that am sure I lack thee may pass for a wise man. For
Enter VALENTINE, and VIOLA in man's attire what says Quinapalus? 'Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.' God bless thee, lady!
VALENTINE. If the Duke continue these favours towards you, Cesario, you are like to be OLIVIA. Take the fool away.
much advanc'd; he hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger. CLOWN. Do you not hear, fellows? Take away the lady.
VIOLA. You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the OLIVIA. Go to, y'are a dry fool; I'll no more of you. Besides, you grow dishonest.
continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours? CLOWN. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend; for give the dry fool
VALENTINE. No, believe me. drink, then is the fool not dry. Bid the dishonest man mend himself: if he mend, he is no
Enter DUKE, CURIO, and ATTENDANTS longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Anything that's mended is but
VIOLA. I thank you. Here comes the Count. patch'd; virtue that transgresses is but patch'd with sin, and sin that amends is but
DUKE. Who saw Cesario, ho? patch'd with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what
VIOLA. On your attendance, my lord, here. remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade
DUKE. Stand you awhile aloof. Cesario, take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.
Thou know'st no less but all; I have unclasp'd OLIVIA. Sir, I bade them take away you.
To thee the book even of my secret soul. CLOWN. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 'Cucullus non facit monachum'; that's as
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her; much to say as I wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a
Be not denied access, stand at her doors, fool. OLIVIA. Can you do it?
And tell them there thy fixed foot shall grow CLOWN. Dexteriously, good madonna.
Till thou have audience. OLIVIA. Make your proof.
VIOLA. Sure, my noble lord, CLOWN. I must catechize you for it, madonna.
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow Good my mouse of virtue, answer me.
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. OLIVIA. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll bide your proof.
DUKE. Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds, CLOWN. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?
Rather than make unprofited return. OLIVIA. Good fool, for my brother's death.
VIOLA. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what then? CLOWN. I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
DUKE. O, then unfold the passion of my love, OLIVIA. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith! CLOWN. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take
It shall become thee well to act my woes: away the fool, gentlemen.
She will attend it better in thy youth OLIVIA. What think you of this fool, Malvolio? Doth he not mend? MALVOLIO. Yes, and shall
Than in a nuncio's of more grave aspect. 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 fortwopence
that you are no fool. OLIVIA. How say you to that, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such a barren rascal; I saw him put
down the other day with an ordinary fool that has no more brain than a stone. Look you
now, he's out of his guard already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to him, he is
gagg'd. I protest I take these wise men that crow so at these set kind of fools no better
than the fools' zanies. OLIVIA. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a
distemper'd appetite. To be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take
those things for bird-bolts that you deem cannon bullets. There is no slander in an
allow'd fool, though he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in known discreet man, though
he do nothing but reprove.
CLOWN. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, for thou speak'st well of fools!
Re-enter MARIA
MARIA. Madam, there is at the gate a young gentleman much desires to speak with you.
OLIVIA. From the Count Orsino, is it?
MARIA. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man, and well attended. OLIVIA. Who of my
people hold him in delay?
MARIA. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
OLIVIA. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing but madman. Fie on him! [Exit MARIA]
Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the Count, I am sick, or not at home- what you
will to dismiss it. [Exit MALVOLIO] Now you see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and
people dislike it.
CLOWN. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy eldest son should be a fool; whose
skull Jove cram with brains! For- here he comesone of thy kin has a most weak pia mater.
Enter SIR TOBY
OLIVIA. By mine honour, half drunk! What is he at the gate, cousin? SIR TOBY. A
gentleman.
OLIVIA. A gentleman! What gentleman?
SIR TOBY. 'Tis a gentleman here. [Hiccups] A plague o' these pickle-herring! How now,
sot!
CLOWN. Good Sir Toby!
OLIVIA. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early by this lethargy?
SIR TOBY. Lechery! I defy lechery. There's one at the gate. OLIVIA. Ay, marry; what is
he?
SIR TOBY. Let him be the devil an he will, I care not; give me faith, say I. Well, it's
all one. Exit OLIVIA. What's a drunken man like, fool?
CLOWN. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman: one draught above heat makes him a
fool;
the second mads him; and a third drowns him.
OLIVIA. Go thou and seek the crowner, and let him sit o' my coz; for he's in the third
degree of drink, he's drown'd; go look after him.
CLOWN. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool shall look to the madman. Exit
Re-enter MALVOLIO
MALVOLIO. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. I told him you were
sick; he takes on him to understand so much, and therefore comes to speak with you. I
told him you were asleep; he seems to have a foreknowledge of that too, and therefore
comes to speak with you. What is to be said to him, lady? He's fortified against any
denial.
OLIVIA. Tell him he shall not speak with me.
MALVOLIO. Has been told so; and he says he'll stand at your door like a sheriff's post,
and be the supporter to a bench, but he'll speak with you.
OLIVIA. What kind o' man is he?
MALVOLIO. Why, of mankind.
OLIVIA. What manner of man?
MALVOLIO. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, will you or no. OLIVIA. Of what
personage and years is he?
MALVOLIO. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before
'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple; 'tis with him in standing water,
between boy and man. He is very well-favour'd, and he speaks very shrewishly; one would
think his mother's milk were scarce out of him.
OLIVIA. Let him approach. Call in my gentlewoman.
MALVOLIO. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit
Re-enter MARIA
OLIVIA. Give me my veil; come, throw it o'er my face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
Enter VIOLA
VIOLA. The honourable lady of the house, which is she?
OLIVIA. Speak to me; I shall answer for her. Your will?
VIOLA. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable beauty- I pray you tell me if this be the
lady of the house, for I never saw her. I would be loath to cast away my speech; for,besides
that it is excellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to con it. Good
beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very comptible, even to the least sinister usage.
OLIVIA. Whence came you, sir?
VIOLA. I can say little more than I have studied, and that question's out of my part.
Good gentle one, give me modest assurance if you be the lady of the house, that I may
proceed in my speech.
OLIVIA. Are you a comedian?
VIOLA. No, my profound heart; and yet, by the very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that
I play. Are you the lady of the house? OLIVIA. If I do not usurp myself, I am.
VIOLA. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp yourself; for what is yours to bestow
is not yours to reserve. But this is from my commission. I will on with my speech in your
praise, and then show you the heart of my message.
OLIVIA. Come to what is important in't. I forgive you the praise. VIOLA. Alas, I took
great pains to study it, and 'tis poetical. OLIVIA. It is the more like to be feigned; I
pray you keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates, and allow'd your approach rather
to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone; if you have reason, be
brief; 'tis not that time of moon with me to make one in so skipping dialogue.
MARIA. Will you hoist sail, sir? Here lies your way.
VIOLA. No, good swabber, I am to hull here a little longer. Some mollification for your
giant, sweet lady.
OLIVIA. Tell me your mind.
VIOLA. I am a messenger.
OLIVIA. Sure, you have some hideous matter to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so
fearful. Speak your office.
VIOLA. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage: I
hold the olive in my hand; my words are as full of peace as matter.
OLIVIA. Yet you began rudely. What are you? What would you? VIOLA. The rudeness that
hath
appear'd in me have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am and what I would are as
secret as maidenhead- to your cars, divinity; to any other's, profanation. OLIVIA. Give
us the place alone; we will hear this divinity. [Exeunt MARIA and ATTENDANTS] Now, sir,
what is your text? VIOLA. Most sweet ladyOLIVIA.
A comfortable doctrine, and much may be said of it.
Where lies your text?
VIOLA. In Orsino's bosom.
OLIVIA. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bosom?
VIOLA. To answer by the method: in the first of his heart. OLIVIA. O, I have read it; it
is heresy. Have you no more to say? VIOLA. Good madam, let me see your face.
OLIVIA. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face? You are now out
of your text; but we will draw the curtain and show you the picture. [Unveiling] Look
you, sir, such a one I was this present. Is't not well done?
VIOLA. Excellently done, if God did all.
OLIVIA. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and weather. VIOLA. 'Tis beauty truly
blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
OLIVIA. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will give out divers schedules of my
beauty. It shall be inventoried, and every particle and utensil labell'd to my will: as-
item, two lips indifferent red; item, two grey eyes with lids to them; item, one neck,
one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? VIOLA. I see you what you are:
you are too proud;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you- O, such love
Could be but recompens'd though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty!
OLIVIA. How does he love me?
VIOLA. With adorations, fertile tears,
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
OLIVIA. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot love him.
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth;
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant,
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person; but yet I cannot love him.
He might have took his answer long ago.
VIOLA. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suff'ring, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense;
I would not understand it.
OLIVIA. Why, what would you?
VIOLA. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house; SEBASTIAN. A lady, sir, though it was said she much resembled me, was yet of many
Write loyal cantons of contemned love accounted beautiful; but though I could not with such estimable wonder overfar believe
And sing them loud even in the dead of night; that, yet thus far I will boldly publish her: she bore mind that envy could not but call
Halloo your name to the reverberate hals, fair. She is drown'd already, sir, with salt water, though I seem to drown her
And make the babbling gossip of the air remembrance again with more.
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not restBetween the elements of air and earth ANTONIO. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment.
But you should pity me! SEBASTIAN. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
OLIVIA. You might do much. ANTONIO. If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant.
What is your parentage? SEBASTIAN. If you will not undo what you have done- that is, kill him whom you
VIOLA. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: haverecover'd-desire it not. Fare ye well at once; my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet
I am a gentleman. so near the manners of my mother that, upon the least occasion more, mine eyes will tell
OLIVIA. Get you to your lord. tales of me. I am bound to the Count Orsino's court. Farewell. Exit
I cannot love him; let him send no moreUnless ANTONIO. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee!
perchance you come to me again I have many cnemies in Orsino's court,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well. Else would I very shortly see thee there.
I thank you for your pains; spend this for me. But come what may, I do adore thee so
VIOLA. I am no fee'd post, lady; keep your purse; That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. Exit
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. SCENE II.
Love make his heart of flint that you shall love; A street
And let your fervour, like my master's, be Enter VIOLA and MALVOLIO at several doors
Plac'd in contempt! Farewell, fair cruelty. Exit OLIVIA. 'What is your parentage?' MALVOLIO. Were you not ev'n now with the Countess Olivia? VIOLA. Even now, sir; on a
'Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: moderate pace I have since arriv'd but hither.
I am a gentleman.' I'll be sworn thou art; MALVOLIO. She returns this ring to you, sir; you might have saved me my pains, to have
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, taken it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should put your lord into a
Do give thee five-fold blazon. Not too fast! Soft, soft! Unless the master were the man. desperate assurance she will none of him. And one thing more: that you be never so hardy
How now! to come again in his affairs, unless it be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive
Even so quickly may one catch the plague? it so.
Methinks I feel this youth's perfections VIOLA. She took the ring of me; I'll none of it.
With an invisible and subtle stealth MALVOLIO. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and her will is it should be so
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. return'd. If it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye; if not, be it his that
What ho, Malvolio! finds it.
Re-enter MALVOLIO Exit
MALVOLIO. Here, madam, at your service. VIOLA. I left no ring with her; what means this lady?
OLIVIA. Run after that same peevish messenger, Fortune forbid my outside have not charm'd her!
The County's man. He left this ring behind him, She made good view of me; indeed, so much
Would I or not. Tell him I'll none of it. That methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
Desire him not to flatter with his lord, For she did speak in starts distractedly.
Nor hold him up with hopes; I am not for him. She loves me, sure: the cunning of her passion
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, Invites me in this churlish messenger.
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. None of my lord's ring! Why, he sent her none.
MALVOLIO. Madam, I will. Exit OLIVIA. I do I know not what, and fear to find I am the man. If it be so- as 'tisPoor
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. lady, she were better love a dream.
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not owe; Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
What is decreed must be; and be this so! Exit Wherein the pregnant enemy does much.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM How easy is it for the proper-false
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED In women's waxen hearts to set their forms!
BY PROJECT Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we!
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. For such as we are made of, such we be.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR And I, poor monster, fond as much on him;
YOUR OR OTHERS And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED What will become of this? As I am man,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY My state is desperate for my master's love;
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR As I am woman- now alas the day!-
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe!
ACT II. SCENE I. O Time, thou must untangle this, not I;
The sea-coast It is too hard a knot for me t' untie! Exit
Enter ANTONIO and SEBASTIAN SCENE III.
ANTONIO. Will you stay no longer; nor will you not that I go with you? OLIVIA'S house
SEBASTIAN. By your patience, no. My stars shine darkly over me; the malignancy of my fate Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW
might perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear SIR TOBY. Approach, Sir Andrew. Not to be abed after midnight is to be up betimes; and
my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you. 'diluculo surgere' thou know'stAGUECHEEK.
ANTONIO. Let me know of you whither you are bound. Nay, by my troth, I know not; but I know to be up late
SEBASTIAN. No, sooth, sir; my determinate voyage is mere is to be up late.
extravagancy. But I perceive in you so excellent a touch of modesty that you will not SIR TOBY. A false conclusion! I hate it as an unfill'd can. To be up after midnight and
extort from me what I am willing to keep in; therefore it charges me in manners the to go to bed then is early; so that to go to bed after midnight is to go to bed betimes.
rather to express myself. You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, which Does not our lives consist of the four elements?
I call'd Roderigo; my father was that Sebastian of Messaline whom I know you have heard AGUECHEEK. Faith, so they say; but I think it rather consists of eating and drinking.
of. He left behind him myself and a sister, both born in an hour; if the heavens had been SIR TOBY. Th'art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say! a stoup of
pleas'd, would we had so ended! But you, sir, alter'd that; for some hour before you took wine.
me from the breach of the sea was my sister drown'd. Enter CLOWN
ANTONIO. Alas the day! AGUECHEEK. Here comes the fool, i' faith.
CLOWN. How now, my hearts! Did you never see the picture of 'we three'? Toby.CLOWN. [Sings] His eyes do show his days are almost done. MALVOLIO. Is't even so?
SIR TOBY. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. SIR TOBY. [Sings] But I will never die. [Falls down] CLOWN. [Sings] Sir Toby, there you
AGUECHEEK. By my troth, the fool has an excellent breast. I had rather than forty lie.
shillings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool has. In sooth, MALVOLIO. This is much credit to you.
thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, when thou spok'st of Pigrogromitus, of the SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go?
Vapians passing the equinoctial of Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee CLOWN. [Sings] What an if you do?
sixpence for thy leman; hadst it? CLOWN. I did impeticos thy gratillity; for Malvolio'snose is no SIR TOBY. [Sings] Shall I bid him go, and spare not?
whipstock. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale CLOWN. [Sings] O, no, no, no, no, you dare not.
houses. SIR TOBY. [Rising] Out o' tune, sir! Ye lie. Art any more than a steward? Dost thou
AGUECHEEK. Excellent! Why, this is the best fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?
SIR TOBY. Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let's have a song. AGUECHEEK. There's a CLOWN. Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i' th' mouth too.
testril of me too; if one knight give aCLOWN. Would you have a love-song, or a song of SIR TOBY. Th' art i' th' right. Go, sir, rub your chain with crumbs.
good life? A stoup of wine, Maria!
SIR TOBY. A love-song, a love-song. MALVOLIO. Mistress Mary, if you priz'd my lady's favour at anything more than contempt,
AGUECHEEK. Ay, ay; I care not for good life. you would not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know of it, by this hand.
CLOWN sings Exit
O mistress mine, where are you roaming? MARIA. Go shake your ears.
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, AGUECHEEK. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a man's ahungry, to challenge him the
That can sing both high and low. field, and then to break promise with him and make a fool of him.
Trip no further, pretty sweeting; SIR TOBY. Do't, knight. I'll write thee a challenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to
Journeys end in lovers meeting, him by word of mouth.
Every wise man's son doth know. MARIA. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to-night; since the youth of the Count's was to-day
AGUECHEEK. Excellent good, i' faith! with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him; if
SIR TOBY. Good, good! I do not gull him into a nayword, and make him a common recreation, do not think I have
CLOWN sings wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can do it.
What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; SIR TOBY. Possess us, possess us; tell us something of him. MARIA. Marry, sir, sometimes
Present mirth hath present laughter; he is a kind of Puritan.
What's to come is still unsure. AGUECHEEK. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. SIR TOBY. What, for being a
In delay there lies no plenty, Puritan? Thy exquisite reason, dear knight?
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty; AGUECHEEK. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough.
Youth's a stuff will not endure. MARIA. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an
AGUECHEEK. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. affection'd ass that cons state without book and utters it by great swarths; the best
SIR TOBY. A contagious breath. persuaded of himself, so cramm'd, as he thinks, with excellencies that it is his grounds
AGUECHEEK. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. of faith that all that look on him love him; and on that vice in him will my revenge find
SIR TOBY. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in contagion. But shall we make the welkin notable cause to work.
dance indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch that will draw three souls out of SIR TOBY. What wilt thou do?
one weaver? Shall we do that? MARIA. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love; wherein, by the colour of
AGUECHEEK. An you love me, let's do't. I am dog at a catch. CLOWN. By'r lady, sir, and his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye,
some dogs will catch well. forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write
AGUECHEEK. Most certain. Let our catch be 'Thou knave.' very like my lady, your niece; on forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our
CLOWN. 'Hold thy peace, thou knave' knight? I shall be constrain'd in't to call thee hands.
knave, knight. SIR TOBY. Excellent! I smell a device.
AGUECHEEK. 'Tis not the first time I have constrained one to call me knave. Begin, fool: AGUECHEEK. I have't in my nose too.
it begins 'Hold thy peace.' SIR TOBY. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt drop, that they come from my
CLOWN. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. niece, and that she's in love with him. MARIA. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that
AGUECHEEK. Good, i' faith! Come, begin. [Catch sung] colour.
Enter MARIA AGUECHEEK. And your horse now would make him an ass.
MARIA. What a caterwauling do you keep here! If my lady have not call'd up her steward MARIA. Ass, I doubt not.
Malvolio, and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. AGUECHEEK. O, 'twill be admirable!
SIR TOBY. My lady's a Cataian, we are politicians, Malvolio's a MARIA. Sport royal, I warrant you. I know my physic will work with him. I will plant you
Peg-a-Ramsey, and [Sings] two, and let the fool make a third, where he shall find the letter; observe his
Three merry men be we. construction of it. For this night, to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell.
Am not I consanguineous? Am I not of her blood? Tilly-vally, Exit
lady. [Sings] SIR TOBY. Good night, Penthesilea.
There dwelt a man in Babylon, AGUECHEEK. Before me, she's a good wench.
Lady, lady. SIR TOBY. She's a beagle true-bred, and one that adores me. What o' that?
CLOWN. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. AGUECHEEK. I was ador'd once too.
AGUECHEEK. Ay, he does well enough if he be dispos'd, and so do I too; he does it with a SIR TOBY. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst need send for more money.
better grace, but I do it more natural. SIR TOBY. [Sings] O' the twelfth day of AGUECHEEK. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a foul way out. SIR TOBY. Send for money,
DecemberMARIA. knight; if thou hast her not i' th' end, call me Cut.
For the love o' God, peace! AGUECHEEK. If I do not, never trust me; take it how you will. SIR TOBY. Come, come, I'll
Enter MALVOLIO go burn some sack; 'tis too late to go to bed now. Come, knight; come, knight.
MALVOLIO. My masters, are you mad? Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor Exeunt
honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye make an ale-house of my SCENE IV.
lady's house, that ye squeak out your coziers' catches without any mitigation or remorse The DUKE'S palace
of voice? Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, in you? Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and OTHERS
SIR TOBY. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. Sneck up! MALVOLIO. Sir Toby, I must be DUKE. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, friends.
round with you. My lady bade me tell you that, though she harbours you as her kins-man, Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
she's nothing allied to your disorders. If you can separate yourself and your That old and antique song we heard last night;
misdemeanours, you are welcome to the house; if not, and it would please you to take Methought it did relieve my passion much,
leave of her, she is very willing to bid you farewell. More than light airs and recollected terms
SIR TOBY. [Sings] Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be gone. MARIA. Nay, good Sir 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. Exit CLOWN DUKE. Let all the rest give place.
DUKE. Who was it? Exeunt CURIO and ATTENDANTS Once more, Cesario,
CURIO. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the Lady Olivia's father took much delight Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty.
in. He is about the house. Tell her my love, more noble than the world,
DUKE. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Prizes not quantity of dirty lands;
Exit CURIO. [Music plays] Come hither, boy. If ever thou shalt love, The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me; Tell her I hold as giddily as Fortune;
For such as I am all true lovers are, But 'tis that miracle and queen of gems
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else That Nature pranks her in attracts my soul.
Save in the constant image of the creature VIOLA. But if she cannot love you, sir?
That is belov'd. How dost thou like this tune? DUKE. I cannot be so answer'd.
VIOLA. It gives a very echo to the seat VIOLA. Sooth, but you must.
Where Love is thron'd. Say that some lady, as perhaps there is,
DUKE. Thou dost speak masterly. Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye As you have for Olivia. You cannot love her;
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves; You tell her so. Must she not then be answer'd?
Hath it not, boy? DUKE. There is no woman's sides
VIOLA. A little, by your favour. Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
DUKE. What kind of woman is't? As love doth give my heart; no woman's heart
VIOLA. Of your complexion. So big to hold so much; they lack retention.
DUKE. She is not worth thee, then. What years, i' faith? Alas, their love may be call'd appetiteNo
VIOLA. About your years, my lord. motion of the liver, but the palateThat
DUKE. Too old, by heaven! Let still the woman take suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
An elder than herself; so wears she to him, But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
So sways she level in her husband's heart. And can digest as much. Make no compare
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Between that love a woman can bear me
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, And that I owe Olivia.
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, VIOLA. Ay, but I knowDUKE.
Than women's are. What dost thou know?
VIOLA. I think it well, my lord. VIOLA. Too well what love women to men may owe.
DUKE. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent; My father had a daughter lov'd a man,
For women are as roses, whose fair flow'r As it might be perhaps, were I a woman,
Being once display'd doth fall that very hour. I should your lordship.
VIOLA. And so they are; alas, that they are so! DUKE. And what's her history?
To die, even when they to perfection grow! VIOLA. A blank, my lord. She never told her love,
Re-enter CURIO and CLOWN But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
DUKE. O, fellow, come, the song we had last night. Feed on her damask cheek. She pin'd in thought;
Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain; And with a green and yellow melancholy
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, She sat like Patience on a monument,
And the free maids that weave their thread with bones, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
Do use to chant it; it is silly sooth, We men may say more, swear more, but indeed
And dallies with the innocence of love, Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Like the old age. Much in our vows, but little in our love.
CLOWN. Are you ready, sir? DUKE. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?
DUKE. Ay; prithee, sing. [Music] VIOLA. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
FESTE'S SONG And all the brothers too- and yet I know not.
Come away, come away, death; Sir, shall I to this lady?
And in sad cypress let me be laid; DUKE. Ay, that's the theme.
Fly away, fly away, breath, To her in haste. Give her this jewel; say
I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My love can give no place, bide no denay. Exeunt
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, SCENE V.
O, prepare it! OLIVIA'S garden
My part of death no one so true Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN
Did share it. SIR TOBY. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet, FABIAN. Nay, I'll come; if I lose a scruple of this sport let me be boil'd to death with
On my black coffin let there be strown; melancholy.
Not a friend, not a friend greet SIR TOBY. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by
My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown; some notable shame?
A thousand thousand to save, FABIAN. I would exult, man; you know he brought me out o' favour with my lady about a
Lay me, O, where bear-baiting here.
Sad true lover never find my grave, SIR TOBY. To anger him we'll have the bear again; and we will fool him black and blue-
To weep there! shall we not, Sir Andrew?
DUKE. There's for thy pains. AGUECHEEK. And we do not, it is pity of our lives.
CLOWN. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, sir. Enter MARIASIR TOBY. Here comes the little villain.
DUKE. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. How now, my metal of India!
CLOWN. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid one time or another. DUKE. Give me now leaveto MARIA. Get ye all three into the box-tree. Malvolio's coming down this walk. He has been
leave thee. yonder i' the sun practising behaviour to his own shadow this half hour. Observe him, for
CLOWN. Now the melancholy god protect thee; and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable the love of mockery, for I know this letter will make a contemplative idiot of him.
taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that Close, in the name of jesting! [As the men hide she drops a letter] Lie thou there; for
their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere: for that's it that here comes the trout that must be caught with tickling.
always makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. Exit
Enter MALVOLIO MALVOLIO. 'I may command where I adore.' Why, she may command me: I serve her; she is
MALVOLIO. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once told me she did affect me; and I my
have heard herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one of my lady. Why, this is evident to any formal capacity; there is no obstruction in this. And
complexion. Besides, she uses me with a more exalted respect than any one else that the end- what should that alphabetical position portend? If I could make that resemble
follows her. What should I think on't? something in me. Softly! M. O. A. I.-
SIR TOBY. Here's an overweening rogue! SIR TOBY. O, ay, make up that! He is now at a cold scent. FABIAN. Sowter will cry upon't
FABIAN. O, peace! Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him; how he jets under his for all this, though it be as rank as a fox.
advanc'd plumes! MALVOLIO. M- Malvolio; M- why, that begins my name.
AGUECHEEK. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogueSIR FABIAN. Did not I say he would work it out?
TOBY. Peace, I say. The cur is excellent at faults.
MALVOLIO. To be Count Malvolio! MALVOLIO. M- But then there is no consonancy in the sequel; that suffers under probation:
SIR TOBY. Ah, rogue! A should follow, but O does.
AGUECHEEK. Pistol him, pistol him. FABIAN. And O shall end, I hope.
SIR TOBY. Peace, peace! SIR TOBY. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him cry 'O!'
MALVOLIO. There is example for't: the Lady of the Strachy married the yeoman of the MALVOLIO. And then I comes behind.
wardrobe. FABIAN. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you might see more detraction at your heels
AGUECHEEK. Fie on him, Jezebel! than fortunes before you.
FABIAN. O, peace! Now he's deeply in; look how imagination blows him. MALVOLIO. M. O. A. I. This simulation is not as the former; and yet, to crush this a
MALVOLIO. Having been three months married to her, sitting in my stateSIR little, it would bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my name. Soft! here
TOBY. O, for a stone-bow to hit him in the eye! follows prose.
MALVOLIO. Calling my officers about me, in my branch'd velvet gown, having come from a [Reads] 'If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee; but be not
day-bed- where I have left Olivia sleepingSIR TOBY. Fire and brimstone! afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness
FABIAN. O, peace, peace! thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them; and,
MALVOLIO. And then to have the humour of state; and after a demure travel of regard, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be
telling them I know my place as I would they should do theirs, to ask for my kinsman opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang arguments of state; put
TobySIR thyself into the trick of singularity. She thus advises thee that sighs for thee.
TOBY. Bolts and shackles! Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wish'd to see thee ever cross-garter'd.
FABIAN. O, peace, peace, peace! Now, now. I say, remember, Go to, thou art made, if thou desir'st to be so; if not, let me see thee
MALVOLIO. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, make out for him. I frown the a steward still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers.
while, and perchance wind up my watch, or play with my- some rich jewel. Toby approaches; Farewell. She that would alter services with thee,
curtsies there to meSIR TOBY. Shall this fellow live? THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.'
FABIAN. Though our silence be drawn from us with cars, yet peace. MALVOLIO. I extend my Daylight and champain discovers not more. This is open. I will be proud, I will read
hand to him thus, quenching my familiar smile with an austere regard of controlSIR politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance, I will be
TOBY. And does not Toby take you a blow o' the lips then? MALVOLIO. Saying 'Cousin Toby, point-devise the very man. I do not now fool myself to let imagination jade me; for every
my fortunes having cast me on your niece give me this prerogative of speech'- reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of
SIR TOBY. What, what? late, she did praise my leg being cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my
MALVOLIO. 'You must amend your drunkenness'- love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my
SIR TOBY. Out, scab! stars I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even
FABIAN. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. MALVOLIO. 'Besides, you waste with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a postscript.
the treasure of your time with a foolish knight'- [Reads] 'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertain'st my love, let it
AGUECHEEK. That's me, I warrant you. appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile,
MALVOLIO. 'One Sir Andrew.' dear my sweet, I prithee.'
AGUECHEEK. I knew 'twas I; for many do call me fool. Jove, I thank thee. I will smile; I will do everything that thou wilt have me. Exit
MALVOLIO. What employment have we here? FABIAN. I will not give my part of this sport for a pension of thousands to be paid from
[Taking up the letter] FABIAN. Now is the woodcock near the gin. the Sophy.
SIR TOBY. O, peace! And the spirit of humours intimate reading aloud to him! SIR TOBY. I could marry this wench for this device.
MALVOLIO. By my life, this is my lady's hand: these be her very C's, her U's, and her AGUECHEEK. So could I too.
T's; and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of question, her hand. SIR TOBY. And ask no other dowry with her but such another jest.
AGUECHEEK. Her C's, her U's, and her T's. Why that? Enter MARIA
MALVOLIO. [Reads] 'To the unknown belov'd, this, and my good wishes.' Her very phrases! AGUECHEEK. Nor I neither.
By your leave, wax. Soft! And the impressure her Lucrece with which she uses to seal; FABIAN. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
'tis my lady. To whom should this be? SIR TOBY. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
FABIAN. This wins him, liver and all. AGUECHEEK. Or o' mine either?
MALVOLIO. [Reads] SIR TOBY. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and become thy bond-slave?
Jove knows I love, AGUECHEEK. I' faith, or I either?
But who? SIR TOBY. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream that when the image of it leaves him he
Lips, do not move; must run mad.
No man must know.' MARIA. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
'No man must know.' What follows? The numbers alter'd! SIR TOBY. Like aqua-vita! with a midwife.
'No man must know.' If this should be thee, Malvolio? AIARIA. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my
SIR TOBY. Marry, hang thee, brock! lady. He will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors, and
MALVOLIO. [Reads] cross-garter'd, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so
'I may command where I adore; unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannotbut turn
But silence, like a Lucrece knife, With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore; him into a notable contempt. If you will see it, follow me.
M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.' SIR TOBY. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent devil of wit! AGUECHEEK. I'll make
FABIAN. A fustian riddle! one too. Exeunt
SIR TOBY. Excellent wench, say I. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
MALVOLIO. 'M. O. A. I. doth sway my life.' SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
Nay, but first let me see, let me see, let me see. BY PROJECT
FABIAN. What dish o' poison has she dress'd him! GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
SIR TOBY. And with what wing the staniel checks at it! ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR VIOLA. I will answer you with gait and entrance. But we are prevented.
YOUR OR OTHERS Enter OLIVIA and MARIA
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Most excellent accomplish'd lady, the heavens rain odours on you! AGUECHEEK. That youth's
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY a rare courtier- 'Rain odours' well! VIOLA. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR own most pregnant and vouchsafed car.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> AGUECHEEK. 'Odours,' 'pregnant,' and 'vouchsafed'- I'll get 'em all three all ready.
ACT III. SCENE I. OLIVIA. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me to my hearing. [Exeunt all but OLIVIA
OLIVIA'S garden and VIOLA] Give me your hand, sir. VIOLA. My duty, madam, and most humble service.
Enter VIOLA, and CLOWN with a tabor OLIVIA. What is your name?
VIOLA. Save thee, friend, and thy music! VIOLA. Cesario is your servant's name, fair Princess.
Dost thou live by thy tabor? OLIVIA. My servant, sir! 'Twas never merry world
CLOWN. No, sir, I live by the church. Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment.
VIOLA. Art thou a churchman? Y'are servant to the Count Orsino, youth.
CLOWN. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my VIOLA. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours:
house doth stand by the church. Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
VIOLA. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beggar, if a beggar dwell near him; or the OLIVIA. For him, I think not on him; for his thoughts,
church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. Would they were blanks rather than fill'd with me!
CLOWN. You have said, sir. To see this age! A sentence is but a chev'ril glove to a good VIOLA. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
wit. How quickly the wrong side may be turn'd outward! On his behalf.
VIOLA. Nay, that's certain; they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them OLIVIA. O, by your leave, I pray you:
wanton. I bade you never speak again of him;
CLOWN. I would, therefore, my sister had had name, sir. But, would you undertake another suit,
VIOLA. Why, man? I had rather hear you to solicit that
CLOWN. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister Than music from the spheres.
wanton. But indeed words are very rascals since bonds disgrac'd them. VIOLA. Dear ladyOLIVIA.
VIOLA. Thy reason, man? Give me leave, beseech you. I did send,
CLOWN. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false I am After the last enchantment you did here,
loath to prove reason with them. VIOLA. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and car'st for A ring in chase of you; so did I abuse
nothing. CLOWN. Not so, sir; I do care for something; but in my conscience, sir, I do not Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you.
care for you. If that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you invisible. Under your hard construction must I sit,
VIOLA. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool? To force that on you in a shameful cunning
CLOWN. No, indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no folly; she will keep no fool, sir, till Which you knew none of yours. What might you think?
she be married; and fools are as like husbands as pilchers are to herrings- the husband's Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
the bigger. I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. And baited it with all th' unmuzzled thoughts
VIOLA. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. That tyrannous heart can think? To one of your receiving Enough is shown: a cypress, not
CLOWN. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun- it shines everywhere. I would a bosom,
be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master as with my mistress: think Hides my heart. So, let me hear you speak.
I saw your wisdom there. VIOLA. I Pity YOU.
VIOLA. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for OLIVIA. That's a degree to love.
thee. [Giving a coin] CLOWN. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send the a beard! VIOLA. No, not a grize; for 'tis a vulgar proof
VIOLA. By my troth, I'll tell thee, I am almost sick for one; [Aside] though I would not That very oft we pity enemies.
have it grow on my chin.- Is thy lady within? OLIVIA. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile again.
CLOWN. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir? O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!
VIOLA. Yes, being kept together and put to use. If one should be a prey, how much the better
CLOWN. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. To fall before the lion than the wolf! [Clock strikes] The clock upbraids me with the
VIOLA. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. waste of time.
[Giving another coin] CLOWN. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging but a beggar: Be not afraid, good youth; I will not have you;
Cressida was a beggar. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to them whence you come; And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest,
who you are and what you would are out of my welkin- I might say 'element' but the word Your wife is like to reap a proper man.
is overworn. There lies your way, due west.
Exit CLOWN VIOLA. This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; VIOLA. Then westward-ho!
And to do that well craves a kind of wit. Grace and good disposition attend your ladyship!
He must observe their mood on whom he jests, You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me?
The quality of persons, and the time; OLIVIA. Stay.
And, like the haggard, check at every feather I prithee tell me what thou think'st of me.
That comes before his eye. This is a practice VIOLA. That you do think you are not what you are.
As full of labour as a wise man's art; OLIVIA. If I think so, I think the same of you.
For folly that he wisely shows is fit; VIOLA. Then think you right: I am not what I am.
But wise men, folly-fall'n, quite taint their wit. OLIVIA. I would you were as I would have you be!
Enter SIR TOBY and SIR ANDREW VIOLA. Would it be better, madam, than I am?
SIR TOBY. Save you, gentleman! I wish it might, for now I am your fool.
VIOLA. And you, sir. OLIVIA. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
AGUECHEEK. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. In the contempt and anger of his lip!
VIOLA. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
AGUECHEEK. I hope, sir, you are; and I am yours. Than love that would seem hid: love's night is noon.
SIR TOBY. Will you encounter the house? My niece is desirous you should enter, if yourtrade Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
be to her. By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
VIOLA. I am bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she is the list of my voyage. I love thee so that, maugre all thy pride,
SIR TOBY. Taste your legs, sir; put them to motion. Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide.
VIOLA. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I understand what you mean by bidding Do not extort thy reasons from this clause,For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause;
me taste my legs. But rather reason thus with reason fetter:
SIR TOBY. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
VIOLA. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, ANTONIO. I could not stay behind you: my desire,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth;
And that no woman has; nor never none And not all love to see you- though so much
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. As might have drawn one to a longer voyageBut
And so adieu, good madam; never more jealousy what might befall your travel,
Will I my master's tears to you deplore. Being skilless in these parts; which to a stranger,
OLIVIA. Yet come again; for thou perhaps mayst move Unguided and unfriended, often prove
That heart which now abhors to like his love. Exeunt Rough and unhospitable. My willing love,
SCENE II. The rather by these arguments of fear,
OLIVIA'S house Set forth in your pursuit.
Enter SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW and FABIAN SEBASTIAN. My kind Antonio,
AGUECHEEK. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. I can no other answer make but thanks,
SIR TOBY. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. And thanks, and ever thanks; and oft good turns
FABIAN. You must needs yield your reason, Sir Andrew. Are shuffl'd off with such uncurrent pay;
AGUECHEEK. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours to the Count's servingman than ever But were my worth as is my conscience firm,
she bestow'd upon me; I saw't i' th' orchard. You should find better dealing. What's to do?
SIR TOBY. Did she see thee the while, old boy? Tell me that. AGUECHEEK. As plain as I see Shall we go see the reliques of this town?
you now. ANTONIO. To-morrow, sir; best first go see your lodging.
FABIAN. This was a great argument of love in her toward you. AGUECHEEK. 'Slight! will you SEBASTIAN. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night;
make an ass o' me? I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
FABIAN. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths of judgment and reason. With the memorials and the things of fame
SIR TOBY. And they have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor. That do renown this city.
FABIAN. She did show favour to the youth in your sight only to exasperate you, to awake ANTONIO. Would you'd pardon me.
your dormouse valour, to put fire in your heart and brimstone in your liver. You should I do not without danger walk these streets:
then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should Once in a sea-fight 'gainst the Count his galleys
have bang'd the youth into dumbness. This was look'd for at your hand, and this was I did some service; of such note, indeed,
baulk'd. The double gilt of this opportunity you let time wash off, and you are now That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.
sail'd into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on SEBASTIAN. Belike you slew great number of his people.
Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt either of valour or ANTONIO.Th' offence is not of such a bloody nature;
policy. Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel
AGUECHEEK. An't be any way, it must be with valour, for policy I hate; I had as lief be a Might well have given us bloody argument.
Brownist as a politician. It might have since been answer'd in repaying
SIR TOBY. Why, then, build me thy fortunes upon the basis of valour. Challenge me the What we took from them; which, for traffic's sake,
Count's youth to fight with him; hurt him in eleven places. My niece shall take note of Most of our city did. Only myself stood out;
it; and assure thyself there is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in man's For which, if I be lapsed in this place,
commendation with woman than report of valour. I shall pay dear.
FABIAN. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. SEBASTIAN. Do not then walk too open.
AGUECHEEK. Will either of you bear me a challenge to him? SIR TOBY. Go, write it in a ANTONIO. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse;
martial hand; be curst and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and full In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
of invention. Taunt him with the license of ink; if thou thou'st him some thrice, it Is best to lodge. I will bespeak our diet,
shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, although the Whiles you beguile the time and feed your knowledge
sheet were big enough for the bed of Ware in England, set 'em down; go about it. Let With viewing of the town; there shall you have me.
there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter. About it. SEBASTIAN. Why I your purse?
AGUECHEEK. Where shall I find you? ANTONIO. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy
SIR TOBY. We'll call thee at the cubiculo. Go. You have desire to purchase; and your store,
Exit SIR ANDREW FABIAN. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
SIR TOBY. I have been dear to him, lad- some two thousand strong, or so. SEBASTIAN. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
FABIAN. We shall have a rare letter from him; but you'll not deliver't? An hour.
SIR TOBY. Never trust me then; and by all means stir on the youth to an answer. I think ANTONIO. To th' Elephant.
oxen and wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, if he were open'd and you find SEBASTIAN. I do remember. Exeunt
so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the rest of th' SCENE IV.
anatomy. OLIVIA'S garden
FABIAN. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his visage no great presage of cruelty. Enter OLIVIA and MARIA
Enter MARIA OLIVIA. I have sent after him; he says he'll come.
SIR TOBY. Look where the youngest wren of nine comes. How shall I feast him? What bestow of him?
MARIA. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yond For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or borrow'd.
gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado; for there is no Christian that means to I speak too loud.
be saved by believing rightly can ever believe such impossible passages of grossness. Where's Malvolio? He is sad and civil,
He's in yellow stockings. And suits well for a servant with my fortunes.
SIR TOBY. And cross-garter'd? Where is Malvolio?
MARIA. Most villainously; like a pedant that keeps a school i' th' church. I have dogg'd MARIA. He's coming, madam; but in very strange manner.
him like his murderer. He does obey every point of the letter that I dropp'd to betray He is sure possess'd, madam.
him. He does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map with the augmentation OLIVIA. Why, what's the matter? Does he rave?
of the Indies. You have not seen such a thing as 'tis; I can hardly forbear hurling MARIA. No, madam, he does nothing but smile. Your ladyship were best to have some guard
things at him. I know my lady will strike him; if she do, he'll smile and take't for a about you if he come; for sure the man is tainted in's wits.
great favour. OLIVIA. Go call him hither. Exit MARIA I am as mad as he,
SIR TOBY. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. ExeuntSCENE III. If sad and merry madness equal be.Re-enter MARIA with MALVOLIO
A street How now, Malvolio!
Enter SEBASTIAN and ANTONIO MALVOLIO. Sweet lady, ho, ho.
SEBASTIAN. I would not by my will have troubled you; OLIVIA. Smil'st thou?
But since you make your pleasure of your pains, I sent for thee upon a sad occasion.
I will no further chide you. MALVOLIO. Sad, lady? I could be sad. This does make some
obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering; but what of that? If it please the eye of
one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is: 'Please one and please all.'
OLIVIA. Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee? MALVOLIO. Not black in my
mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed.
I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.
OLIVIA. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO. To bed? Ay, sweetheart, and I'll come to thee.
OLIVIA. God comfort thee! Why dost thou smile so, and kiss thy hand so oft?
MARIA. How do you, Malvolio?
MALVOLIO. At your request? Yes, nightingales answer daws! MARIA. Why appear you with
this
ridiculous boldness before my lady? MALVOLIO. 'Be not afraid of greatness.' 'Twas well
writ.
OLIVIA. What mean'st thou by that, Malvolio?
AIALVOLIO. 'Some are born great,'-
OLIVIA. Ha?
MALVOLIO. 'Some achieve greatness,'-
OLIVIA. What say'st thou?
MALVOLIO. 'And some have greatness thrust upon them.'
OLIVIA. Heaven restore thee!
MALVOLIO. 'Remember who commended thy yellow stockings,'- OLIVIA. 'Thy yellow
stockings?'
MALVOLIO. 'And wish'd to see thee cross-garterd.'
OLIVIA. 'Cross-garter'd?'
MALVOLIO. 'Go to, thou an made, if thou desir'st to be so';- OLIVIA. Am I made?
MALVOLIO. 'If not, let me see thee a servant still.'
OLIVIA. Why, this is very midsummer madness.
Enter SERVANT
SERVANT. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count Orsino's is return'd; I could hardly
entreat him back; he attends your ladyship's pleasure.
OLIVIA. I'll come to him. [Exit SERVANT] Good Maria, let this fellow be look'd to.
Where's my cousin Toby? Let some of my people have a special care of him; I would not
have him miscarry for the half of my dowry.
Exeunt OLIVIA and MARIA MALVOLIO. O, ho! do you come near me now? No worse man
than Sir
Toby to look to me! This concurs directly with the letter: she sends him on purpose, that
I may appear stubborn to him; for she incites me to that in the letter. 'Cast thy humble
slough,' says she. 'Be opposite with kinsman, surly with servants; let thy tongue tang
with arguments of state; put thyself into the trick of singularity' and consequently sets
down the manner how, as: a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the habit of
some sir of note, and so forth. I have lim'd her; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make
me thankful! And when she went away now- 'Let this fellow be look'd to.' 'Fellow,' not
'Malvolio' nor after my degree, but 'fellow.' Why, everything adheres together, that no
dram of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe
circumstance- What can be said? Nothing that can be can come between me and the full
prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
Re-enter MARIA, with SIR TOBY and FABIAN
SIR TOBY. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? If all the devils of hell be drawn in
little, and Legion himself possess'd him, yet I'll speak to him.
FABIAN. Here he is, here he is. How is't with you, sir?
SIR TOBY. How is't with you, man?
MALVOLIO. Go off; I discard you. Let me enjoy my private; go off. MARIA. Lo, how hollow
the fiend speaks within him! Did not I tell you? Sir Toby, my lady prays you to have a
care of him. MALVOLIO. Ah, ha! does she so?
SIR TOBY. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal gently with him. Let me alone. How do
you, Malvolio? How is't with you? What, man, defy the devil; consider, he's an enemy to
mankind.
MALVOLIO. Do you know what you say?
MARIA. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he takes it at heart! Pray God he be
not bewitched.
FABIAN. Carry his water to th' wise woman.
MARIA. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morning, if I live. My lady would not lose
him for more than I'll say.
MALVOLIO. How now, mistress!
MARIA. O Lord!
SIR TOBY. Prithee hold thy peace; this is not the way. Do you not see you move him? Let
me alone with him.
FABIAN. No way but gentleness- gently, gently. The fiend is rough, and will not be
roughly us'd.SIR TOBY. Why, how now, my bawcock!
How dost thou, chuck?
MALVOLIO. Sir!
SIR TOBY. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man, 'tis not for gravity to play at cherrypit
with Satan. Hang him, foul collier! MARIA. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get
him to pray. MALVOLIO. My prayers, minx!
MARIA. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
MALVOLIO. Go, hang yourselves all! You are idle shallow things; I am not of your element;
you shall know more hereafter.
Exit
SIR TOBY. Is't possible?
FABIAN. If this were play'd upon a stage now, I could condemn it as an improbable
fiction.
SIR TOBY. His very genius hath taken the infection of the device, man.
MARIA. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take air and taint. FABIAN. Why, we shall
make him mad indeed.
MARIA. The house will be the quieter.
SIR TOBY. Come, we'll have him in a dark room and bound. My niece is already in the
belief that he's mad. We may carry it thus, for our pleasure and his penance, till our
very pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to have mercy on him; at which time we will
bring the device to the bar and crown thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see.
Enter SIR ANDREW
FABIAN. More matter for a May morning.
AGUECHEEK. Here's the challenge; read it. I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't.
FABIAN. Is't so saucy?
AGUECHEEK. Ay, is't, I warrant him; do but read.
SIR TOBY. Give me. [Reads] 'Youth, whatsoever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.'
FABIAN. Good and valiant.
SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I
will show thee no reason for't.'
FABIAN. A good note; that keeps you from the blow of the law. SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Thou
com'st to the Lady Olivia, and in my sight she uses thee kindly; but thou liest in thy
throat; that is not the matter I challenge thee for.'
FABIAN. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense- less.
SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'I will waylay thee going home; where if it be thy chance to kill me'-
FABIAN. Good.
SIR TOBY. 'Thou kill'st me like a rogue and a villain.'
FABIAN. Still you keep o' th' windy side of the law. Good! SIR TOBY. [Reads] 'Fare thee
well; and God have mercy upon one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but my hope
is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy,
ANDREW AGUECHEEK.'
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot. I'll give't him. MARIA. You may have very
fit occasion for't; he is now in some commerce with my lady, and will by and by depart.
SIR TOBY. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the corner of the orchard, like a
bum-baily; so soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and as thou draw'st, swear horrible; for
it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twang'd off,
gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earn'd him. Away.
AGUECHEEK. Nay, let me alone for swearing. Exit SIR TOBY. Now will not I deliver his
letter; for the behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to be of good capacity and
breeding; his employment between his lord and my niece confirms no less. Therefore this
letter, being so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror in the youth: he will find it
comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge by word of mouth, set upon
Aguecheek notable report of valour, and drive the gentleman- as know his youth will aptly
receive it- into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and impetuosity. This
will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices.
Re-enter OLIVIA. With VIOLA
FABIAN. Here he comes with your niece; give them way till he take leave, and presently
after him.
SIR TOBY. I will meditate the while upon some horrid message for a challenge.
Exeunt SIR TOBY, FABIAN, and MARIA OLIVIA. I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary out;
There's something in me that reproves my fault;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is
That it but mocks reproof.
VIOLA. With the same haviour that your passion bears
Goes on my master's griefs.
OLIVIA. Here, wear this jewel for me; 'tis my picture.
Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you.
And I beseech you come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny,
That honour sav'd may upon asking give?VIOLA. Nothing but this- your true love for my
master.
OLIVIA. How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you?
VIOLA. I will acquit you.
OLIVIA. Well, come again to-morrow. Fare thee well;
A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. Exit ANTONIO. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
Re-enter SIR TOBY and SIR FABIAN Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
SIR TOBY. Gentleman, God save thee. SIR TOBY. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for you.
VIOLA. And you, sir. [They draw]
SIR TOBY. That defence thou hast, betake thee tot. Of what nature the wrongs are thou Enter OFFICERS
hast done him, I know not; but thy FABIAN. O good Sir Toby, hold! Here come the officers.
intercepter, full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard end. SIR TOBY. [To ANTONIO] I'll be with you anon.
Dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and VIOLA. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please.
deadly. VIOLA. You mistake, sir; I am sure no man hath any quarrel to me; my remembrance AGUECHEEK. Marry, will I, sir; and for that I promis'd you, I'll be as good as my word.
is very free and clear from any image of offence done to any man. He will bear you easily and reins well. FIRST OFFICER. This is the man; do thy office.
SIR TOBY. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you; therefore, if you hold your life at any SECOND OFFICER. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit
price, betake you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him what youth, strength, Of Count Orsino.
skill, and wrath, can furnish man withal. ANTONIO. You do mistake me, sir.
VIOLA. I pray you, sir, what is he? FIRST OFFICER. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well,
SIR TOBY. He is knight, dubb'd with unhatch'd rapier and on carpet consideration; but he Though now you have no sea-cap on your head.
is a devil in private brawl. Souls and bodies hath he divorc'd three; and his incensement Take him away; he knows I know him well.
at this moment is so implacable that satisfaction can be none but by pangs of death and ANTONIO. I Must obey. [To VIOLA] This comes with seeking you; But there's no remedy; I
sepulchre. Hob-nob is his word- give't or take't. VIOLA. I will return again into the shall answer it.
house and desire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I have heard of some kind of What will you do, now my necessity
men that put quarrels purposely on others to taste their valour; belike this is a man of Makes me to ask you for my purse? It grieves me
that quirk. Much more for what I cannot do for you
SIR TOBY. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out of a very competent injury; Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd;
therefore, get you on and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the house, unless But be of comfort.
you undertake that with me which with as much safety you might answer him; therefore on, SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, away.
or strip your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear ANTONIO. I must entreat of you some of that money.
iron about you. VIOLA. What money, sir?
VIOLA. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech you do me this courteous office as to For the fair kindness you have show'd me here,
know of the knight what my offence to him is: it is something of my negligence, nothing And part being prompted by your present trouble,
of my purpose. SIR TOBY. I Will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by this gentleman till my Out of my lean and low ability
return. Exit SIR TOBY VIOLA. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? I'll lend you something. My having is not much;
FABIAN. I know the knight is incens'd against you, even to a mortal arbitrement; but I'll make division of my present with you;
nothing of the circumstance more. Hold, there's half my coffer.
VIOLA. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? ANTONIO. Will you deny me now?
FABIAN. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read him by his form, as you are like to Is't possible that my deserts to you
find him in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, the most skilful, bloody, and Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my misery,
fatal opposite that you could possibly have found in any part of Illyria. Will you walk Lest that it make me so unsound a man
towards him? I will make your peace with him if I can. VIOLA. I shall be much bound to As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
you for't. I am one that would rather go with sir priest than sir knight. I care not who That I have done for you.
knows so much of my mettle. Exeunt VIOLA. I know of none,
Re-enter SIR TOBY With SIR ANDREW Nor know I you by voice or any feature.
SIR TOBY. Why, man, he's a very devil; I have not seen such a firago. I had a pass with I hate ingratitude more in a man
him, rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck in with such a mortal motion Than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness,
that it is inevitable; and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit the Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
ground they step on. They say he has been fencer to the Sophy. Inhabits our frail blood.
AGUECHEEK. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him. ANTONIO. O heavens themselves!
SIR TOBY. Ay, but he will not now be pacified; Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. SECOND OFFICER. Come, sir, I pray you go.
AGUECHEEK. Plague on't; an I thought he had been valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd ANTONIO. Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here I snatch'd one half out of
have seen him damn'd ere I'd have challeng'd him. Let him let the matter slip, and I'll the jaws of death,
give him my horse, grey Capilet. Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love,
SIR TOBY. I'll make the motion. Stand here, make a good show on't; this shall end without And to his image, which methought did promise
the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you. Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
Re-enter FABIAN and VIOLA FIRST OFFICER. What's that to us? The time goes by; away. ANTONIO. But, O, how vile an
[To FABIAN] I have his horse to take up the quarrel; I have persuaded him the youth's a idol proves this god!
devil. Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
FABIAN. [To SIR TOBY] He is as horribly conceited of him; and pants and looks pale, as if In nature there's no blemish but the mind:
a bear were at his heels. None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind.
SIR TOBY. [To VIOLA] There's no remedy, sir: he will fight with you for's oath sake. Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous evil
Marry, he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now scarce to be Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil.
worth talking of. Therefore draw for the supportance of his vow; he protests he will not FIRST OFFICER. The man grows mad. Away with him.
hurt you. Come, come, sir.
VIOLA. [Aside] Pray God defend me! A little thing would make me tell them how much I lack ANTONIO. Lead me on. Exit with OFFICERS VIOLA. Methinks his words do from such passion
of a man. fly
FABIAN. Give ground if you see him furious. That he believes himself; so do not I.
SIR TOBY. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no remedy; the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
have one bout with you; he cannot by the duello avoid it; but he has promis'd me, as he That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you!
is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on; to't. SIR TOBY. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two
AGUECHEEK. Pray God he keep his oath! [They draw]Enter ANTONIO of most sage saws.
VIOLA. I do assure you 'tis against my will. VIOLA. He nam'd Sebastian. I my brother knowYet living in my glass; even such and so
ANTONIO. Put up your sword. If this young gentleman In favour was my brother; and he went
Have done offence, I take the fault on me: Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
If you offend him, I for him defy you. For him I imitate. O, if it prove,
SIR TOBY. You, sir! Why, what are you? Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love! Exit SIR TOBY. A very dishonest paltry
boy, and more a coward than a hare. His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in
necessity and denying him; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. FABIAN. A coward, a most
devout coward, religious in it.
AGUECHEEK. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat him.
SIR TOBY. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy sword. AGUECHEEK. And I do not- Exit
FABIAN. Come, let's see the event.
SIR TOBY. I dare lay any money 'twill be nothing yet.
Exeunt
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
BY PROJECT
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
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ACT IV. SCENE I.
Before OLIVIA'S house
Enter SEBASTIAN and CLOWN
CLOWN. Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you? SEBASTIAN. Go to, go to, thou
art a foolish fellow; let me be clear of thee.
CLOWN. Well held out, i' faith! No, I do not know you; nor I am not sent to you by my
lady, to bid you come speak with her; nor your name is not Master Cesario; nor this is
not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so.
SEBASTIAN. I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else.
Thou know'st not me.
CLOWN. Vent my folly! He has heard that word of some great man, and now applies it to a
fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, will prove a cockney. I
prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I
vent to her that thou art coming?
SEBASTIAN. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me;
There's money for thee; if you tarry longer
I shall give worse payment.
CLOWN. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men that give fools money get
themselves a good report after fourteen years' purchase.
Enter SIR ANDREW, SIR TOBY, and FABIAN
AGUECHEEK. Now, sir, have I met you again?
[Striking SEBASTIAN] There's for you.
SEBASTIAN. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there.
Are all the people mad?
SIR TOBY. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er the house.
[Holding SEBASTIAN] CLOWN. This will I tell my lady straight. I would not be in some of
your coats for two-pence. Exit SIR TOBY. Come on, sir; hold.
AGUECHEEK. Nay, let him alone. I'll go another way to work with him; I'll have an action
of battery against him, if there be any law in Illyria; though I struck him first, yet
it's no matter for that.
SEBASTIAN. Let go thy hand.
SIR TOBY. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, my young soldier, put up your iron; you
are well flesh'd. Come on.
SEBASTIAN. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou now? If thou dar'st tempt me
further, draw thy sword. [Draws] SIR TOBY. What, what? Nay, then I must have an ounce or
two of this malapert blood from you. [Draws]
Enter OLIVIA
OLIVIA. Hold, Toby; on thy life, I charge thee hold.
SIR TOBY. Madam!
OLIVIA. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch,
Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves,
Where manners ne'er were preach'd! Out of my sight!
Be not offended, dear CesarioRudesby,
be gone!
Exeunt SIR TOBY, SIR ANDREW, and FABIAN I prithee, gentle friend,
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extentAgainst thy peace. Go with me to my house,
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
Mayst smile at this. Thou shalt not choose but go;
Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me!
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.
SEBASTIAN. What relish is in this? How runs the stream?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream.
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!
OLIVIA. Nay, come, I prithee. Would thou'dst be rul'd by me! SEBASTIAN. Madam, I will.
OLIVIA. O, say so, and so be! Exeunt
SCENE II.
OLIVIA'S house
Enter MARIA and CLOWN
MARIA. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this beard; make him believe thou art Sir
Topas the curate; do it quickly. I'll call Sir Toby the whilst. Exit CLOWN. Well, I'll
put it on, and I will dissemble myself in't; and I would I were the first that ever
dissembled in such a gown. I am not tall enough to become the function well nor lean
enough to be thought a good student; but to be said an honest man and a good housekeeper
goes as fairly as to say a careful man and a great scholar. The competitors enter.
Enter SIR TOBY and MARIA
SIR TOBY. Jove bless thee, Master Parson.
CLOWN. Bonos dies, Sir Toby; for as the old hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink,
very wittily said to niece of King Gorboduc 'That that is is'; so I, being Master Parson,
am Master Parson; for what is 'that' but that, and 'is' but is?
SIR TOBY. To him, Sir Topas.
CLOWN. What ho, I say! Peace in this prison!
SIR TOBY. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave.
MALVOLIO. [Within] Who calls there?
CLOWN. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to visit Malvolio the lunatic.
MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go to my lady. CLOWN. Out, hyperbolical
fiend! How vexest thou this man! Talkest thou nothing but of ladies?
SIR TOBY. Well said, Master Parson.
MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged. Good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad;
they have laid me here in hideous darkness. CLOWN. Fie, thou dishonest Satan! I call thee
by the most modest terms, for I am one of those gentle ones that will use the devil
himself with courtesy. Say'st thou that house is dark?
MALVOLIO. As hell, Sir Topas.
CLOWN. Why, it hath bay windows transparent as barricadoes, and the clerestories toward
the south north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainest thou of obstruction?
MALVOLIO. I am not mad, Sir Topas. I say to you this house is dark. CLOWN. Madman, thou
errest. I say there is no darkness but ignorance; in which thou art more puzzled than the
Egyptians in their fog.
MALVOLIO. I say this house is as dark as ignorance, though ignorance were as dark as
hell; and I say there was never man thus abus'd. I am no more mad than you are; make the
trial of it in any constant question.
CLOWN. What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wild fowl? MALVOLIO. That the soul of
our grandam might haply inhabit a bird. CLOWN. What think'st thou of his opinion?
MALVOLIO. I think nobly of the soul, and no way approve his opinion.
CLOWN. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in darkness: thou shalt hold th' opinion of
Pythagoras ere I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou
dispossess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee well.
MALVOLIO. Sir Topas, Sir Topas!
SIR TOBY. My most exquisite Sir Topas!
CLOWN. Nay, I am for all waters.
MARIA. Thou mightst have done this without thy beard and gown: he sees thee not.
SIR TOBY. To him in thine own voice, and bring me word how thou find'st him. I would we
were well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently deliver'd, I would he were; for
I am now so far in offence with my niece that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport
to the upshot. Come by and by to my chamber.
Exit with MARIA CLOWN. [Sings] Hey, Robin, jolly Robin,
Tell me how thy lady does.
MALVOLIO. Fool!
CLOWN. [Sings] My lady is unkind, perdy.
MALVOLIO. Fool!
CLOWN. [Sings] Alas, why is she so?
MALVOLIO. Fool I say!
CLOWN. [Sings] She loves another- Who calls, ha?
MALVOLIO. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at my hand, help me to a candle, and
pen, ink, and paper; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thankful to thee for't.
CLOWN. Master Malvolio?MALVOLIO. Ay, good fool.
CLOWN. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
MALVOLIO. Fool, there was never man so notoriously abus'd; I am as well in my wits, fool,
as thou art.
CLOWN. But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a
fool.
MALVOLIO. They have here propertied me; keep me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses,
and do all they can to face me out of my wits.
CLOWN. Advise you what. you say: the minister is here. GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
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sleep, and leave thy vain bibble-babble. MALVOLIO. Sir Topas! READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
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MALVOLIO. Fool, fool, fool, I say! COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
CLOWN. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I am shent for speaking to you. SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
MALVOLIO. Good fool, help me to some light and some paper. I tell thee I am as well in my DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
wits as any man in Illyria. CLOWN. Well-a-day that you were, sir! ACT V. SCENE I.
MALVOLIO. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, paper, and light; and convey what I Before OLIVIA's house
will set down to my lady. It shall advantage thee more than ever the bearing of letter Enter CLOWN and FABIAN
did. CLOWN. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are you not mad indeed, or do you but FABIAN. Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter.
counterfeit? CLOWN. Good Master Fabian, grant me another request.
MALVOLIO. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. FABIAN. Anything.
CLOWN. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I see his brains. I will fetch you light and CLOWN. Do not desire to see this letter.
paper and ink. FABIAN. This is to give a dog, and in recompense desire my dog again.
MALVOLIO. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree; I prithe be gone. Enter DUKE, VIOLA, CURIO, and LORDS
CLOWN. [Singing] DUKE. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends?
I am gone, sir, CLOWN. Ay, sir, we are some of her trappings.
And anon, sir, DUKE. I know thee well. How dost thou, my good fellow?
I'll be with you again, CLOWN. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and the worse for my friends.
In a trice, DUKE. Just the contrary: the better for thy friends.
Like to the old Vice, CLOWN. No, sir, the worse.
Your need to sustain; DUKE. How can that be?
Who with dagger of lath, CLOWN. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an ass of me. Now my foes tell me plainly I am
In his rage and his wrath, an ass; so that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of myself, and by my friends I
Cries, Ah, ha! to the devil, am abused; so that, conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two
Like a mad lad, affirmatives, why then, the worse for my friends, and the better for my foes.
Pare thy nails, dad. DUKE. Why, this is excellent.
Adieu, goodman devil. Exit CLOWN. By my troth, sir, no; though it please you to be one of my friends.
SCENE III. DUKE. Thou shalt not be the worse for me. There's gold.
OLIVIA'S garden CLOWN. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I would you could make it another.
Enter SEBASTIAN DUKE. O, you give me ill counsel.
SEBASTIAN. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; CLOWN. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this once, and let your flesh and blood
This pearl she gave me, I do feel't and see't; obey it.
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, DUKE. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a double-dealer. There's another.
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then? CLOWN. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play; and the old saying is 'The third pays for
I could not find him at the Elephant; all.' The triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure; or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir,
Yet there he was; and there I found this credit, may put you in mindone, two, three.
That he did range the town to seek me out. DUKE. You can fool no more money out of me at this throw; if you will let your lady know
His counsel now might do me golden service; I am here to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it may awake my bounty
For though my soul disputes well with my sense further.
That this may be some error, but no madness, CLOWN. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come again. I go, sir; but I would not
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune have you to think that my desire of having is the sin of covetousness. But, as you say,
So far exceed all instance, all discourse, sir, let your bounty take a nap; I will awake it anon. Exit
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes Enter ANTONIO and OFFICERS
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me VIOLA. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
To any other trust but that I am mad, DUKE. That face of his I do remember well;
Or else the lady's mad; yet if 'twere so, Yet when I saw it last it was besmear'd
She could not sway her house, command her followers, As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war.
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch A baubling vessel was he captain of,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, For shallow draught and bulk unprizable,
As I perceive she does. There's something in't With which such scathful grapple did he make
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. With the most noble bottom of our fleet
Enter OLIVIA and PRIEST That very envy and the tongue of los
OLIVIA. Blame not this haste of mine. If you mean well, Cried fame and honour on him. What's the matter?
Now go with me and with this holy man FIRST OFFICER. Orsino, this is that Antonio
Into the chantry by; there, before him That took the Phoenix and her fraught from Candy;
And underneath that consecrated roof, And this is he that did the Tiger board
Plight me the fun assurance of your faith, When your young nephew Titus lost his leg.
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul Here in the streets, desperate of shame and state,
May live at peace. He shall conceal it In private brabble did we apprehend him.
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, VIOLA. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side;
What time we will our celebration keepAccording to my birth. What do you say? But in conclusion put strange speech upon me.
SEBASTIAN. I'll follow this good man, and go with you; I know not what 'twas but distraction.
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. DUKE. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief!What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies
OLIVIA. Then lead the way, good father; and heavens so shine That they may fairly note Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear,
this act of mine! Exeunt Hast made thine enemies?
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM ANTONIO. Orsino, noble sir,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me:
BY PROJECT Antonio never yet was thief or pirate,
Though I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: DUKE. Husband?
That most ingrateful boy there by your side OLIVIA. Ay, husband; can he that deny?
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth DUKE. Her husband, sirrah?
Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was. VIOLA. No, my lord, not I.
His life I gave him, and did thereto ad OLIVIA. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear
My love without retention or restraint, That makes thee strangle thy propriety.
All his in dedication; for his sake, Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up;
Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
Into the danger of this adverse town; As great as that thou fear'st.
Drew to defend him when he was beset; Enter PRIEST
Where being apprehended, his false cunning, O, welcome, father!
Not meaning to partake with me in danger, Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence,
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, Here to unfold- though lately we intended
And grew a twenty years removed thing To keep in darkness what occasion now
While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, Reveals before 'tis ripe- what thou dost know
Which I had recommended to his use Hath newly pass'd between this youth and me.
Not half an hour before. PRIEST. A contract of eternal bond of love,
VIOLA. How can this be? Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands,
DUKE. When came he to this town? Attested by the holy close of lips,
ANTONIO. To-day, my lord; and for three months before, Strength'ned by interchangement of your rings;
No int'rim, not a minute's vacancy, And all the ceremony of this compact
Both day and night did we keep company. Seal'd in my function, by my testimony;
Enter OLIVIA and ATTENDANTS Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave,
DUKE. Here comes the Countess; now heaven walks on earth. But for thee, fellow- fellow, I have travell'd but two hours.
thy words are madness. DUKE. O thou dissembling cub! What wilt thou be,
Three months this youth hath tended upon meBut When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case?
more of that anon. Take him aside. Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow
OLIVIA. What would my lord, but that he may not have, That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow?
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
VIOLA. Madam? VIOLA. My lord, I do protestOLIVIA.
DUKE. Gracious OliviaOLIVIA. O, do not swear!
What do you say, Cesario? Good my lordVIOLA. Hold little faith, though thou has too much fear.
My lord would speak; my duty hushes me. Enter SIR ANDREW
OLIVIA. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, AGUECHEEK. For the love of God, a surgeon!
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear Send one presently to Sir Toby.
As howling after music. OLIVIA. What's the matter?
DUKE. Still so cruel? AGUECHEEK. Has broke my head across, and has given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too. For
OLIVIA. Still so constant, lord. the
DUKE. What, to perverseness? You uncivil lady, love of God, your help! I had rather than forty pound I were at home.
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars OLIVIA. Who has done this, Sir Andrew?
My soul the faithfull'st off'rings hath breath'd out AGUECHEEK. The Count's gentleman, one Cesario. We took him for a coward, but he's the
That e'er devotion tender'd! What shall I do? very devil incardinate.
OLIVIA. Even what it please my lord, that shall become him. DUKE. Why should I not, had I DUKE. My gentleman, Cesario?
the heart to do it, AGUECHEEK. Od's lifelings, here he is! You broke my head for nothing; and that that did,
Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, I was set on to do't by Sir Toby. VIOLA. Why do you speak to me? I never hurt you.
Kill what I love?- a savage jealousy You drew your sword upon me without cause;
That sometime savours nobly. But hear me this: But I bespake you fair and hurt you not.
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, Enter SIR TOBY and CLOWN
And that I partly know the instrument AGUECHEEK. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have hurt me; I think you set nothing by a
That screws me from my true place in your favour, bloody coxcomb. Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear more; but if he had not been
Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still; in drink, he would have tickl'd you othergates than he did.
But this your minion, whom I know you love, DUKE. How now, gentleman? How is't with you?
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, SIR TOBY. That's all one; has hurt me, and there's th' end on't. Sot, didst see Dick
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye Surgeon, sot?
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. CLOWN. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour agone; his eyes were set at eight i' th' morning.
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mischief: SIR TOBY. Then he's a rogue and a passy measures pavin. I hate a drunken rogue.
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love OLIVIA. Away with him. Who hath made this havoc with them? AGUECHEEK. I'll help you, Sir
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. Toby, because we'll be dress'd together.
VIOLA. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, SIR TOBY. Will you help- an ass-head and a coxcomb and a knave, a thin fac'd knave, a
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. gull?
OLIVIA. Where goes Cesario? OLIVIA. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
VIOLA. After him I love Exeunt CLOWN, FABIAN, SIR TOBY, and SIR ANDREW
More than I love these eyes, more than my life, Enter SEBASTIAN
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. SEBASTIAN. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kinsman;
If I do feign, you witnesses above But, had it been the brother of my blood,
Punish my life for tainting of my love! I must have done no less with wit and safety.You throw a strange regard upon me, and by that
OLIVIA. Ay me, detested! How am I beguil'd! I do perceive it hath offended you.
VIOLA. Who does beguile you? Who does do you wrong?OLIVIA. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
so long? We made each other but so late ago.
Call forth the holy father. Exit an ATTENDANT DUKE. Come, away! DUKE. One face, one voice, one habit, and two persons!
OLIVIA. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, stay. A natural perspective, that is and is not.
SEBASTIAN. Antonio, O my dear Antonio! a madman's epistles are no gospels, so it skills not much when they are deliver'd.
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me OLIVIA. Open't, and read it.
Since I have lost thee! CLOWN. Look then to be well edified when the fool delivers the madman. [Reads madly ] 'By
ANTONIO. Sebastian are you? the Lord, madam-'
SEBASTIAN. Fear'st thou that, Antonio? OLIVIA. How now! Art thou mad?
ANTONIO. How have you made division of yourself? CLOWN. No, madam, I do but read madness. An your ladyship will have it as it ought to be,
An apple cleft in two is not more twin you must allow vox.
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian? OLIVIA. Prithee read i' thy right wits.
OLIVIA. Most wonderful! CLOWN. So I do, madonna; but to read his right wits is to read thus; therefore perpend,
SEBASTIAN. Do I stand there? I never had a brother; my Princess, and give ear.
Nor can there be that deity in my nature OLIVIA. [To FABIAN] Read it you, sirrah.
Of here and everywhere. I had a sister FABIAN. [Reads] 'By the Lord, madam, you wrong me, and the world shall know it. Though
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd. you have put me into darkness and given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the
Of charity, what kin are you to me? benefit of my senses as well as your ladyship. I have your own letter that induced me to
What countryman, what name, what parentage? the semblance I put on, with the which I doubt not but to do myself much right or you
VIOLA. Of Messaline; Sebastian was my father. much shame. Think of me as you please. I leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak
Such a Sebastian was my brother too; out of my injury.
So went he suited to his watery tomb; THE MADLY-US'D MALVOLIO'
If spirits can assume both form and suit, OLIVIA. Did he write this?
You come to fright us. CLOWN. Ay, Madam.
SEBASTIAN. A spirit I am indeed, DUKE. This savours not much of distraction.
But am in that dimension grossly clad OLIVIA. See him deliver'd, Fabian; bring him hither.
Which from the womb I did participate. Exit FABIAN My lord, so please you, these things further thought on, To think me as well
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, a sister as a wife,
I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, One day shall crown th' alliance on't, so please you,
And say 'Thrice welcome, drowned Viola!' Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
VIOLA. My father had a mole upon his brow. DUKE. Madam, I am most apt t' embrace your offer.
SEBASTIAN. And so had mine. [To VIOLA] Your master quits you; and, for your service done him,
VIOLA. And died that day when Viola from her birth So much against the mettle of your sex,
Had numb'red thirteen years. So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
SEBASTIAN. O, that record is lively in my soul! And since you call'd me master for so long,
He finished indeed his mortal act Here is my hand; you shall from this time be
That day that made my sister thirteen years. You master's mistress.
VIOLA. If nothing lets to make us happy both OLIVIA. A sister! You are she.
But this my masculine usurp'd attire, Re-enter FABIAN, with MALVOLIO
Do not embrace me till each circumstance DUKE. Is this the madman?
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump OLIVIA. Ay, my lord, this same.
That I am Viola; which to confirm, How now, Malvolio!
I'll bring you to a captain in this town, MALVOLIO. Madam, you have done me wrong,
Where lie my maiden weeds; by whose gentle help Notorious wrong.
I was preserv'd to serve this noble Count. OLIVIA. Have I, Malvolio? No.
All the occurrence of my fortune since MALVOLIO. Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter.
Hath been between this lady and this lord. You must not now deny it is your hand;
SEBASTIAN. [To OLIVIA] So Comes it, lady, you have been mistook; But nature to her bias Write from it if you can, in hand or phrase;
drew in that. Or say 'tis not your seal, not your invention;
You would have been contracted to a maid; You can say none of this. Well, grant it then,
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceiv'd; And tell me, in the modesty of honour,
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. Why you have given me such clear lights of favour,
DUKE. Be not amaz'd; right noble is his blood. Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to you,
If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
I shall have share in this most happy wreck. Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people;
[To VIOLA] Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times And, acting this in an obedient hope,
Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
VIOLA. And all those sayings will I overswear; Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest,
And all those swearings keep as true in soul And made the most notorious geck and gul
As doth that orbed continent the fire That e'er invention play'd on? Tell me why.
That severs day from night. OLIVIA. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing,
DUKE. Give me thy hand; Though, I confess, much like the character;
And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. But out of question 'tis Maria's hand.
VIOLA. The captain that did bring me first on shore And now I do bethink me, it was she
Hath my maid's garments. He, upon some action, First told me thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling,
Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit, And in such forms which here were presuppos'd
A gentleman and follower of my lady's. Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content;
OLIVIA. He shall enlarge him. Fetch Malvolio hither; This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee,
And yet, alas, now I remember me, But, when we know the grounds and authors of it,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Re-enter CLOWN, with a letter, and FABIAN Of thine own cause.
A most extracting frenzy of mine own FABIAN. Good madam, hear me speak,
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come
How does he, sirrah?CLOWN. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the stave's end as well as Taint the condition of this present hour,
a man in his case Which I have wond'red at. In hope it shall not,Most freely I confess myself and Toby
may do. Has here writ a letter to you; I should have given 't you to-day morning, but as Set this device against Malvolio here,
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts LAUNCE, the like to Proteus
We had conceiv'd against him. Maria writ PANTHINO, servant to Antonio
The letter, at Sir Toby's great importance, HOST, where Julia lodges in Milan
In recompense whereof he hath married her. OUTLAWS, with Valentine
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd JULIA, a lady of Verona, beloved of Proteus
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, SILVIA, the Duke's daughter, beloved of Valentine
If that the injuries be justly weigh'd LUCETTA, waiting-woman to Julia
That have on both sides pass'd. SERVANTS
OLIVIA. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffl'd thee! MUSICIANS
CLOWN. Why, 'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
thrown SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
upon them.' I was one, sir, in this interlude- one Sir Topas, sir; but that's all one. BY PROJECT
'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad!' But do you remember- 'Madam, why laugh you at such a GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
barren rascal? An you smile not, he's gagg'd'? And thus the whirligig of time brings in ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
his revenges. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
MALVOLIO. I'll be reveng'd on the whole pack of you. YOUR OR OTHERS
Exit PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
OLIVIA. He hath been most notoriously abus'd. COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
DUKE. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace; SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
He hath not told us of the captain yet. DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
When that is known, and golden time convents, SCENE:
A solemn combination shall be made Verona; Milan; the frontiers of Mantua
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, ACT I. SCENE I.
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come; Verona. An open place
For so you shall be while you are a man; Enter VALENTINE and PROTEUS
But when in other habits you are seen, VALENTINE. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:
Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.
Exeunt all but the CLOWN Were't not affection chains thy tender days
CLOWN sings To the sweet glances of thy honour'd love,
When that I was and a little tiny boy, I rather would entreat thy company
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, To see the wonders of the world abroad,
A foolish thing was but a toy, Than, living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
For the rain it raineth every day. Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
But when I came to man's estate, But since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, Even as I would, when I to love begin.
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, PROTEUS. Wilt thou be gone? Sweet Valentine, adieu!
For the rain it raineth every day. Think on thy Proteus, when thou haply seest
But when I came, alas! to wive, Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel.
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, Wish me partaker in thy happiness
By swaggering could I never thrive, When thou dost meet good hap; and in thy danger,
For the rain it raineth every day. If ever danger do environ thee,
But when I came unto my beds, Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, For I will be thy headsman, Valentine.
With toss-pots still had drunken heads, VALENTINE. And on a love-book pray for my success?
For the rain it raineth every day. PROTEUS. Upon some book I love I'll pray for thee.
A great while ago the world begun, VALENTINE. That's on some shallow story of deep love:
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
But that's all one, our play is done, PROTEUS. That's a deep story of a deeper love;
And we'll strive to please you every day. For he was more than over shoes in love.
Exit VALENTINE. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love,
THE END And yet you never swum the Hellespont.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM PROTEUS. Over the boots! Nay, give me not the boots.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED VALENTINE. No, I will not, for it boots thee not.
BY PROJECT PROTEUS. What?
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. VALENTINE. To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks with heart-sore
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE sighs, one fading moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights;
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain;
YOUR OR OTHERS If lost, why then a grievous labour won;
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED However, but a folly bought with wit,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR PROTEUS. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> VALENTINE. So, by your circumstance, I fear you'll prove. PROTEUS. 'Tis love you cavil
1595 at; I am not Love.
THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA VALENTINE. Love is your master, for he masters you;
by William Shakespeare And he that is so yoked by a fool,
DRAMATIS PERSONAEDUKE OF MILAN, father to Silvia Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise.
VALENTINE, one of the two gentlemen PROTEUS. Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
PROTEUS, " " " " " The eating canker dwells, so eating loveInhabits in the finest wits of all.
ANTONIO, father to Proteus VALENTINE. And writers say, as the most forward bud
THURIO, a foolish rival to Valentine Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
EGLAMOUR, agent for Silvia in her escape Even so by love the young and tender wit
SPEED, a clownish servant to Valentine Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime, prove as hard to you in telling your mind. Give her no token but stones, for she's as
And all the fair effects of future hopes. hard as steel.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel the PROTEUS. What said she? Nothing?
That art a votary to fond desire? SPEED. No, not so much as 'Take this for thy pains.' To testify your bounty, I thank you,
Once more adieu. My father at the road you have testern'd me; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your letters yourself; and
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. so, sir, I'll commend you to my master.
PROTEUS. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. PROTEUS. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck,
VALENTINE. Sweet Proteus, no; now let us take our leave. Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,
To Milan let me hear from thee by letters Being destin'd to a drier death on shore. Exit SPEED I must go send some better
Of thy success in love, and what news else messenger.
Betideth here in absence of thy friend; I fear my Julia would not deign my lines,
And I likewise will visit thee with mine. Receiving them from such a worthless post. Exit
PROTEUS. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan! SCENE II.
VALENTINE. As much to you at home; and so farewell! Verona. The garden Of JULIA'S house
Exit VALENTINE PROTEUS. He after honour hunts, I after love; Enter JULIA and LUCETTA
He leaves his friends to dignify them more: JULIA. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. Wouldst thou then counsel me to fall in love?
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphis'd me, LUCETTA. Ay, madam; so you stumble not unheedfully.
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, JULIA. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen
War with good counsel, set the world at nought; That every day with parle encounter me,
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought. In thy opinion which is worthiest love?
Enter SPEED LUCETTA. Please you, repeat their names; I'll show my mind According to my shallow simple
SPEED. Sir Proteus, save you! Saw you my master? skill.
PROTEUS. But now he parted hence to embark for Milan. JULIA. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour?
SPEED. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already, LUCETTA. As of a knight well-spoken, neat, and fine;
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. But, were I you, he never should be mine.
PROTEUS. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, JULIA. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio?
An if the shepherd be awhile away. LUCETTA. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so so.
SPEED. You conclude that my master is a shepherd then, and I a sheep? JULIA. What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus?
PROTEUS. I do. LUCETTA. Lord, Lord! to see what folly reigns in us!
SPEED. Why then, my horns are his horns, whether I wake or sleep. PROTEUS. A silly JULIA. How now! what means this passion at his name?
answer, and fitting well a sheep. LUCETTA. Pardon, dear madam; 'tis a passing shame
SPEED. This proves me still a sheep. That I, unworthy body as I am,
PROTEUS. True; and thy master a shepherd. Should censure thus on lovely gentlemen.
SPEED. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. JULIA. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest?
PROTEUS. It shall go hard but I'll prove it by another. LUCETTA. Then thus: of many good I think him best.
SPEED. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the sheep the shepherd; but I seek my JULIA. Your reason?
master, and my master seeks not me; therefore, I am no sheep. LUCETTA. I have no other but a woman's reason:
PROTEUS. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd; the shepherd for food follows not the I think him so, because I think him so.
sheep: thou for wages followest thy master; thy master for wages follows not thee. JULIA. And wouldst thou have me cast my love on him?
Therefore, thou art a sheep. LUCETTA. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.
SPEED. Such another proof will make me cry 'baa.' JULIA. Why, he, of all the rest, hath never mov'd me.
PROTEUS. But dost thou hear? Gav'st thou my letter to Julia? SPEED. Ay, sir; I, a lost LUCETTA. Yet he, of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. JULIA. His little speaking
mutton, gave your letter to her, a lac'd mutton; and she, a lac'd mutton, gave me, a lost shows his love but small.
mutton, nothing for my labour. LUCETTA. Fire that's closest kept burns most of all.
PROTEUS. Here's too small a pasture for such store of muttons. SPEED. If the ground be JULIA. They do not love that do not show their love.
overcharg'd, you were best stick her. PROTEUS. Nay, in that you are astray: 'twere best LUCETTA. O, they love least that let men know their love. JULIA. I would I knew his mind.
pound you. SPEED. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me for carrying your letter. LUCETTA. Peruse this paper, madam.
PROTEUS. You mistake; I mean the pound- a pinfold. JULIA. 'To Julia'- Say, from whom?
SPEED. From a pound to a pin? Fold it over and over, LUCETTA. That the contents will show.
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your lover. PROTEUS. But what said JULIA. Say, say, who gave it thee?
she? LUCETTA. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, from Proteus. He would have given it
SPEED. [Nodding] Ay. you; but I, being in the way,
PROTEUS. Nod- ay. Why, that's 'noddy.' Did in your name receive it; pardon the fault, I pray.
SPEED. You mistook, sir; I say she did nod; and you ask me if she did nod; and I say JULIA. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker!
'Ay.' Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
PROTEUS. And that set together is 'noddy.' To whisper and conspire against my youth?
SPEED. Now you have taken the pains to set it together, take it for your pains. Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,
PROTEUS. No, no; you shall have it for bearing the letter. SPEED. Well, I perceive I must And you an officer fit for the place.
be fain to bear with you. There, take the paper; see it be return'd;
PROTEUS. Why, sir, how do you bear with me? Or else return no more into my sight.
SPEED. Marry, sir, the letter, very orderly; having nothing but the word 'noddy' for my LUCETTA. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
pains. JULIA. Will ye be gone?
PROTEUS. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. LUCETTA. That you may ruminate. Exit JULIA. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter.
SPEED. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. It were a shame to call her back again,
PROTEUS. Come, come, open the matter; in brief, what said she? SPEED. Open your purse, And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
that the money and the matter may be both at once delivered. What fool is she, that knows I am a maid
PROTEUS. Well, sir, here is for your pains. What said she? SPEED. Truly, sir, I think And would not force the letter to my view!
you'll hardly win her. Since maids, in modesty, say 'No' to that
PROTEUS. Why, couldst thou perceive so much from her?SPEED. Sir, I could perceive Which they would have the profferer construe 'Ay.'
nothing at all from her; no, not so much as a ducat for Fie, fie, how wayward is this foolish love,
delivering your letter; and being so hard to me that brought your mind, I fear she'll That like a testy babe will scratch the nurse,
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod!How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, Thus will I fold them one upon another;
When willingly I would have had her here! Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
How angerly I taught my brow to frown, Re-enter LUCETTALUCETTA. Madam,
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! Dinner is ready, and your father stays.
My penance is to call Lucetta back JULIA. Well, let us go.
And ask remission for my folly past. LUCETTA. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here? JULIA. If you respect them,
What ho! Lucetta! best to take them up.
Re-enter LUCETTA LUCETTA. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down;
LUCETTA. What would your ladyship? Yet here they shall not lie for catching cold.
JULIA. Is't near dinner time? JULIA. I see you have a month's mind to them.
LUCETTA. I would it were, LUCETTA. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you see;
That you might kill your stomach on your meat I see things too, although you judge I wink.
And not upon your maid. JULIA. Come, come; will't please you go? Exeunt
JULIA. What is't that you took up so gingerly? SCENE III.
LUCETTA. Nothing. Verona. ANTONIO'S house
JULIA. Why didst thou stoop then? Enter ANTONIO and PANTHINO
LUCETTA. To take a paper up that I let fall. ANTONIO. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that
JULIA. And is that paper nothing? Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
LUCETTA. Nothing concerning me. PANTHINO. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
JULIA. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. ANTONIO. Why, what of him?
LUCETTA. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, PANTHINO. He wond'red that your lordship
Unless it have a false interpreter. Would suffer him to spend his youth at home,
JULIA. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. While other men, of slender reputation,
LUCETTA. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune. Put forth their sons to seek preferment out:
Give me a note; your ladyship can set. Some to the wars, to try their fortune there;
JULIA. As little by such toys as may be possible. Some to discover islands far away;
Best sing it to the tune of 'Light o' Love.' Some to the studious universities.
LUCETTA. It is too heavy for so light a tune. For any, or for all these exercises,
JULIA. Heavy! belike it hath some burden then. He said that Proteus, your son, was meet;
LUCETTA. Ay; and melodious were it, would you sing it. And did request me to importune you
JULIA. And why not you? To let him spend his time no more at home,
LUCETTA. I cannot reach so high. Which would be great impeachment to his age,
JULIA. Let's see your song. [LUCETTA withholds the letter] How now, minion! In having known no travel in his youth.
LUCETTA. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out. ANTONIO. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that
And yet methinks I do not like this tune. Whereon this month I have been hammering.
JULIA. You do not! I have consider'd well his loss of time,
LUCETTA. No, madam; 'tis too sharp. And how he cannot be a perfect man,
JULIA. You, minion, are too saucy. Not being tried and tutor'd in the world:
LUCETTA. Nay, now you are too flat Experience is by industry achiev'd,
And mar the concord with too harsh a descant; And perfected by the swift course of time.
There wanteth but a mean to fill your song. Then tell me whither were I best to send him.
JULIA. The mean is drown'd with your unruly bass. PANTHINO. I think your lordship is not ignorant
LUCETTA. Indeed, I bid the base for Proteus. How his companion, youthful Valentine,
JULIA. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. Attends the Emperor in his royal court.
Here is a coil with protestation! [Tears the letter] Go, get you gone; and let the papers ANTONIO. I know it well.
lie. PANTHINO. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent him thither: There shall he practise
You would be fing'ring them, to anger me. tilts and tournaments,
LUCETTA. She makes it strange; but she would be best pleas'd To be so ang'red with Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen,
another letter. Exit JULIA. Nay, would I were so ang'red with the same! And be in eye of every exercise
O hateful hands, to tear such loving words! Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.
Injurious wasps, to feed on such sweet honey ANTONIO. I like thy counsel; well hast thou advis'd;
And kill the bees that yield it with your stings! And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it,
I'll kiss each several paper for amends. The execution of it shall make known:
Look, here is writ 'kind Julia.' Unkind Julia, Even with the speediest expedition
As in revenge of thy ingratitude, I will dispatch him to the Emperor's court.
I throw thy name against the bruising stones, PANTHINO. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. With other gentlemen of good esteem
And here is writ 'love-wounded Proteus.' Are journeying to salute the Emperor,
Poor wounded name! my bosom,,as a bed, And to commend their service to his will.
Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd; ANTONIO. Good company; with them shall Proteus go.
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. Enter PROTEUS
But twice or thrice was 'Proteus' written down. And- in good time!- now will we break with him.
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away PROTEUS. Sweet love! sweet lines! sweet life!
Till I have found each letter in the letterExcept Here is her hand, the agent of her heart;
mine own name; that some whirlwind bear Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn.
Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, O that our fathers would applaud our loves,
And throw it thence into the raging sea. To seal our happiness with their consents!
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ: O heavenly Julia!
'Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, ANTONIO. How now! What letter are you reading there?
To the sweet Julia.' That I'll tear away; PROTEUS. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two
And yet I will not, sith so prettily Of commendations sent from Valentine,
He couples it to his complaining names. Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.
ANTONIO. Lend me the letter; let me see what news. Hallowmas. You were wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock; when you walk'd, to walk
PROTEUS. There is no news, my lord; but that he writes like one of the lions; when you fasted, it was presently after dinner; when you look'd
How happily he lives, how well-belov'dAnd daily graced by the Emperor; sadly, it was for want of money. And now you are metamorphis'd with a mistress, that,
Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.
ANTONIO. And how stand you affected to his wish? VALENTINE. Are all these things perceiv'd in me?SPEED. They are all perceiv'd without ye.
PROTEUS. As one relying on your lordship's will, VALENTINE. Without me? They cannot.
And not depending on his friendly wish. SPEED. Without you! Nay, that's certain; for, without you were so simple, none else
ANTONIO. My will is something sorted with his wish. would; but you are so without these follies that these follies are within you, and shine
Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed; through you like the water in an urinal, that not an eye that sees you but is a physician
For what I will, I will, and there an end. to comment on your malady.
I am resolv'd that thou shalt spend some time VALENTINE. But tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia?
With Valentinus in the Emperor's court; SPEED. She that you gaze on so, as she sits at supper?
What maintenance he from his friends receives, VALENTINE. Hast thou observ'd that? Even she, I mean.
Like exhibition thou shalt have from me. SPEED. Why, sir, I know her not.
To-morrow be in readiness to goExcuse VALENTINE. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her, and yet know'st her not?
it not, for I am peremptory. SPEED. Is she not hard-favour'd, sir?
PROTEUS. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided; VALENTINE. Not so fair, boy, as well-favour'd.
Please you, deliberate a day or two. SPEED. Sir, I know that well enough.
ANTONIO. Look what thou want'st shall be sent after thee. No more of stay; to-morrow thou VALENTINE. What dost thou know?
must go. SPEED. That she is not so fair as, of you, well-favour'd. VALENTINE. I mean that her
Come on, Panthino; you shall be employ'd beauty is exquisite, but her favour infinite.
To hasten on his expedition. SPEED. That's because the one is painted, and the other out of all count.
Exeunt ANTONIO and PANTHINO PROTEUS. Thus have I shunn'd the fire for fear of burning, VALENTINE. How painted? and how out of count?
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd. SPEED. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, that no man counts of her beauty.
I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, VALENTINE. How esteem'st thou me? I account of her beauty. SPEED. You never saw her
Lest he should take exceptions to my love; since
And with the vantage of mine own excuse she was deform'd.
Hath he excepted most against my love. VALENTINE. How long hath she been deform'd?
O, how this spring of love resembleth SPEED. Ever since you lov'd her.
The uncertain glory of an April day, VALENTINE. I have lov'd her ever since I saw her, and still I see her beautiful.
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, SPEED. If you love her, you cannot see her.
And by an by a cloud takes all away! VALENTINE. Why?
Re-enter PANTHINO SPEED. Because Love is blind. O that you had mine eyes; or your own eyes had the lights
PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you; they were wont to have when you chid at Sir Proteus for going ungarter'd!
He is in haste; therefore, I pray you, go. VALENTINE. What should I see then?
PROTEUS. Why, this it is: my heart accords thereto; SPEED. Your own present folly and her passing deformity; for he, being in love, could not
And yet a thousand times it answers 'No.' Exeunt see to garter his hose; and you, being in love, cannot see to put on your hose.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM VALENTINE. Belike, boy, then you are in love; for last morning you could not see to wipe
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED my shoes.
BY PROJECT SPEED. True, sir; I was in love with my bed. I thank you, you swing'd me for my love,
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. which makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE VALENTINE. In conclusion, I stand affected to her.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR SPEED. I would you were set, so your affection would cease. VALENTINE. Last night she
YOUR OR OTHERS enjoin'd me to write some lines to one she loves.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED SPEED. And have you?
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY VALENTINE. I have.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR SPEED. Are they not lamely writ?
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> VALENTINE. No, boy, but as well as I can do them.
ACT II. SCENE I. Enter SILVIA
Milan. The DUKE'S palace Peace! here she comes.
Enter VALENTINE and SPEED SPEED. [Aside] O excellent motion! O exceeding puppet!
SPEED. Sir, your glove. Now will he interpret to her.
VALENTINE. Not mine: my gloves are on. VALENTINE. Madam and mistress, a thousand good morrows.
SPEED. Why, then, this may be yours; for this is but one. VALENTINE. Ha! let me see; ay, SPEED. [Aside] O, give ye good ev'n!
give it me, it's mine; Here's a million of manners.
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine! SILVIA. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
Ah, Silvia! Silvia! SPEED. [Aside] He should give her interest, and she gives it him. VALENTINE. As you
SPEED. [Calling] Madam Silvia! Madam Silvia! enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter
VALENTINE. How now, sirrah? Unto the secret nameless friend of yours;
SPEED. She is not within hearing, sir. Which I was much unwilling to proceed in,
VALENTINE. Why, sir, who bade you call her? But for my duty to your ladyship.
SPEED. Your worship, sir; or else I mistook. SILVIA. I thank you, gentle servant. 'Tis very clerkly done. VALENTINE. Now trust me,
VALENTINE. Well, you'll still be too forward. madam, it came hardly off;
SPEED. And yet I was last chidden for being too slow. For, being ignorant to whom it goes,
VALENTINE. Go to, sir; tell me, do you know Madam Silvia? SPEED. She that your worship I writ at random, very doubtfully.
loves? SILVIA. Perchance you think too much of so much pains?
VALENTINE. Why, how know you that I am in love? VALENTINE. No, madam; so it stead you, I will write,
SPEED. Marry, by these special marks: first, you have learn'd, like Sir Proteus, to Please you command, a thousand times as much;
wreath your arms like a malcontent; to relish a love-song, like a robin redbreast; to And yetSILVIA.
walk alone, like one that had the pestilence; to sigh, like a school-boy that had lost A pretty period! Well, I guess the sequel;
his A B C; to weep, like a young wench that had buried her grandam; to fast, like one And yet I will not name it- and yet I care not.
that takes diet; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak puling, like a beggar at And yet take this again- and yet I thank youMeaning
henceforth to trouble you no more. Alas! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. Exeunt
SPEED. [Aside] And yet you will; and yet another' yet.' VALENTINE. What means your SCENE III.
ladyship? Do you not like it? Verona. A street
SILVIA. Yes, yes; the lines are very quaintly writ; Enter LAUNCE, leading a dogLAUNCE. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the
But, since unwillingly, take them again. kind of the Launces
Nay, take them. [Gives hack the letter] VALENTINE. Madam, they are for you. have this very fault. I have receiv'd my proportion, like the Prodigious Son, and am
SILVIA. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request; going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab my dog be the
But I will none of them; they are for you: sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying,
I would have had them writ more movingly.VALENTINE. Please you, I'll write your ladyship our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity;
another. yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and
SILVIA. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over; has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why,
And if it please you, so; if not, why, so. my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you
VALENTINE. If it please me, madam, what then? the manner of it. This shoe is my father; no, this left shoe is my father; no, no, left
SILVIA. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour. shoe is my mother; nay, that cannot be so neither; yes, it is so, it is so, it hath the
And so good morrow, servant. Exit SILVIA SPEED. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple! My master sues to her; and she on 't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a
hath taught her suitor, lily and as small as a wand; this hat is Nan our maid; I am the dog; no, the dog is
He being her pupil, to become her tutor. himself, and I am the dog- O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to
O excellent device! Was there ever heard a better, my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping; now
That my master, being scribe, to himself should write the letter? VALENTINE. How now, should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O that she could
sir! What are you reasoning with yourself? SPEED. Nay, I was rhyming: 'tis you that have speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her- why there 'tis; here's my mother's breath
the reason. VALENTINE. To do what? up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while
SPEED. To be a spokesman from Madam Silvia? sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word; but see how I lay the dust with my tears.
VALENTINE. To whom? Enter PANTHINO
SPEED. To yourself; why, she woos you by a figure. PANTHINO. Launce, away, away, aboard! Thy master is shipp'd, and thou art to post after
VALENTINE. What figure? with oars. What's the matter? Why weep'st thou, man? Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if
SPEED. By a letter, I should say. you tarry any longer.
VALENTINE. Why, she hath not writ to me. LAUNCE. It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any
SPEED. What need she, when she hath made you write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive man tied.
the jest? PANTHINO. What's the unkindest tide?
VALENTINE. No, believe me. LAUNCE. Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog.
SPEED. No believing you indeed, sir. But did you perceive her earnest? PANTHINO. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood, and, in losing the flood, lose thy
VALENTINE. She gave me none except an angry word. voyage, and, in losing thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, lose thy
SPEED. Why, she hath given you a letter. service, and, in losing thy service- Why dost thou stop my mouth?
VALENTINE. That's the letter I writ to her friend. LAUNCE. For fear thou shouldst lose thy tongue.
SPEED. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and there an end. VALENTINE. I would it were PANTHINO. Where should I lose my tongue?
no worse. LAUNCE. In thy tale.
SPEED. I'll warrant you 'tis as well. PANTHINO. In thy tail!
'For often have you writ to her; and she, in modesty, LAUNCE. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the master, and the service, and the tied!
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply; Why, man, if the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears; if the wind were
Or fearing else some messenger that might her mind discover, Herself hath taught her love down, I could drive the boat with my sighs.
himself to write unto her lover.' All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. Why PANTHINO. Come, come away, man; I was sent to call thee.
muse you, sir? 'Tis dinner time. LAUNCE. Sir, call me what thou dar'st.
VALENTINE. I have din'd. PANTHINO. Will thou go?
SPEED. Ay, but hearken, sir; though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that LAUNCE. Well, I will go. Exeunt
am nourish'd by my victuals, and would fain have meat. O, be not like your mistress! Be SCENE IV.
moved, be moved. Milan. The DUKE'S palace
Exeunt Enter SILVIA, VALENTINE, THURIO, and SPEED
SCENE II. SILVIA. Servant!
Verona. JULIA'S house VALENTINE. Mistress?
Enter PROTEUS and JULIA SPEED. Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.
PROTEUS. Have patience, gentle Julia. VALENTINE. Ay, boy, it's for love.
JULIA. I must, where is no remedy. SPEED. Not of you.
PROTEUS. When possibly I can, I will return. VALENTINE. Of my mistress, then.
JULIA. If you turn not, you will return the sooner. SPEED. 'Twere good you knock'd him. Exit SILVIA. Servant, you are sad.
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. VALENTINE. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
[Giving a ring] PROTEUS. Why, then, we'll make exchange. Here, take you this. JULIA. And THURIO. Seem you that you are not?
seal the bargain with a holy kiss. VALENTINE. Haply I do.
PROTEUS. Here is my hand for my true constancy; THURIO. So do counterfeits.
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day VALENTINE. So do you.
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, THURIO. What seem I that I am not?
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance VALENTINE. Wise.
Torment me for my love's forgetfulness! THURIO. What instance of the contrary?
My father stays my coming; answer not; VALENTINE. Your folly.
The tide is now- nay, not thy tide of tears: THURIO. And how quote you my folly?
That tide will stay me longer than I should. VALENTINE. I quote it in your jerkin.
Julia, farewell! Exit JULIA What, gone without a word? THURIO. My jerkin is a doublet.
Ay, so true love should do: it cannot speak; VALENTINE. Well, then, I'll double your folly.
For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it. THURIO. How?
Enter PANTHINO SILVIA. What, angry, Sir Thurio! Do you change colour?
PANTHINO. Sir Proteus, you are stay'd for. VALENTINE. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of chameleon. THURIO. That hath more
PROTEUS. Go; I come, I come. mind
to feed on your blood than live in your air. To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
VALENTINE. You have said, sir. SILVIA. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
THURIO. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. PROTEUS. Not so, sweet lady; but too mean a servant
VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you always end ere you begin. SILVIA. A fine volley of To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off. VALENTINE. 'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the VALENTINE. Leave off discourse of disability;
giver.SILVIA. Who is that, servant? Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
VALENTINE. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire. Sir Thurio borrows his wit from PROTEUS. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.SILVIA. And duty never yet did want his meed.
your ladyship's looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your company. Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
THURIO. Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt. PROTEUS. I'll die on him that says so but yourself.
VALENTINE. I know it well, sir; you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other SILVIA. That you are welcome?
treasure to give your followers; for it appears by their bare liveries that they live by PROTEUS. That you are worthless.
your bare words. Re-enter THURIO
Enter DUKE THURIO. Madam, my lord your father would speak with you.
SILVIA. No more, gentlemen, no more. Here comes my father. DUKE. Now, daughter Silvia, SILVIA. I wait upon his pleasure. Come, Sir Thurio,
you are hard beset. Go with me. Once more, new servant, welcome.
Sir Valentine, your father is in good health. I'll leave you to confer of home affairs;
What say you to a letter from your friends When you have done we look to hear from you.
Of much good news? PROTEUS. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
VALENTINE. My lord, I will be thankful Exeunt SILVIA and THURIO VALENTINE. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you came?
To any happy messenger from thence. PROTEUS. Your friends are well, and have them much commended. VALENTINE. And how do
DUKE. Know ye Don Antonio, your countryman? yours?
VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman PROTEUS. I left them all in health.
To be of worth and worthy estimation, VALENTINE. How does your lady, and how thrives your love? PROTEUS. My tales of love
And not without desert so well reputed. were
DUKE. Hath he not a son? wont to weary you;
VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord; a son that well deserves I know you joy not in a love-discourse.
The honour and regard of such a father. VALENTINE. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now;
DUKE. You know him well? I have done penance for contemning Love,
VALENTINE. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me
We have convers'd and spent our hours together; With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
And though myself have been an idle truant, With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
Omitting the sweet benefit of time For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection, Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name, And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
Made use and fair advantage of his days: O gentle Proteus, Love's a mighty lord,
His years but young, but his experience old; And hath so humbled me as I confess
His head unmellowed, but his judgment ripe; There is no woe to his correction,
And, in a word, for far behind his worth Nor to his service no such joy on earth.
Comes all the praises that I now bestow, Now no discourse, except it be of love;
He is complete in feature and in mind, Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman. Upon the very naked name of love.
DUKE. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good, PROTEUS. Enough; I read your fortune in your eye.
He is as worthy for an empress' love Was this the idol that you worship so?
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. VALENTINE. Even she; and is she not a heavenly saint?
Well, sir, this gentleman is come to me PROTEUS. No; but she is an earthly paragon.
With commendation from great potentates, VALENTINE. Call her divine.
And here he means to spend his time awhile. PROTEUS. I will not flatter her.
I think 'tis no unwelcome news to you. VALENTINE. O, flatter me; for love delights in praises!
VALENTINE. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. PROTEUS. When I was sick you gave me bitter pills,
DUKE. Welcome him, then, according to his worthSilvia, And I must minister the like to you.
I speak to you, and you, Sir Thurio; VALENTINE. Then speak the truth by her; if not divine,
For Valentine, I need not cite him to it. Yet let her be a principality,
I will send him hither to you presently. Exit DUKE VALENTINE. This is the gentleman I Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
told your ladyship PROTEUS. Except my mistress.
Had come along with me but that his mistresss VALENTINE. Sweet, except not any;
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. Except thou wilt except against my love.
SILVIA. Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them PROTEUS. Have I not reason to prefer mine own?
Upon some other pawn for fealty. VALENTINE. And I will help thee to prefer her too:
VALENTINE. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners still. SILVIA. Nay, then, he She shall be dignified with this high honourTo
should be blind; and, being blind, bear my lady's train, lest the base earth
How could he see his way to seek out you? Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss
VALENTINE. Why, lady, Love hath twenty pair of eyes. And, of so great a favour growing proud,
THURIO. They say that Love hath not an eye at all. Disdain to root the summer-swelling flow'r
VALENTINE. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; And make rough winter everlastingly.
Upon a homely object Love can wink. Exit THURIO PROTEUS. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this?
Enter PROTEUS VALENTINE. Pardon me, Proteus; all I can is nothing
SILVIA. Have done, have done; here comes the gentleman. To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing;
VALENTINE. Welcome, dear Proteus! Mistress, I beseech you Confirm his welcome with some She is alone.
special favour. PROTEUS. Then let her alone.
SILVIA. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, VALENTINE. Not for the world! Why, man, she is mine own;
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. And I as rich in having such a jewel
VALENTINE. Mistress, it is; sweet lady, entertain him As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. SPEED. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, how say'st thou that my master is become
Forgive me that I do not dream on thee, a notable lover?
Because thou seest me dote upon my love. LAUNCE. I never knew him otherwise.
My foolish rival, that her father likes SPEED. Than how?
Only for his possessions are so huge, LAUNCE. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be.
Is gone with her along; and I must after, SPEED. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistak'st me.
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. LAUNCE. Why, fool, I meant not thee, I meant thy master.
PROTEUS. But she loves you? SPEED. I tell thee my master is become a hot lover.
VALENTINE. Ay, and we are betroth'd; nay more, our marriage-hour, With all the cunning LAUNCE. Why, I tell thee I care not though he burn himself in love. If thou wilt, go with
manner of our flight,Determin'd of- how I must climb her window, me to the alehouse; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and not worth the name of a
The ladder made of cords, and all the means Christian.
Plotted and 'greed on for my happiness. SPEED. Why?LAUNCE. Because thou hast not so much charity in thee as to go to the ale with
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, a
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. Christian. Wilt thou go?
PROTEUS. Go on before; I shall enquire you forth; SPEED. At thy service. Exeunt
I must unto the road to disembark SCENE VI.
Some necessaries that I needs must use; Milan. The DUKE's palace
And then I'll presently attend you. Enter PROTEUS
VALENTINE. Will you make haste? PROTEUS. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;
PROTEUS. I will. Exit VALENTINE Even as one heat another heat expels To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;
Or as one nail by strength drives out another, To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;
So the remembrance of my former love And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath
Is by a newer object quite forgotten. Provokes me to this threefold perjury:
Is it my mind, or Valentinus' praise, Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.
Her true perfection, or my false transgression, O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinn'd,
That makes me reasonless to reason thus? Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it!
She is fair; and so is Julia that I loveThat At first I did adore a twinkling star,
I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; But now I worship a celestial sun.
Which like a waxen image 'gainst a fire Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken;
Bears no impression of the thing it was. And he wants wit that wants resolved will
Methinks my zeal to Valentine is cold, To learn his wit t' exchange the bad for better.
And that I love him not as I was wont. Fie, fie, unreverend tongue, to call her bad
O! but I love his lady too too much, Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
And that's the reason I love him so little. With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths!
How shall I dote on her with more advice I cannot leave to love, and yet I do;
That thus without advice begin to love her! But there I leave to love where I should love.
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose;
And that hath dazzled my reason's light; If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
But when I look on her perfections, If I lose them, thus find I by their loss:
There is no reason but I shall be blind. For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
If I can check my erring love, I will; I to myself am dearer than a friend;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. Exit For love is still most precious in itself;
SCENE V. And Silvia- witness heaven, that made her fair!-
Milan. A street Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
Enter SPEED and LAUNCE severally I will forget that Julia is alive,
SPEED. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to Padua. Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead;
LAUNCE. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth, for I am not welcome. I reckon this always, And Valentine I'll hold an enemy,
that a man is never undone till he be hang'd, nor never welcome to a place till some Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend.
certain shot be paid, and the hostess say 'Welcome!' I cannot now prove constant to myself
SPEED. Come on, you madcap; I'll to the alehouse with you presently; where, for one shot Without some treachery us'd to Valentine.
of five pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, how did thy master This night he meaneth with a corded ladder
part with Madam Julia? To climb celestial Silvia's chamber window,
LAUNCE. Marry, after they clos'd in earnest, they parted very fairly in jest. Myself in counsel, his competitor.
SPEED. But shall she marry him? Now presently I'll give her father notice
LAUNCE. No. Of their disguising and pretended flight,
SPEED. How then? Shall he marry her? Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine,
LAUNCE. No, neither. For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter;
SPEED. What, are they broken? But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross
LAUNCE. No, they are both as whole as a fish. By some sly trick blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
SPEED. Why then, how stands the matter with them? Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift,
LAUNCE. Marry, thus: when it stands well with him, it stands well with her. As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift. Exit
SPEED. What an ass art thou! I understand thee not. SCENE VII.
LAUNCE. What a block art thou that thou canst not! My staff understands me. Verona. JULIA'S house
SPEED. What thou say'st? Enter JULIA and LUCETTA
LAUNCE. Ay, and what I do too; look thee, I'll but lean, and my staff understands me. JULIA. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me;
SPEED. It stands under thee, indeed. And, ev'n in kind love, I do conjure thee,
LAUNCE. Why, stand-under and under-stand is all one. Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
SPEED. But tell me true, will't be a match? Are visibly character'd and engrav'd,
LAUNCE. Ask my dog. If he say ay, it will; if he say no, it will; if he shake his tail To lesson me and tell me some good mean
and say nothing, it will. How, with my honour, I may undertake
SPEED. The conclusion is, then, that it will. A journey to my loving Proteus.
LAUNCE. Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but by a parable. LUCETTA. Alas, the way is wearisome and long!
JULIA. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary To bear a hard opinion of his truth;
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps; Only deserve my love by loving him.
Much less shall she that hath Love's wings to fly, And presently go with me to my chamber,
And when the flight is made to one so dear, To take a note of what I stand in need of
Of such divine perfection, as Sir Proteus. To furnish me upon my longing journey.
LUCETTA. Better forbear till Proteus make return. All that is mine I leave at thy dispose,
JULIA. O, know'st thou not his looks are my soul's food? My goods, my lands, my reputation;
Pity the dearth that I have pined in Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence.
By longing for that food so long a time. Come, answer not, but to it presently;
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love. I am impatient of my tarriance. Exeunt
Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.LUCETTA. I do not seek to quench your love's SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
hot fire, BY PROJECT
But qualify the fire's extreme rage, GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
JULIA. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
The current that with gentle murmur glides, YOUR OR OTHERS
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
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He makes sweet music with th' enamell'd stones, SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>ACT III. SCENE I.
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage; Milan. The DUKE'S palace
And so by many winding nooks he strays, Enter DUKE, THURIO, and PROTEUS
With willing sport, to the wild ocean. DUKE. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile;
Then let me go, and hinder not my course. We have some secrets to confer about. Exit THURIO Now tell me, Proteus, what's your will
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, with me?
And make a pastime of each weary step, PROTEUS. My gracious lord, that which I would discover
Till the last step have brought me to my love; The law of friendship bids me to conceal;
And there I'll rest as, after much turmoil, But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
A blessed soul doth in Elysium. Done to me, undeserving as I am,
LUCETTA. But in what habit will you go along? My duty pricks me on to utter that
JULIA. Not like a woman, for I would prevent Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
The loose encounters of lascivious men; Know, worthy prince, Sir Valentine, my friend,
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds This night intends to steal away your daughter;
As may beseem some well-reputed page. Myself am one made privy to the plot.
LUCETTA. Why then, your ladyship must cut your hair. I know you have determin'd to bestow her
JULIA. No, girl; I'll knit it up in silken strings On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates;
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knotsTo And should she thus be stol'n away from you,
be fantastic may become a youth It would be much vexation to your age.
Of greater time than I shall show to be. Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
LUCETTA. What fashion, madam, shall I make your breeches? JULIA. That fits as well as To cross my friend in his intended drift
'Tell me, good my lord, Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
What compass will you wear your farthingale.' A pack of sorrows which would press you down,
Why ev'n what fashion thou best likes, Lucetta. Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
LUCETTA. You must needs have them with a codpiece, madam. JULIA. Out, out, Lucetta, that DUKE. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care,
will be ill-favour'd. Which to requite, command me while I live.
LUCETTA. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a pin, This love of theirs myself have often seen,
Unless you have a codpiece to stick pins on. Haply when they have judg'd me fast asleep,
JULIA. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly. Sir Valentine her company and my court;
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err
For undertaking so unstaid a journey? And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
I fear me it will make me scandaliz'd. A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,
LUCETTA. If you think so, then stay at home and go not. I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find
JULIA. Nay, that I will not. That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
LUCETTA. Then never dream on infamy, but go. And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this,
If Proteus like your journey when you come, Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested,
No matter who's displeas'd when you are gone. I nightly lodge her in an upper tow'r,
I fear me he will scarce be pleas'd withal. The key whereof myself have ever kept;
JULIA. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: And thence she cannot be convey'd away.
A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, PROTEUS. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
And instances of infinite of love, How he her chamber window will ascend
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. And with a corded ladder fetch her down;
LUCETTA. All these are servants to deceitful men. For which the youthful lover now is gone,
JULIA. Base men that use them to so base effect! And this way comes he with it presently;
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth; Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, But, good my lord, do it so cunningly
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, That my discovery be not aimed at;
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, For love of you, not hate unto my friend,
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. Hath made me publisher of this pretence.
LUCETTA. Pray heav'n he prove so when you come to him. DUKE. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
JULIA. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong That I had any light from thee of this.
PROTEUS. Adieu, my lord; Sir Valentine is coming. Exit Advise me where I may have such a ladder.
Enter VALENTINE VALENTINE. When would you use it? Pray, sir, tell me that. DUKE. This very night; for
DUKE. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? Love is like a child,
VALENTINE. Please it your Grace, there is a messenger That longs for everything that he can come by.
That stays to bear my letters to my friends, VALENTINE. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder.
And I am going to deliver them. DUKE. But, hark thee; I will go to her alone;
DUKE. Be they of much import? How shall I best convey the ladder thither?
VALENTINE. The tenour of them doth but signify VALENTINE. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it Under a cloak that is of any
My health and happy being at your court. length.
DUKE. Nay then, no matter; stay with me awhile; DUKE. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn?
I am to break with thee of some affairs VALENTINE. Ay, my good lord.
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. DUKE. Then let me see thy cloak.
'Tis not unknown to thee that I have sought I'll get me one of such another length.
To match my friend Sir Thurio to my daughter. VALENTINE. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.
VALENTINE. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match DUKE. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak?
Were rich and honourable; besides, the gentleman I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me.
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities What letter is this same? What's here? 'To Silvia'!
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter. And here an engine fit for my proceeding!
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him? I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads] 'My thoughts do harbour with my
DUKE. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, froward, Silvia nightly,
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; And slaves they are to me, that send them flying.
Neither regarding that she is my childNor fearing me as if I were her father; O, could their master come and go as lightly,
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, Himself would lodge where, senseless, they are lying! My herald thoughts in thy pure
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; bosom rest them,
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age While I, their king, that thither them importune,
Should have been cherish'd by her childlike duty, Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blest them, Because myself do want my
I now am full resolv'd to take a wife servants' fortune.I curse myself, for they are sent by me,
And turn her out to who will take her in. That they should harbour where their lord should be.' What's here?
Then let her beauty be her wedding-dow'r; 'Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee.'
For me and my possessions she esteems not. 'Tis so; and here's the ladder for the purpose.
VALENTINE. What would your Grace have me to do in this? Why, Phaethon- for thou art Merops' sonWilt
DUKE. There is a lady, in Verona here, thou aspire to guide the heavenly car,
Whom I affect; but she is nice, and coy, And with thy daring folly burn the world?
And nought esteems my aged eloquence. Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutorFor Go, base intruder, over-weening slave,
long agone I have forgot to court; Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates;
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'dHow And think my patience, more than thy desert,
and which way I may bestow myself Is privilege for thy departure hence.
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. Thank me for this more than for all the favours
VALENTINE. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words: Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
Dumb jewels often in their silent kind But if thou linger in my territories
More than quick words do move a woman's mind. Longer than swiftest expedition
DUKE. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. Will give thee time to leave our royal court,
VALENTINE. A woman sometime scorns what best contents her. Send her another; never give By heaven! my wrath shall far exceed the love
her o'er, I ever bore my daughter or thyself.
For scorn at first makes after-love the more. Be gone; I will not hear thy vain excuse,
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. Exit VALENTINE. And why not death
But rather to beget more love in you; rather than living torment?
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone, To die is to be banish'd from myself,
For why, the fools are mad if left alone. And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; Is self from self, a deadly banishment.
For 'Get you gone' she doth not mean 'Away!' What light is light, if Silvia be not seen?
Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces; What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by?
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. Unless it be to think that she is by,
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, And feed upon the shadow of perfection.
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Except I be by Silvia in the night,
DUKE. But she I mean is promis'd by her friends There is no music in the nightingale;
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth; Unless I look on Silvia in the day,
And kept severely from resort of men, There is no day for me to look upon.
That no man hath access by day to her. She is my essence, and I leave to be
VALENTINE. Why then I would resort to her by night. If I be not by her fair influence
DUKE. Ay, but the doors be lock'd and keys kept safe, Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
That no man hath recourse to her by night. I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom:
VALENTINE. What lets but one may enter at her window? Tarry I here, I but attend on death;
DUKE. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, But fly I hence, I fly away from life.
And built so shelving that one cannot climb it Enter PROTEUS and LAUNCE
Without apparent hazard of his life. PROTEUS. Run, boy, run, run, seek him out.
VALENTINE. Why then a ladder, quaintly made of cords, LAUNCE. So-ho, so-ho!
To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, PROTEUS. What seest thou?
Would serve to scale another Hero's tow'r, LAUNCE. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on 's head but 'tis a Valentine.
So bold Leander would adventure it. PROTEUS. Valentine?
DUKE. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, VALENTINE. No.
PROTEUS. Who then? his spirit? than a water-spaniel- which is much in a bare Christian. Here is the cate-log [Pulling
VALENTINE. Neither. out a paper] of her condition. 'Inprimis: She can fetch and carry.' Why, a horse can do
PROTEUS. What then? no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; therefore is she better than a jade.
VALENTINE. Nothing. 'Item: She can milk.' Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands.
LAUNCE. Can nothing speak? Master, shall I strike? Enter SPEED
PROTEUS. Who wouldst thou strike? SPEED. How now, Signior Launce! What news with your mastership? LAUNCE. With my
LAUNCE. Nothing. master's
PROTEUS. Villain, forbear. ship? Why, it is at sea.
LAUNCE. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing. I pray youPROTEUS. SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news, then, in your paper?
Sirrah, I say, forbear. Friend Valentine, a word. LAUNCE. The black'st news that ever thou heard'st.
VALENTINE. My ears are stopp'd and cannot hear good news, So much of bad already hath SPEED. Why, man? how black?
possess'd them. LAUNCE. Why, as black as ink.
PROTEUS. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, SPEED. Let me read them.
For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. LAUNCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.
VALENTINE. Is Silvia dead? SPEED. Thou liest; I can.
PROTEUS. No, Valentine. LAUNCE. I will try thee. Tell me this: Who begot thee?
VALENTINE. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia. SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather.
Hath she forsworn me? LAUNCE. O illiterate loiterer. It was the son of thy grandmother. This proves that thou
PROTEUS. No, Valentine. canst not read.
VALENTINE. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me. SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.
What is your news? LAUNCE. [Handing over the paper] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed.
LAUNCE. Sir, there is a proclamation that you are vanished. PROTEUS. That thou art SPEED. [Reads] 'Inprimis: She can milk.'
banished- O, that's the news!- LAUNCE. Ay, that she can.
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. SPEED. 'Item: She brews good ale.'
VALENTINE. O, I have fed upon this woe already, LAUNCE. And thereof comes the proverb: Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.
And now excess of it will make me surfeit. SPEED. 'Item: She can sew.'
Doth Silvia know that I am banished? LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'Can she so?'
PROTEUS. Ay, ay; and she hath offered to the doomWhich, SPEED. 'Item: She can knit.'
unrevers'd, stands in effectual forceA LAUNCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock.
sea of melting pearl, which some call tears;Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd; SPEED. 'Item: She can wash and scour.'
With them, upon her knees, her humble self, LAUNCE. A special virtue; for then she need not be wash'd and scour'd.
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them SPEED. 'Item: She can spin.'
As if but now they waxed pale for woe. LAUNCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living.
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, SPEED. 'Item: She hath many nameless virtues.'LAUNCE. That's as much as to say 'bastard
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, virtues'; that indeed know not their fathers,
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sireBut and therefore have no names.
Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. SPEED. 'Here follow her vices.'
Besides, her intercession chaf'd him so, LAUNCE. Close at the heels of her virtues.
When she for thy repeal was suppliant, SPEED. 'Item: She is not to be kiss'd fasting, in respect of her breath.'
That to close prison he commanded her, LAUNCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast.
With many bitter threats of biding there. Read on.
VALENTINE. No more; unless the next word that thou speak'st Have some malignant power SPEED. 'Item: She hath a sweet mouth.'
upon my life: LAUNCE. That makes amends for her sour breath.
If so, I pray thee breathe it in mine ear, SPEED. 'Item: She doth talk in her sleep.'
As ending anthem of my endless dolour. LAUNCE. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. SPEED. 'Item: She is slow
PROTEUS. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help, in words.'
And study help for that which thou lament'st. LAUNCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman's
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. only virtue. I pray thee, out with't; and place it for her chief virtue.
Here if thou stay thou canst not see thy love; SPEED. 'Item: She is proud.'
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. LAUNCE. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, and cannot be ta'en from her.
Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, SPEED. 'Item: She hath no teeth.'
And manage it against despairing thoughts. LAUNCE. I care not for that neither, because I love crusts. SPEED. 'Item: She is curst.'
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence, LAUNCE. Well, the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd SPEED. 'Item: She will often praise her liquor.'
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. LAUNCE. If her liquor be good, she shall; if she will not, I will; for good things should
The time now serves not to expostulate. be praised.
Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate; SPEED. 'Item: She is too liberal.'
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large LAUNCE. Of her tongue she cannot, for that's writ down she is slow of; of her purse she
Of all that may concern thy love affairs. shall not, for that I'll keep shut. Now of another thing she may, and that cannot I help.
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, Well, proceed. SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit, and more faults than hairs, and
Regard thy danger, and along with me. more wealth than faults.'
VALENTINE. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, LAUNCE. Stop there; I'll have her; she was mine, and not mine, twice or thrice in that
Bid him make haste and meet me at the Northgate. last article. Rehearse that once more. SPEED. 'Item: She hath more hair than wit'-
PROTEUS. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. LAUNCE. More hair than wit. It may be; I'll prove it: the cover of the salt hides the
VALENTINE. O my dear Silvia! Hapless Valentine! salt, and therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that covers the wit is more than
Exeunt VALENTINE and PROTEUS LAUNCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit the wit, for the greater hides the less. What's next?
to SPEED. 'And more faults than hairs'-
think my master is a kind of a knave; but that's all one if he be but one knave. He lives LAUNCE. That's monstrous. O that that were out!
not now that knows me to be in love; yet I am in love; but a team of horse shall not SPEED. 'And more wealth than faults.'
pluck that from me; nor who 'tis I love; and yet 'tis a woman; but what woman I will not LAUNCE. Why, that word makes the faults gracious. Well, I'll have her; an if it be a
tell myself; and yet 'tis a milkmaid; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet match, as nothing is impossibleSPEED.
'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities What then?
LAUNCE. Why, then will I tell thee- that thy master stays for thee at the Northgate. Upon this warrant shall you have access
SPEED. For me? Where you with Silvia may confer at largeFor
LAUNCE. For thee! ay, who art thou? He hath stay'd for a better man than thee. she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy,
SPEED. And must I go to him? And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of youWhere
LAUNCE. Thou must run to him, for thou hast stay'd so long that going will scarce serve you may temper her by your persuasion
the turn. To hate young Valentine and love my friend.
SPEED. Why didst not tell me sooner? Pox of your love letters! Exit PROTEUS. As much as I can do I will effect.
LAUNCE. Now will he be swing'd for reading my letter. An unmannerly slave that will But you, Sir Thurio, are not sharp enough;
thrust himself into secrets! I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's correction. Exit You must lay lime to tangle her desires
SCENE II. By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
Milan. The DUKE'S palace Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows.
Enter DUKE and THURIO DUKE. Ay,
DUKE. Sir Thurio, fear not but that she will love you Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. PROTEUS. Say that upon the altar of her beauty
THURIO. Since his exile she hath despis'd me most, You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart;
Forsworn my company and rail'd at me, Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears
That I am desperate of obtaining her. Moist it again, and frame some feeling line
DUKE. This weak impress of love is as a figure That may discover such integrity;
Trenched in ice, which with an hour's heat For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
Enter PROTEUS After your dire-lamenting elegies,
How now, Sir Proteus! Is your countryman, Visit by night your lady's chamber window
According to our proclamation, gone? With some sweet consort; to their instruments
PROTEUS. Gone, my good lord. Tune a deploring dump- the night's dead silence
DUKE. My daughter takes his going grievously. Will well become such sweet-complaining grievance.
PROTEUS. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
DUKE. So I believe; but Thurio thinks not so. DUKE. This discipline shows thou hast been in love.
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of theeFor THURIO. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice;
thou hast shown some sign of good desertMakes Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver,
me the better to confer with thee. Let us into the city presently
PROTEUS. Longer than I prove loyal to your Grace To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music.
Let me not live to look upon your Grace. I have a sonnet that will serve the turn
DUKE. Thou know'st how willingly I would effectThe match between Sir Thurio and my To give the onset to thy good advice.
daughter. DUKE. About it, gentlemen!
PROTEUS. I do, my lord. PROTEUS. We'll wait upon your Grace till after supper,
DUKE. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant And afterward determine our proceedings.
How she opposes her against my will. DUKE. Even now about it! I will pardon you. ExeuntACT_4|SC_1
PROTEUS. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. <<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
DUKE. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED
What might we do to make the girl forget BY PROJECT
The love of Valentine, and love Sir Thurio? GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
PROTEUS. The best way is to slander Valentine ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descentThree READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
things that women highly hold in hate. YOUR OR OTHERS
DUKE. Ay, but she'll think that it is spoke in hate. PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
PROTEUS. Ay, if his enemy deliver it; COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
Therefore it must with circumstance be spoken SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR
By one whom she esteemeth as his friend. DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
DUKE. Then you must undertake to slander him. ACT IV. SCENE I.
PROTEUS. And that, my lord, I shall be loath to do: The frontiers of Mantua. A forest
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman, Enter certain OUTLAWS
Especially against his very friend. FIRST OUTLAW. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger.
DUKE. Where your good word cannot advantage him, SECOND OUTLAW. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em.
Your slander never can endamage him; Enter VALENTINE and SPEED
Therefore the office is indifferent, THIRD OUTLAW. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about ye; If not, we'll make you
Being entreated to it by your friend. sit, and rifle you.
PROTEUS. You have prevail'd, my lord; if I can do it SPEED. Sir, we are undone; these are the villains
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, That all the travellers do fear so much.
She shall not long continue love to him. VALENTINE. My friendsFIRST
But say this weed her love from Valentine, OUTLAW. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies.
It follows not that she will love Sir Thurio. SECOND OUTLAW. Peace! we'll hear him.
THURIO. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, THIRD OUTLAW. Ay, by my beard, will we; for he is a proper man. VALENTINE. Then know
Lest it should ravel and be good to none, that
You must provide to bottom it on me; I have little wealth to lose;
Which must be done by praising me as much A man I am cross'd with adversity;
As you in worth dispraise Sir Valentine. My riches are these poor habiliments,
DUKE. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind, Of which if you should here disfurnish me,
Because we know, on Valentine's report, You take the sum and substance that I have.
You are already Love's firm votary SECOND OUTLAW. Whither travel you?
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. VALENTINE. To Verona.
FIRST OUTLAW. Whence came you? The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
VALENTINE. From Milan. Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love
THIRD OUTLAW. Have you long sojourn'd there? The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
VALENTINE. Some sixteen months, and longer might have stay'd, If crooked fortune had not Enter THURIO and MUSICIANS
thwarted me. But here comes Thurio. Now must we to her window,
FIRST OUTLAW. What, were you banish'd thence? And give some evening music to her ear.
VALENTINE. I was. THURIO. How now, Sir Proteus, are you crept before us?
SECOND OUTLAW. For what offence? PROTEUS. Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love
VALENTINE. For that which now torments me to rehearse: Will creep in service where it cannot go.
I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; THURIO. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
But yet I slew him manfully in fight, PROTEUS. Sir, but I do; or else I would be hence.
Without false vantage or base treachery. THURIO. Who? Silvia?
FIRST OUTLAW. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so. PROTEUS. Ay, Silvia- for your sake.
But were you banish'd for so small a fault? THURIO. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen,
VALENTINE. I was, and held me glad of such a doom. Let's tune, and to it lustily awhile.
SECOND OUTLAW. Have you the tongues? Enter at a distance, HOST, and JULIA in boy's clothes
VALENTINE. My youthful travel therein made me happy, HOST. Now, my young guest, methinks you're allycholly; I pray you, why is it?
Or else I often had been miserable. JULIA. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.
THIRD OUTLAW. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, This fellow were a king for HOST. Come, we'll have you merry; I'll bring you where you shall hear music, and see the
our wild faction! gentleman that you ask'd for.
FIRST OUTLAW. We'll have him. Sirs, a word. JULIA. But shall I hear him speak?
SPEED. Master, be one of them; it's an honourable kind of thievery. VALENTINE. Peace, HOST. Ay, that you shall. [Music plays] JULIA. That will be music.
villain! HOST. Hark, hark!
SECOND OUTLAW. Tell us this: have you anything to take to? VALENTINE. Nothing but my JULIA. Is he among these?
fortune. HOST. Ay; but peace! let's hear 'em.
THIRD OUTLAW. Know, then, that some of us are gentlemen, SONG
Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth Who is Silvia? What is she,
Thrust from the company of awful men; That all our swains commend her?
Myself was from Verona banished Holy, fair, and wise is she;
For practising to steal away a lady, The heaven such grace did lend her,
An heir, and near allied unto the Duke. That she might admired be.
SECOND OUTLAW. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman Is she kind as she is fair?
Who, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. For beauty lives with kindness.
FIRST OUTLAW. And I for such-like petty crimes as these. Love doth to her eyes repair,
But to the purpose- for we cite our faults To help him of his blindness;
That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives; And, being help'd, inhabits there.
And, partly, seeing you are beautified Then to Silvia let us sing
With goodly shape, and by your own report That Silvia is excelling;
A linguist, and a man of such perfection She excels each mortal thingUpon the dull earth dwelling.
As we do in our quality much wantSECOND 'To her let us garlands bring.
OUTLAW. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, HOST. How now, are you sadder than you were before?
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you. How do you, man? The music likes you not.
Are you content to be our generalTo JULIA. You mistake; the musician likes me not.
make a virtue of necessity,And live as we do in this wilderness? HOST. Why, my pretty youth?
THIRD OUTLAW. What say'st thou? Wilt thou be of our consort? Say 'ay' and be the captain JULIA. He plays false, father.
of us all. HOST. How, out of tune on the strings?
We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, JULIA. Not so; but yet so false that he grieves my very
Love thee as our commander and our king. heart-strings.
FIRST OUTLAW. But if thou scorn our courtesy thou diest. HOST. You have a quick ear.
SECOND OUTLAW. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have offer'd. VALENTINE. I take your JULIA. Ay, I would I were deaf; it makes me have a slow heart. HOST. I perceive you
offer, and will live with you, delight not in music.
Provided that you do no outrages JULIA. Not a whit, when it jars so.
On silly women or poor passengers. HOST. Hark, what fine change is in the music!
THIRD OUTLAW. No, we detest such vile base practices. JULIA. Ay, that change is the spite.
Come, go with us; we'll bring thee to our crews, HOST. You would have them always play but one thing?
And show thee all the treasure we have got; JULIA. I would always have one play but one thing.
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. Exeunt But, Host, doth this Sir Proteus, that we talk on,
SCENE II. Often resort unto this gentlewoman?
Milan. Outside the DUKE'S palace, under SILVIA'S window HOST. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me: he lov'd her out of all nick.
Enter PROTEUS JULIA. Where is Launce?
PROTEUS. Already have I been false to Valentine, HOST. Gone to seek his dog, which to-morrow, by his master's command, he must carry for a
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. present to his lady.
Under the colour of commending him JULIA. Peace, stand aside; the company parts.
I have access my own love to prefer; PROTEUS. Sir Thurio, fear not you; I will so plead
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, That you shall say my cunning drift excels.
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. THURIO. Where meet we?
When I protest true loyalty to her, PROTEUS. At Saint Gregory's well.
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend; THURIO. Farewell. Exeunt THURIO and MUSICIANS
When to her beauty I commend my vows, Enter SILVIA above, at her window
She bids me think how I have been forsworn PROTEUS. Madam, good ev'n to your ladyship.
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd; SILVIA. I thank you for your music, gentlemen.
And notwithstanding all her sudden quips, Who is that that spake?
PROTEUS. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, not I flatter, for I swear I do notValiant,
You would quickly learn to know him by his voice. wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd.
SILVIA. Sir Proteus, as I take it. Thou art not ignorant what dear good will
PROTEUS. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. I bear unto the banish'd Valentine;
SILVIA. What's your will? Nor how my father would enforce me marry
PROTEUS. That I may compass yours. Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhors.
SILVIA. You have your wish; my will is even this, Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say
That presently you hie you home to bed. No grief did ever come so near thy heart
Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man, As when thy lady and thy true love died,
Think'st thou I am so shallow, so conceitless, Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity.
To be seduced by thy flattery Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows? To Mantua, where I hear he makes abode;
Return, return, and make thy love amends. And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
For me, by this pale queen of night I swear, I do desire thy worthy company,
I am so far from granting thy request Upon whose faith and honour I repose.
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit, Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour,
And by and by intend to chide myself But think upon my grief, a lady's grief,
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. And on the justice of my flying hence
PROTEUS. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady; To keep me from a most unholy match,
But she is dead. Which heaven and fortune still rewards with plagues.
JULIA. [Aside] 'Twere false, if I should speak it; I do desire thee, even from a heart
For I am sure she is not buried. As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
SILVIA. Say that she be; yet Valentine, thy friend, To bear me company and go with me;
Survives, to whom, thyself art witness, If not, to hide what I have said to thee,
I am betroth'd; and art thou not asham'd That I may venture to depart alone.
To wrong him with thy importunacy? EGLAMOUR. Madam, I pity much your grievances;
PROTEUS. I likewise hear that Valentine is dead. Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd,
SILVIA. And so suppose am I; for in his grave I give consent to go along with you,
Assure thyself my love is buried. Recking as little what betideth me
PROTEUS. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. As much I wish all good befortune you.
SILVIA. Go to thy lady's grave, and call hers thence; When will you go?
Or, at the least, in hers sepulchre thine. SILVIA. This evening coming.
JULIA. [Aside] He heard not that. EGLAMOUR. Where shall I meet you?
PROTEUS. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, SILVIA. At Friar Patrick's cell,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, Where I intend holy confession.
The picture that is hanging in your chamber; EGLAMOUR. I will not fail your ladyship. Good morrow, gentle lady. SILVIA. Good morrow,
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep; kind Sir Eglamour. Exeunt
For, since the substance of your perfect self SCENE IV.
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; Under SILVIA'S WindowEnter LAUNCE with his dog
And to your shadow will I make true love. LAUNCE. When a man's servant shall play the cur with him, look you, it goes hard- one
JULIA. [Aside] If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive it And make it but ashadow, as I that I brought up of a puppy; one that I sav'd from drowning, when three or four of his
am. blind brothers and sisters went to it. I have taught him, even as one would say precisely
SILVIA. I am very loath to be your idol, sir; 'Thus I would teach a dog.' I was sent to deliver him as a present to Mistress Silvia
But since your falsehood shall become you well from my master; and I came no sooner into the dining-chamber, but he steps me to her
To worship shadows and adore false shapes, trencher and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a cur cannot keep himself
Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it; in all companies! I would have, as one should say, one that takes upon him to be a dog
And so, good rest. indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all things. If I had not had more wit than he, to
PROTEUS. As wretches have o'ernight take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he had been hang'd for't; sure as I
That wait for execution in the morn. live, he had suffer'd for't. You shall judge. He thrusts me himself into the company of
Exeunt PROTEUS and SILVIA JULIA. Host, will you go? three or four gentleman-like dogs under the Duke's table; he had not been there, bless
HOST. By my halidom, I was fast asleep. the mark, a pissing while but all the chamber smelt him. 'Out with the dog' says one;
JULIA. Pray you, where lies Sir Proteus? 'What cur is that?' says another; 'Whip him out' says the third; 'Hang him up' says the
HOST. Marry, at my house. Trust me, I think 'tis almost day. JULIA. Not so; but it hath Duke. I, having been acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab, and goes me to
been the longest night the fellow that whips the dogs. 'Friend,' quoth I 'you mean to whip the dog.' 'Ay, marry
That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. Exeunt do I' quoth he. 'You do him the more wrong,' quoth I; "twas I did the thing you wot of.'
SCENE III. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out of the chamber. How many masters would do
Under SILVIA'S window this
Enter EGLAMOUR for his servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the stock for puddings he hath stol'n,
EGLAMOUR. This is the hour that Madam Silvia otherwise he had been executed; I have stood on the pillory for geese he hath kill'd,
Entreated me to call and know her mind; otherwise he had suffer'd for't. Thou think'st not of this now. Nay, I remember the trick
There's some great matter she'd employ me in. you serv'd me when I took my leave of Madam Silvia. Did not I bid thee still mark me and
Madam, madam! do as I do? When didst thou see me heave up my leg and make water against a
Enter SILVIA above, at her window gentlewoman's
SILVIA. Who calls? farthingale? Didst thou ever see me do such a trick?
EGLAMOUR. Your servant and your friend; Enter PROTEUS, and JULIA in boy's clothes
One that attends your ladyship's command. PROTEUS. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well,
SILVIA. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good morrow! And will employ thee in some service presently.
EGLAMOUR. As many, worthy lady, to yourself! JULIA. In what you please; I'll do what I can.
According to your ladyship's impose, PROTEUS..I hope thou wilt. [To LAUNCE] How now, you whoreson
I am thus early come to know what service peasant!
It is your pleasure to command me in. Where have you been these two days loitering?
SILVIA. O Eglamour, thou art a gentlemanThink LAUNCE. Marry, sir, I carried Mistress Silvia the dog you bade me. PROTEUS. And what says
she to my little jewel? Go, give your master this. Tell him from me,
LAUNCE. Marry, she says your dog was a cur, and tells you currish thanks is good enough One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
for such a present. Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.
PROTEUS. But she receiv'd my dog? JULIA. Madam, please you peruse this letter.
LAUNCE. No, indeed, did she not; here have I brought him back again. Pardon me, madam; I have unadvis'd
PROTEUS. What, didst thou offer her this from me? Deliver'd you a paper that I should not.
LAUNCE. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stol'n from me by the hangman's boys in the This is the letter to your ladyship.
market-place; and then I offer'd her mine own, who is a dog as big as ten of yours, and SILVIA. I pray thee let me look on that again.
therefore the gift the greater. JULIA. It may not be; good madam, pardon me.
PROTEUS. Go, get thee hence and find my dog again, SILVIA. There, hold!
Or ne'er return again into my sight. I will not look upon your master's lines.
Away, I say. Stayest thou to vex me here? Exit LAUNCE A slave that still an end turns me I know they are stuff'd with protestations,
to shame! And full of new-found oaths, which he wul break
Sebastian, I have entertained thee As easily as I do tear his paper.
Partly that I have need of such a youth JULIA. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.
That can with some discretion do my business, SILVIA. The more shame for him that he sends it me;
For 'tis no trusting to yond foolish lout, For I have heard him say a thousand times
But chiefly for thy face and thy behaviour, His Julia gave it him at his departure.
Which, if my augury deceive me not, Though his false finger have profan'd the ring,
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth; Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong.
Therefore, know thou, for this I entertain thee. JULIA. She thanks you.
Go presently, and take this ring with thee, SILVIA. What say'st thou?
Deliver it to Madam SilviaShe JULIA. I thank you, madam, that you tender her.
lov'd me well deliver'd it to me. Poor gentlewoman, my master wrongs her much.
JULIA. It seems you lov'd not her, to leave her token. SILVIA. Dost thou know her?
She is dead, belike? JULIA. Almost as well as I do know myself.
PROTEUS. Not so; I think she lives. To think upon her woes, I do protest
JULIA. Alas! That I have wept a hundred several times.
PROTEUS. Why dost thou cry 'Alas'? SILVIA. Belike she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.
JULIA. I cannot choose JULIA. I think she doth, and that's her cause of sorrow.
But pity her. SILVIA. Is she not passing fair?
PROTEUS. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her? JULIA. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is.
JULIA. Because methinks that she lov'd you as well When she did think my master lov'd her well,
As you do love your lady Silvia. She, in my judgment, was as fair as you;
She dreams on him that has forgot her love: But since she did neglect her looking-glass
You dote on her that cares not for your love. And threw her sun-expelling mask away,
'Tis pity love should be so contrary; The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks
And thinking on it makes me cry 'Alas!' And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face,
PROTEUS. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal That now she is become as black as I.
This letter. That's her chamber. Tell my lady SILVIA. How tall was she?
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. JULIA. About my stature; for at Pentecost,
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
Exit PROTEUS JULIA. How many women would do Our youth got me to play the woman's part,
such a message? And I was trimm'd in Madam Julia's gown;
Alas, poor Proteus, thou hast entertain'd Which served me as fit, by all men's judgments,
A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs. As if the garment had been made for me;Therefore I know she is about my height.
Alas, poor fool, why do I pity him And at that time I made her weep a good,
That with his very heart despiseth me? For I did play a lamentable part.
Because he loves her, he despiseth me; Madam, 'twas Ariadne passioning
Because I love him, I must pity him. For Theseus' perjury and unjust flight;
This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, Which I so lively acted with my tears
To bind him to remember my good will; That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,
And now am I, unhappy messenger, Wept bitterly; and would I might be dead
To plead for that which I would not obtain, If I in thought felt not her very sorrow.
To carry that which I would have refus'd, SILVIA. She is beholding to thee, gentle youth.
To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. Alas, poor lady, desolate and left!
I am my master's true confirmed love, I weep myself, to think upon thy words.
But cannot be true servant to my master Here, youth, there is my purse; I give thee this
Unless I prove false traitor to myself. For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her.
Yet will I woo for him, but yet so coldly Farewell. Exit SILVIA with ATTENDANTS JULIA. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. know her. A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful!
Enter SILVIA, attended I hope my master's suit will be but cold,
Gentlewoman, good day! I pray you be my mean Since she respects my mistress' love so much.
To bring me where to speak with Madam Silvia. Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
SILVIA. What would you with her, if that I be she? Here is her picture; let me see. I think,
JULIA. If you be she, I do entreat your patience If I had such a tire, this face of mine
To hear me speak the message I am sent on. Were full as lovely as is this of hers;
SILVIA. From whom? And yet the painter flatter'd her a little,
JULIA. From my master, Sir Proteus, madam. Unless I flatter with myself too much.
SILVIA. O, he sends you for a picture? Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow;
JULIA. Ay, madam. If that be all the difference in his love,
SILVIA. Ursula, bring my picture there. I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine; JULIA. Here comes the Duke.
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. Enter DUKE
What should it be that he respects in her DUKE. How now, Sir Proteus! how now, Thurio!
But I can make respective in myself, Which of you saw Sir Eglamour of late?
If this fond Love were not a blinded god? THURIO. Not I.
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, PROTEUS. Nor I.
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form, DUKE. Saw you my daughter?
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd! PROTEUS. Neither.
And were there sense in his idolatry DUKE. Why then,
My substance should be statue in thy stead. She's fled unto that peasant Valentine;
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, And Eglamour is in her company.
That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow, 'Tis true; for Friar Lawrence met them both
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, As he in penance wander'd through the forest;
To make my master out of love with thee. Exit Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she,
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it;
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED Besides, she did intend confession
BY PROJECT At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not.
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence;
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR But mount you presently, and meet with me
YOUR OR OTHERS Upon the rising of the mountain foot
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED That leads toward Mantua, whither they are fled.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. Exit THURIO. Why, this it is to be a peevish
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR girl
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> That flies her fortune when it follows her.
ACT V. SCENE I. I'll after, more to be reveng'd on Eglamour
Milan. An abbey Than for the love of reckless Silvia. Exit PROTEUS. And I will follow, more for Silvia's
Enter EGLAMOUR love
EGLAMOUR. The sun begins to gild the western sky, Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. Exit JULIA. And I will follow, more to cross
And now it is about the very hour that love
That Silvia at Friar Patrick's cell should meet me. Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. Exit
She will not fail, for lovers break not hours SCENE III.
Unless it be to come before their time, The frontiers of Mantua. The forest
So much they spur their expedition. Enter OUTLAWS with SILVA
Enter SILVIA FIRST OUTLAW. Come, come.
See where she comes. Lady, a happy evening! Be patient; we must bring you to our captain.
SILVIA. Amen, amen! Go on, good Eglamour, SILVIA. A thousand more mischances than this one
Out at the postern by the abbey wall; Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently.
I fear I am attended by some spies. SECOND OUTLAW. Come, bring her away.
EGLAMOUR. Fear not. The forest is not three leagues off; FIRST OUTLAW. Where is the gentleman that was with her?
If we recover that, we are sure enough. Exeunt SECOND OUTLAW. Being nimble-footed, he hath outrun us,
SCENE II. But Moyses and Valerius follow him.
Milan. The DUKE'S palace Go thou with her to the west end of the wood;
Enter THURIO, PROTEUS, and JULIA as SEBASTIAN There is our captain; we'll follow him that's fled.
THURIO. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? The thicket is beset; he cannot 'scape.
PROTEUS. O, sir, I find her milder than she was;And yet she takes exceptions at your person. FIRST OUTLAW. Come, I must bring you to our captain's cave; Fear not; he bears
THURIO. What, that my leg is too long? anhonourable mind,
PROTEUS. No; that it is too little. And will not use a woman lawlessly.
THURIO. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. SILVIA. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! Exeunt
JULIA. [Aside] But love will not be spurr'd to what it loathes. THURIO. What says she to SCENE IV.
my face? Another part of the forest
PROTEUS. She says it is a fair one. Enter VALENTINE
THURIO. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black. VALENTINE. How use doth breed a habit in a man!
PROTEUS. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is: This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes. I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.
JULIA. [Aside] 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes; For I had rather wink than Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
look on them. And to the nightingale's complaining notes
THURIO. How likes she my discourse? Tune my distresses and record my woes.
PROTEUS. Ill, when you talk of war. O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,
THURIO. But well when I discourse of love and peace? Leave not the mansion so long tenantless,
JULIA. [Aside] But better, indeed, when you hold your peace. THURIO. What says she to my Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall
valour? And leave no memory of what it was!
PROTEUS. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:
JULIA. [Aside] She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. THURIO. What says she to my Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.
birth? What halloing and what stir is this to-day?
PROTEUS. That you are well deriv'd. These are my mates, that make their wills their law,
JULIA. [Aside] True; from a gentleman to a fool. Have some unhappy passenger in chase.
THURIO. Considers she my possessions? They love me well; yet I have much to do
PROTEUS. O, ay; and pities them. To keep them from uncivil outrages.
THURIO. Wherefore? Withdraw thee, Valentine. Who's this comes here?
JULIA. [Aside] That such an ass should owe them. [Steps aside]
PROTEUS. That they are out by lease. Enter PROTEUS, SILVIA, and JULIA as Sebastian
PROTEUS. Madam, this service I have done for you, JULIA. O good sir, my master charg'd me to deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which, out of
Though you respect not aught your servant doth, my neglect, was never done.
To hazard life, and rescue you from him PROTEUS. Where is that ring, boy?
That would have forc'd your honour and your love. JULIA. Here 'tis; this is it.
Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; PROTEUS. How! let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia. JULIA. O, cry you mercy,
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg, sir, I have mistook;
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. This is the ring you sent to Silvia.
VALENTINE. [Aside] How like a dream is this I see and hear! Love, lend me patience to PROTEUS. But how cam'st thou by this ring?
forbear awhile. At my depart I gave this unto Julia.
SILVIA. O miserable, unhappy that I am! JULIA. And Julia herself did give it me;
PROTEUS. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; And Julia herself have brought it hither.
But by my coming I have made you happy. PROTEUS. How! Julia!
SILVIA. By thy approach thou mak'st me most unhappy. JULIA. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths,
JULIA. [Aside] And me, when he approacheth to your presence. SILVIA. Had I been seized by And entertain'd 'em deeply in her heart.
a hungry lion, How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root!
I would have been a breakfast to the beast O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush!
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. Be thou asham'd that I have took upon me
O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, Such an immodest raiment- if shame live
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul! In a disguise of love.
And full as much, for more there cannot be, It is the lesser blot, modesty finds,
I do detest false, perjur'd Proteus. Women to change their shapes than men their minds.
Therefore be gone; solicit me no more. PROTEUS. Than men their minds! 'tis true. O heaven, were man But constant, he were
PROTEUS. What dangerous action, stood it next to death, perfect! That one error
Would I not undergo for one calm look? Fills him with faults; makes him run through all th' sins: Inconstancy falls off ere it
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, begins.
When women cannot love where they're belov'd! What is in Silvia's face but I may spy
SILVIA. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd! More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye?
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, VALENTINE. Come, come, a hand from either.
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith Let me be blest to make this happy close;
Into a thousand oaths; and all those oaths 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.
Descended into perjury, to love me. PROTEUS. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou'dst two, JULIA. And I mine.
And that's far worse than none; better have none Enter OUTLAWS, with DUKE and THURIO
Than plural faith, which is too much by one. OUTLAW. A prize, a prize, a prize!
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend! VALENTINE. Forbear, forbear, I say; it is my lord the Duke. Your Grace is welcome to a
PROTEUS. In love, man disgrac'd,
Who respects friend? Banished Valentine.
SILVIA. All men but Proteus. DUKE. Sir Valentine!
PROTEUS. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words THURIO. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine.
Can no way change you to a milder form, VALENTINE. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death;
I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end, Come not within the measure of my wrath;
And love you 'gainst the nature of love- force ye. Do not name Silvia thine; if once again,
SILVIA. O heaven! Verona shall not hold thee. Here she stands
PROTEUS. I'll force thee yield to my desire. Take but possession of her with a touchI
VALENTINE. Ruffian! let go that rude uncivil touch; dare thee but to breathe upon my love.
Thou friend of an ill fashion!PROTEUS. Valentine! THURIO. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I;
VALENTINE. Thou common friend, that's without faith or loveFor such is a friend now; I hold him but a fool that will endanger
treacherous man, His body for a girl that loves him not.
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.DUKE. The more degenerate and base art thou
Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say To make such means for her as thou hast done
I have one friend alive: thou wouldst disprove me. And leave her on such slight conditions.
Who should be trusted, when one's own right hand Now, by the honour of my ancestry,
Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus, I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine,
I am sorry I must never trust thee more, And think thee worthy of an empress' love.
But count the world a stranger for thy sake. Know then, I here forget all former griefs,
The private wound is deepest. O time most accurst! Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again,
'Mongst all foes that a friend should be the worst! Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit,
PROTEUS. My shame and guilt confounds me. To which I thus subscribe: Sir Valentine,
Forgive me, Valentine; if hearty sorrow Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd;
Be a sufficient ransom for offence, Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her.
I tender 't here; I do as truly suffer VALENTINE. I thank your Grace; the gift hath made me happy. I now beseech you, for your
As e'er I did commit. daughter's sake,
VALENTINE. Then I am paid; To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.
And once again I do receive thee honest. DUKE. I grant it for thine own, whate'er it be.
Who by repentance is not satisfied VALENTINE. These banish'd men, that I have kept withal,
Is nor of heaven nor earth, for these are pleas'd; Are men endu'd with worthy qualities;
By penitence th' Eternal's wrath's appeas'd. Forgive them what they have committed here,
And, that my love may appear plain and free, And let them be recall'd from their exile:
All that was mine in Silvia I give thee. They are reformed, civil, full of good,
JULIA. O me unhappy! [Swoons] PROTEUS. Look to the boy. And fit for great employment, worthy lord.
VALENTINE. Why, boy! why, wag! how now! DUKE. Thou hast prevail'd; I pardon them, and thee;
What's the matter? Look up; speak. Dispose of them as thou know'st their deserts.
Come, let us go; we will include all jars ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be justified in our loves;
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. for indeedCAMILLO.
VALENTINE. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold Beseech youARCHIDAMUS.
With our discourse to make your Grace to smile. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we
What think you of this page, my lord? cannot with such magnificence, in so rare- I know not what to say. We will give you
DUKE. I think the boy hath grace in him; he blushes. sleepy drinks, that your senses,
VALENTINE. I warrant you, my lord- more grace than boy. unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse
DUKE. What mean you by that saying? us.
VALENTINE. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along, CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I
That you will wonder what hath fortuned. speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.
Come, Proteus, 'tis your penance but to hear CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself overkind to Bohemia. They were train'd together in
The story of your loves discovered. their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection which cannot
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours; choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness! Exeunt separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally
THE END attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they have seem'd to
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM be together, though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and embrac'd as it were from the
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves!
BY PROJECT ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius; it is a gentleman of the
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE greatest promise that ever came into my note.
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR CAMILLO. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child; one that
YOUR OR OTHERS indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh; they that went on crutches ere he was
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED born desire yet their life to see him a man.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die?
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR CAMILLO. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> ARCHIDAMUS. If the King had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had
1611 one.
THE WINTER'S TALE Exeunt
by William Shakespeare SCENE II.
Dramatis Personae Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
LEONTES, King of Sicilia Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, CAMILLO, and ATTENDANTS
MAMILLIUS, his son, the young Prince of Sicilia POLIXENES. Nine changes of the wat'ry star hath been
CAMILLO, lord of Sicilia The shepherd's note since we have left our throne
ANTIGONUS, " " " Without a burden. Time as long again
CLEOMENES, " " " Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
DION, " " " And yet we should for perpetuity
POLIXENES, King of Bohemia Go hence in debt. And therefore, like a cipher,
FLORIZEL, his son, Prince of Bohemia Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
ARCHIDAMUS, a lord of Bohemia With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe
OLD SHEPHERD, reputed father of Perdita That go before it.
CLOWN, his son LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while,
AUTOLYCUS, a rogue And pay them when you part.
A MARINER POLIXENES. Sir, that's to-morrow.
A GAOLER I am question'd by my fears of what may chance
TIME, as Chorus Or breed upon our absence, that may blow
HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes No sneaping winds at home, to make us say
PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione 'This is put forth too truly.' Besides, I have stay'd
PAULINA, wife to Antigonus To tire your royalty.
EMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen LEONTES. We are tougher, brother,Than you can put us to't.
MOPSA, shepherdessDORCAS, " POLIXENES. No longer stay.
Other Lords, Gentlemen, Ladies, Officers, Servants, Shepherds, Shepherdesses LEONTES. One sev'night longer.
SCENE: POLIXENES. Very sooth, to-morrow.
Sicilia and Bohemia LEONTES. We'll part the time between's then; and in that
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM I'll no gainsaying.
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so.
BY PROJECT There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' th' world, So soon as yours could win me. So
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. it should now,
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Were there necessity in your request, although
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
YOUR OR OTHERS Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED Were in your love a whip to me; my stay
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY To you a charge and trouble. To save both,
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Farewell, our brother.
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our Queen? Speak you.
ACT I. SCENE I. HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until You had drawn oaths from him
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES not to stay. You, sir,
Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS Charge him too coldly. Tell him you are sure
ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon All in Bohemia's well- this satisfaction
my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,
Bohemia and your Sicilia. He's beat from his best ward.
CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the LEONTES. Well said, Hermione.
visitation which he justly owes him. HERMIONE. To tell he longs to see his son were strong;
But let him say so then, and let him go; With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay; With spur we heat an acre. But to th' goal:
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. My last good deed was to entreat his stay;
[To POLIXENES] Yet of your royal presence I'll What was my first? It has an elder sister,
adventure the borrow of a week. When at Bohemia Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace!
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission But once before I spoke to th' purpose- When?
To let him there a month behind the gest Nay, let me have't; I long.
Prefix'd for's parting.- Yet, good deed, Leontes, LEONTES. Why, that was when
I love thee not a jar o' th' clock behind Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
What lady she her lord.- You'll stay? Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
POLIXENES. No, madam. And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter
HERMIONE. Nay, but you will? 'I am yours for ever.'
POLIXENES. I may not, verily. HERMIONE. 'Tis Grace indeed.
HERMIONE. Verily! Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th' purpose twice:
You put me off with limber vows; but I, The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
Though you would seek t' unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Th' other for some while a friend.
Verily, [Giving her hand to POLIXENES] LEONTES. [Aside] Too hot, too hot!
You shall not go; a lady's 'verily' is To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.
As potent as a lord's. Will go yet? I have tremor cordis on me; my heart dances,
Force me to keep you as a prisoner, But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees May a free face put on; derive a liberty
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
My prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'verily,' And well become the agent. 'T may, I grant;
One of them you shall be. But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,
POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam: As now they are, and making practis'd smiles
To be your prisoner should import offending; As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere
Which is for me less easy to commit The mort o' th' deer. O, that is entertainment
Than you to punish. My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius,
HERMIONE. Not your gaoler then, Art thou my boy?
But your kind. hostess. Come, I'll question you MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord.
Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys. LEONTES. I' fecks!
You were pretty lordings then! Why, that's my bawcock. What! hast smutch'd thy nose?
POLIXENES. We were, fair Queen, They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, Captain,
Two lads that thought there was no more behind We must be neat- not neat, but cleanly, Captain.
But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
And to be boy eternal. Are all call'd neat.- Still virginalling
HERMIONE. Was not my lord Upon his palm?- How now, you wanton calf,
The verier wag o' th' two? Art thou my calf?
POLIXENES. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' th' sun And bleat the one at th' MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord.
other. What we chang'd LEONTES. Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have, To be full like me; yet
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not they say we are
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd Almost as like as eggs. Women say so,
That any did. Had we pursu'd that life, That will say anything. But were they false
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd As o'er-dy'd blacks, as wind, as waters- false
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes
Boldly 'Not guilty,' the imposition clear'd No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
Hereditary ours. To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page,
HERMIONE. By this we gather Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain!
You have tripp'd since. Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?- may't be?
POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady, Affection! thy intention stabs the centre.
Temptations have since then been born to 's, for Thou dost make possible things not so held,
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; Communicat'st with dreams- how can this be?-
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes With what's unreal thou coactive art,
Of my young playfellow.HERMIONE. Grace to boot! And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent
Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dostAnd
Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on; that beyond commission; and I find it,
Th' offences we have made you do we'll answer, And that to the infection of my brains
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us And hard'ning of my brows.POLIXENES. What means Sicilia?
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not HERMIONE. He something seems unsettled.
With any but with us. POLIXENES. How, my lord!
LEONTES. Is he won yet? What cheer? How is't with you, best brother?
HERMIONE. He'll stay, my lord. HERMIONE. You look
LEONTES. At my request he would not. As if you held a brow of much distraction.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st Are you mov'd, my lord?
To better purpose. LEONTES. No, in good earnest.
HERMIONE. Never? How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
LEONTES. Never but once. Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
HERMIONE. What! Have I twice said well? When was't before? I prithee tell me; cram's with To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
praise, and make's Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil
As fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd,
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzl'd,
Our praises are our wages; you may ride's Lest it should bite its master and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. LEONTES. 'At the Queen's' be't. 'Good' should be pertinent; But so it is, it is not. Was
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, this taken
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, By any understanding pate but thine?
Will you take eggs for money? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
MAMILLIUS. No, my lord, I'll fight. More than the common blocks. Not noted, is't,
LEONTES. You will? Why, happy man be's dole! My brother, But of the finer natures, by some severals
Are you so fond of your young prince as we Of head-piece extraordinary? Lower messes
Do seem to be of ours? Perchance are to this business purblind? Say.
POLIXENES. If at home, sir, CAMILLO. Business, my lord? I think most understand
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter; Bohemia stays here longer.
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy; LEONTES. Ha?
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. CAMILLO. Stays here longer.
He makes a July's day short as December, LEONTES. Ay, but why?
And with his varying childness cures in me CAMILLO. To satisfy your Highness, and the entreaties
Thoughts that would thick my blood. Of our most gracious mistress.
LEONTES. So stands this squire LEONTES. Satisfy
Offic'd with me. We two will walk, my lord, Th' entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy!
And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
How thou lov'st us show in our brother's welcome; With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap; My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou
Next to thyself and my young rover, he's Hast cleans'd my bosom- I from thee departed
Apparent to my heart. Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been
HERMIONE. If you would seek us, Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
We are yours i' th' garden. Shall's attend you there? In that which seems so.
LEONTES. To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found, CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord!
Be you beneath the sky. [Aside] I am angling now, LEONTES. To bide upon't: thou art not honest; or,
Though you perceive me not how I give line. If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward,
Go to, go to! Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted
And arms her with the boldness of a wife A servant grafted in my serious trust,
To her allowing husband! And therein negligent; or else a fool
Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, and ATTENDANTS That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
Gone already! And tak'st it all for jest.
Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one! Go, play, boy, play; thy mother CAMILLO. My gracious lord,
plays, and I I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful:
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue In every one of these no man is free
Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been, Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds Among the infinite doings of the world,
ere now; Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
And many a man there is, even at this present, If ever I were wilfull-negligent,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm It was my folly; if industriously
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in's absence, I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in't, To do a thing where I the issue doubted,
Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd, Whereof the execution did cry out
As mine, against their will. Should all despair Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
That hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord,
Would hang themselves. Physic for't there's none; Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace,
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis pow'rfull, think it, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded, By its own visage; if I then deny it,
No barricado for a belly. Know't, 'Tis none of mine.
It will let in and out the enemy LEONTES. Ha' not you seen, CamilloBut
With bag and baggage. Many thousand on's that's past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass
Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy! Is thicker than a cuckold's horn- or heardFor
MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say. to a vision so apparent rumour
LEONTES. Why, that's some comfort. Cannot be mute- or thought- for cogitation
What! Camillo there? Resides not in that man that does not thinkMy
CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord. wife is slippery? If thou wilt confessOr
LEONTES. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man.Exit MAMILLIUS Camillo, this great sir else be impudently negative,
will yet stay longer. To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought- then say
CAMILLO. You had much ado to make his anchor hold; My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
When you cast out, it still came home. As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
LEONTES. Didst note it? Before her troth-plight. Say't and justify't.
CAMILLO. He would not stay at your petitions; made CAMILLO. I would not be a stander-by to hear
His business more material. My sovereign mistress clouded so, withoutMy present vengeance taken. Shrew my heart!
LEONTES. Didst perceive it? You never spoke what did become you less
[Aside] They're here with me already; whisp'ring, rounding, 'Sicilia is a so-forth.' 'Tis Than this; which to reiterate were sin
far gone As deep as that, though true.
When I shall gust it last.- How came't, Camillo, LEONTES. Is whispering nothing?
That he did stay? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?
CAMILLO. At the good Queen's entreaty. Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible
Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift;
Hours, minutes; noon, midnight? And all eyes
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked- is this nothing?
Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.
CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.
LEONTES. Say it be, 'tis true.
CAMILLO. No, no, my lord.
LEONTES. It is; you lie, you lie.
I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.
CAMILLO. Who does her?
LEONTES. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging
About his neck, Bohemia; who- if I
Had servants true about me that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou,
His cupbearer- whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who mayst see,
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
How I am gall'd- mightst bespice a cup
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.
CAMILLO. Sir, my lord,
I could do this; and that with no rash potion,
But with a ling'ring dram that should not work
Maliciously like poison. But I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.
I have lov'd theeLEONTES.
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 sheetsWhich
to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps;
Give scandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my sonWho
I do think is mine, and love as mineWithout
ripe moving to 't? Would I do this?
Could man so blench?
CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir.
I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't;
Provided that, when he's remov'd, your Highness
Will take again your queen as yours at first,
Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing
The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
LEONTES. Thou dost advise me
Even so as I mine own course have set down.
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
CAMILLO. My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia
And with your queen. I am his cupbearer;
If from me he have wholesome beverage,
Account me not your servant.
LEONTES. This is all:
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
CAMILLO. I'll do't, my lord.
LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. Exit CAMILLO. O miserable lady!
But, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master; one
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his so too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands that had struck anointed kings
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court. To do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!
Here comes Bohemia.
Enter POLIXENES
POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo.
CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir!
POLIXENES. What is the news i' th' court?
CAMILLO. None rare, my lord.
POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance
As he had lost some province, and a region
Lov'd as he loves himself; even now I met him
With customary compliment, when he,
Wafting his eyes to th' contrary and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me;
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changes thus his manners.
CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord.
POLIXENES. How, dare not! Do not. Do you know, and dare not Be intelligent to me? 'Tis
thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must,
And cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror
Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with't.
CAMILLO. There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
POLIXENES. How! caught of me?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk;
I have look'd on thousands who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. CamilloAs
you are certainly a gentleman; thereto
Clerk-like experienc'd, which no less adorns
Our gentry than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle- I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.
CAMILLO. I may not answer.
POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well?
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo?
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man
Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.
CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you;
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel,
Which must be ev'n as swiftly followed as
I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so goodnight.
POLIXENES. On, good Camillo.
CAMILLO. I am appointed him to murder you.
POLIXENES. By whom, Camillo?
CAMILLO. By the King.POLIXENES. For what?
CAMILLO. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen 't or been an instrument
To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.
POLIXENES. O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly, and my name
Be yok'd with his that did betray the Best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard or read!
CAMILLO. Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon
As or by oath remove or counsel shake
The fabric of his folly, whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith and will continue
The standing of his body.
POLIXENES. How should this grow?
CAMILLO. I know not; but I am sure 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
That lies enclosed in this trunk which you
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night.
Your followers I will whisper to the business;
And will, by twos and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o' th' city. For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain,
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utt'red truth; which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the King's own mouth, thereon
His execution sworn.
POLIXENES. I do believe thee:
I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago. This jealousy
Is for a precious creature; as she's rare,
Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent; and as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me.
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
The gracious Queen, part of this theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo;
I will respect thee as a father, if
Thou bear'st my life off hence. Let us avoid.
CAMILLO. It is in mine authority to command
The keys of all the posterns. Please your Highness
To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. Exeunt
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ACT II. SCENE I.
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
Enter HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, and LADIES
HERMIONE. Take the boy to you; he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.
FIRST LADY. Come, my gracious lord,
Shall I be your playfellow?
MAMILLIUS. No, I'll none of you.
FIRST LADY. Why, my sweet lord?
MAMILLIUS. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as ifI were a baby still. I love you better.
SECOND LADY. And why so, my lord?
MAMILLIUS. Not for because
Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle
Or a half-moon made with a pen.
SECOND LADY. Who taught't this?
MAMILLIUS. I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now,
What colour are your eyebrows?
FIRST LADY. Blue, my lord.
MAMILLIUS. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eyebrows.
FIRST LADY. Hark ye:
The Queen your mother rounds apace. We shall
Present our services to a fine new prince
One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us,
If we would have you.
SECOND LADY. She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk. Good time encounter her!
HERMIONE. What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
I am for you again. Pray you sit by us,
And tell's a tale.
MAMILLIUS. Merry or sad shall't be?
HERMIONE. As merry as you will.
MAMILLIUS. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one
Of sprites and goblins.
HERMIONE. Let's have that, good sir.
Come on, sit down; come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites; you're pow'rfull at it. MAMILLIUS. There was a
manHERMIONE.
Nay, come, sit down; then on.
MAMILLIUS. Dwelt by a churchyard- I will tell it softly;
Yond crickets shall not hear it.
HERMIONE. Come on then,
And give't me in mine ear.
Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and OTHERS
LEONTES. he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
FIRST LORD. Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Saw I men scour so on their way. I ey'd them
Even to their ships.
LEONTES. How blest am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accurs'd
In being so blest! There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge
Is not infected; but if one present
Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander.
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
All's true that is mistrusted. That false villain
Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him;
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will. How came the posterns
So easily open?
FIRST LORD. By his great authority;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
On your command.
LEONTES. I know't too well.
Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him;
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.
HERMIONE. What is this? Sport? Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord.
LEONTES. Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her; Away with him; and let her I never wish'd to see you sorry; now
sport herself I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave.
[MAMILLIUS is led out] With that she's big with- for 'tis Polixenes LEONTES. Go, do our bidding; hence!
Has made thee swell thus. Exeunt HERMIONE, guarded, and LADIES FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, call the
HERMIONE. But I'd say he had not, Queen
And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying, again.
Howe'er you lean to th' nayward. ANTIGONUS. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice Prove violence, in the which
LEONTES. You, my lords,Look on her, mark her well; be but about three great ones suffer,
To say 'She is a goodly lady' and Yourself, your queen, your son.
The justice of your hearts will thereto ad FIRST LORD. For her, my lord,
'Tis pity she's not honest- honourable.' I dare my life lay down- and will do't, sir,
Praise her but for this her without-door form, Please you t' accept it- that the Queen is spotless
Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight I' th' eyes of heaven and to you- I mean
The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands In this which you accuse her.ANTIGONUS. If it prove
That calumny doth use- O, I am out!- She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
That mercy does, for calumny will sear I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her;
Virtue itself- these shrugs, these hum's and ha's, Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her;
When you have said she's goodly, come between, For every inch of woman in the world,
Ere you can say she's honest. But be't known, Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, If she be.
She's an adultress. LEONTES. Hold your peaces.
HERMIONE. Should a villain say so, FIRST LORD. Good my lordANTIGONUS.
The most replenish'd villain in the world, It is for you we speak, not for ourselves.
He were as much more villain: you, my lord, You are abus'd, and by some putter-on
Do but mistake. That will be damn'd for't. Would I knew the villain!
LEONTES. You have mistook, my lady, I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'dI
Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing! have three daughters: the eldest is eleven;
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, The second and the third, nine and some five;
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, If this prove true, they'll pay for 't. By mine honour, I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they
Should a like language use to all degrees shall not see
And mannerly distinguishment leave out To bring false generations. They are co-heirs;
Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said And I had rather glib myself than they
She's an adultress; I have said with whom. Should not produce fair issue.
More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is LEONTES. Cease; no more.
A federary with her, and one that knows You smell this business with a sense as cold
What she should shame to know herself As is a dead man's nose; but I do see't and feel't
But with her most vile principal- that she's As you feel doing thus; and see withal
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those The instruments that feel.
That vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy ANTIGONUS. If it be so,
To this their late escape. We need no grave to bury honesty;
HERMIONE. No, by my life, There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten
Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, Of the whole dungy earth.
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that LEONTES. What! Lack I credit?
You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord, FIRST LORD. I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
You scarce can right me throughly then to say Upon this ground; and more it would content me
You did mistake. To have her honour true than your suspicion,
LEONTES. No; if I mistake Be blam'd for't how you might.
In those foundations which I build upon, LEONTES. Why, what need we
The centre is not big enough to bear Commune with you of this, but rather follow
A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison. Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness
But that he speaks. Imparts this; which, if you- or stupified
HERMIONE. There's some ill planet reigns. Or seeming so in skill- cannot or will not
I must be patient till the heavens look Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves
With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, We need no more of your advice. The matter,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all
Commonly are- the want of which vain dew Properly ours.
Perchance shall dry your pities- but I have ANTIGONUS. And I wish, my liege,
That honourable grief lodg'd here which burns You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords, Without more overture.
With thoughts so qualified as your charities LEONTES. How could that be?
Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so Either thou art most ignorant by age,
The King's will be perform'd! Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
LEONTES. [To the GUARD] Shall I be heard? Added to their familiarityWhich
HERMIONE. Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness My women may be with me, was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
for That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
you see But only seeing, all other circumstances
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; Made up to th' deed- doth push on this proceeding.
There is no cause; when you shall know your mistress Yet, for a greater confirmationFor,
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears in an act of this importance, 'twere
As I come out: this action I now go on Most piteous to be wild- I have dispatch'd in post
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Your honour and your goodness is so evident
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know That your free undertaking cannot miss
Of stuff'd sufficiency. Now, from the oracle A thriving issue; there is no lady living
They will bring all, whose spiritual counsel had, So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? To visit the next room, I'll presently
FIRST LORD. Well done, my lord. Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer
LEONTES. Though I am satisfied, and need no more Who but to-day hammer'd of this design,
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
Give rest to th' minds of others such as he Lest she should be denied.
Whose ignorant credulity will not PAULINA. Tell her, Emilia,
Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't
From our free person she should be confin'd, As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted
Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence I shall do good.
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; EMILIA. Now be you blest for it!
We are to speak in public; for this business I'll to the Queen. Please you come something nearer.
Will raise us all. GAOLER. Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe,
ANTIGONUS. [Aside] To laughter, as I take it, I know not what I shall incur to pass it,
If the good truth were known. Having no warrant.PAULINA. You need not fear it, sir.
ExeuntSCENE II. This child was prisoner to the womb, and is
Sicilia. A prison By law and process of great Nature thence
Enter PAULINA, a GENTLEMAN, and ATTENDANTS Freed and enfranchis'd- not a party to
PAULINA. The keeper of the prison- call to him; The anger of the King, nor guilty of,
Let him have knowledge who I am. Exit GENTLEMAN Good lady! If any be, the trespass of the Queen.
No court in Europe is too good for thee; GAOLER. I do believe it.
What dost thou then in prison? PAULINA. Do not you fear. Upon mine honour, I
Re-enter GENTLEMAN with the GAOLER Will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeunt
Now, good sir, SCENE III.
You know me, do you not? Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES
GAOLER. For a worthy lady, Enter LEONTES, ANTIGONUS, LORDS, and SERVANTS
And one who much I honour. LEONTES. Nor night nor day no rest! It is but weakness
PAULINA. Pray you, then, To bear the matter thus- mere weakness. If
Conduct me to the Queen. The cause were not in being- part o' th' cause,
GAOLER. I may not, madam; She, th' adultress; for the harlot king
To the contrary I have express commandment. Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
PAULINA. Here's ado, to lock up honesty and honour from And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she
Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you, I can hook to me- say that she were gone,
To see her women- any of them? Emilia? Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
GAOLER. So please you, madam, Might come to me again. Who's there?
To put apart these your attendants, FIRST SERVANT. My lord?
Shall bring Emilia forth. LEONTES. How does the boy?
PAULINA. I pray now, call her. FIRST SERVANT. He took good rest to-night;
Withdraw yourselves. Exeunt ATTENDANTS GAOLER. And, madam, 'Tis hop'd his sickness is discharg'd.
I must be present at your conference. LEONTES. To see his nobleness!
PAULINA. Well, be't so, prithee. Exit GAOLER Here's such ado to make no stain a stain Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
As passes colouring. He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply,
Re-enter GAOLER, with EMILIA Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself,
Dear gentlewoman, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
How fares our gracious lady? And downright languish'd. Leave me solely. Go,
EMILIA. As well as one so great and so forlorn See how he fares. [Exit SERVANT] Fie, fie! no thought of him! The very thought of my
May hold together. On her frights and griefs, revenges that way
Which never tender lady hath borne greater, Recoil upon me- in himself too mighty,
She is, something before her time, deliver'd. And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be,
PAULINA. A boy? Until a time may serve; for present vengeance,
EMILIA. A daughter, and a goodly babe, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Lusty, and like to live. The Queen receives Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow.
Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, They should not laugh if I could reach them; nor
I am as innocent as you.' Shall she, within my pow'r.
PAULINA. I dare be sworn. Enter PAULINA, with a CHILD
These dangerous unsafe lunes i' th' King, beshrew them! He must be told on't, and he FIRST LORD. You must not enter.
shall. The office PAULINA. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me.
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me; Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister, Than the Queen's life? A gracious innocent soul,
And never to my red-look'd anger be More free than he is jealous.
The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, ANTIGONUS. That's enough.
Commend my best obedience to the Queen; SECOND SERVANT. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded None should come at
If she dares trust me with her little babe, him.
I'll show't the King, and undertake to be PAULINA. Not so hot, good sir;
Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,
How he may soften at the sight o' th' child: That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
The silence often of pure innocence At each his needless heavings- such as you
Persuades when speaking fails. Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
EMILIA. Most worthy madam, Do come with words as medicinal as true,
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour Hence with it, and together with the dam
That presses him from sleep. Commit them to the fire.
LEONTES. What noise there, ho? PAULINA. It is yours.
PAULINA. No noise, my lord; but needful conference And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge,
About some gossips for your Highness. So like you 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
LEONTES. How! Although the print be little, the whole matter
Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, And copy of the father- eye, nose, lip,
I charg'd thee that she should not come about me; The trick of's frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,
I knew she would. The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek; his smiles;
ANTIGONUS. I told her so, my lord, The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it
She should not visit you. So like to him that got it, if thou hast
LEONTES. What, canst not rule her? The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
PAULINA. From all dishonesty he can: in this, No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does,
Unless he take the course that you have doneCommit Her children not her husband's!
me for committing honour- trust it, LEONTES. A gross hag!
He shall not rule me. And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd
ANTIGONUS. La you now, you hear! That wilt not stay her tongue.
When she will take the rein, I let her run;But she'll not stumble. ANTIGONUS. Hang all the husbands
PAULINA. Good my liege, I comeAnd That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
I beseech you hear me, who professes Hardly one subject.
Myself your loyal servant, your physician, LEONTES. Once more, take her hence.
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dares PAULINA. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Less appear so, in comforting your evils, Can do no more.LEONTES. I'll ha' thee burnt.
Than such as most seem yours- I say I come PAULINA. I care not.
From your good Queen. It is an heretic that makes the fire,
LEONTES. Good Queen! Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant
PAULINA. Good Queen, my lord, good Queen- I say good Queen; And would by combat make But this most cruel usage of your QueenNot
her able to produce more accusation
good, so were I Than your own weak-hing'd fancy- something savours
A man, the worst about you. Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
LEONTES. Force her hence. Yea, scandalous to the world.
PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes LEONTES. On your allegiance,
First hand me. On mine own accord I'll off; Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,
But first I'll do my errand. The good Queen, Where were her life? She durst not call me so,
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; If she did know me one. Away with her!
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. PAULINA. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
[Laying down the child] LEONTES. Out! Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours. Jove send her
A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door! A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
A most intelligencing bawd! You that are thus so tender o'er his follies
PAULINA. Not so. Will never do him good, not one of you.
I am as ignorant in that as you So, so. Farewell; we are gone. Exit LEONTES. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
In so entitling me; and no less honest My child! Away with't. Even thou, that hast
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence,
As this world goes, to pass for honest. And see it instantly consum'd with fire;
LEONTES. Traitors! Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight.
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
[To ANTIGONUS] Thou dotard, thou art woman-tir'd, unroosted By thy Dame Partlet here. And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
Take up the bastard; With that thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse,
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
PAULINA. For ever The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
Tak'st up the Princess by that forced baseness For thou set'st on thy wife.
Which he has put upon't! ANTIGONUS. I did not, sir.
LEONTES. He dreads his wife. These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
PAULINA. So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt Can clear me in't.
You'd call your children yours. LORDS. We can. My royal liege,
LEONTES. A nest of traitors! He is not guilty of her coming hither.
ANTIGONUS. I am none, by this good light. LEONTES. You're liars all.
PAULINA. Nor I; nor any FIRST LORD. Beseech your Highness, give us better credit. We have always truly serv'd
But one that's here; and that's himself; for he you; and beseech
The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's, So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg,
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, As recompense of our dear services
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will notFor, Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
as the case now stands, it is a curse Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
He cannot be compell'd to 't- once remove Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel.
The root of his opinion, which is rotten LEONTES. I am a feather for each wind that blows.
As ever oak or stone was sound. Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel
LEONTES. A callat And call me father? Better burn it now
Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.
And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; It shall not neither. [To ANTIGONUS] You, Sir, come you hither. You that have been so
It is the issue of Polixenes. tenderly officious
With Lady Margery, your midwife there, For most it caught me, the celestial habitsMethinks
To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard, I so should term them- and the reverence
So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
To save this brat's life? How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,
ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord, It was i' th' off'ring!
That my ability may undergo, CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst
And nobleness impose. At least, thus much: And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle,
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense
To save the innocent- anything possible. That I was nothing.
LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword DION. If th' event o' th' journey
Thou wilt perform my bidding. Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!-
ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord. As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail The time is worth the use on't.
Of any point in't shall not only be CLEOMENES. Great Apollo
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife, Turn all to th' best! These proclamations,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, So forcing faults upon Hermione,
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry I little like.
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it DION. The violent carriage of it
To some remote and desert place, quite out Will clear or end the business. When the oracleThus
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, by Apollo's great divine seal'd upShall
Without more mercy, to it own protection the contents discover, something rare
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses.
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, And gracious be the issue! Exeunt
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, SCENE II.
That thou commend it strangely to some place Sicilia. A court of justice
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. Enter LEONTES, LORDS, and OFFICERS
ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death LEONTES. This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe. Even pushes 'gainst our heart- the party tried,
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravensTo be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
say, Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'dOf being tyrannous, since we so openly
Casting their savageness aside, have done Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous Even to the guilt or the purgation.
In more than this deed does require! And blessing Produce the prisoner.
Against this cruelty fight on thy side, OFFICER. It is his Highness' pleasure that the Queen
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! Exit with the child LEONTES. No, I'll not rear Appear in person here in court.
Another's issue. Enter HERMIONE, as to her trial, PAULINA, and LADIES
Enter a SERVANT Silence!
SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts LEONTES. Read the indictment.
From those you sent to th' oracle are come OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here
An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion, accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, King of
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the
Hasting to th' court. King, thy royal husband: the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,
FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of true subject, didst counsel and
Hath been beyond account. aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night.'
LEONTES. Twenty-three days HERMIONE. Since what I am to say must be but that
They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells Which contradicts my accusation, and
The great Apollo suddenly will have The testimony on my part no other
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
Summon a session, that we may arraign To say 'Not guilty.' Mine integrity
Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath Being counted falsehood shall, as I express it,
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have Be so receiv'd. But thus- if pow'rs divine
A just and open trial. While she lives, Behold our human actions, as they do,
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; I doubt not then but innocence shall make
And think upon my bidding. Exeunt False accusation blush, and tyranny
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best knowWho
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED least will seem to do so- my past life
BY PROJECT Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. As I am now unhappy; which is more
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE Than history can pattern, though devis'd
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR And play'd to take spectators; for behold meA
YOUR OR OTHERS fellow of the royal bed, which owe
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY The mother to a hopeful prince- here standing
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR To prate and talk for life and honour fore
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
ACT III. SCENE I. As I weigh grief, which I would spare; for honour,
Sicilia. On the road to the Capital 'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
Enter CLEOMENES and DION And only that I stand for. I appeal
CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
The common praise it bears. How merited to be so; since he came,
DION. I shall report, With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd t' appear thus; if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, hard'ned be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry fie upon my grave!
LEONTES. I ne'er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first.
HERMIONE. That's true enough;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
LEONTES. You will not own it.
HERMIONE. More than mistress of
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accus'd, I do confess
I lov'd him as in honour he requir'd;
With such a kind of love as might become
A lady like me; with a love even such,
So and no other, as yourself commanded;
Which not to have done, I think had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke,
Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now for conspiracy:
I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd
For me to try how; all I know of it
Is that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
LEONTES. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in's absence.
HERMIONE. Sir,You speak a language that I understand not.
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
LEONTES. Your actions are my dreams.
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shameThose
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 breastThe
innocent milk in it most innocent mouthHal'
d out to murder; myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' th' open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive
That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this- mistake me not: no life,
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour
Which I would free- if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you
'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge!
FIRST LORD. This your request
Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.
Exeunt certain OFFICERS HERMIONE. The Emperor of Russia was my father;
O that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!
Re-enter OFFICERS, with CLEOMENES and DION
OFFICER. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal
Nor read the secrets in't.
CLEOMENES, DION. All this we swear.
LEONTES. Break up the seals and read.
OFFICER. [Reads] 'Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject;
Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live
without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.'
LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo!
HERMIONE. Praised!
LEONTES. Hast thou read truth?
OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so
As it is here set down.
LEONTES. There is no truth at all i' th' oracle.
The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.
Enter a SERVANT
SERVANT. My lord the King, the King!
LEONTES. What is the business?
SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it:
The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the Queen's speed, is gone.LEONTES. How! Gone?
SERVANT. Is dead.
LEONTES. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE swoons] How now, there!
PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down
And see what death is doing.
LEONTES. Take her hence.
Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion.
Beseech you tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.
Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE Apollo, pardon
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle.
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good CamilloWhom
I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy.
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes; which had been done
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it and being done. He, most humane
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour. How he glisters
Thorough my rust! And how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker!
Re-enter PAULINA
PAULINA. Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too!
FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady?
PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling
In leads or oils? What old or newer torture
Must I receive, whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia?
Together working with thy jealousies, MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly
For girls of nine- O, think what they have done, And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. And frown upon 's.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before
And damnable ingrateful. Nor was't much I call upon thee.
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not
To have him kill a king- poor trespasses, Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather;
More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter Of prey that keep upon't.
To be or none or little, though a devil ANTIGONUS. Go thou away;
Would have shed water out of fire ere done't; I'll follow instantly.
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death MARINER. I am glad at heart
Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughtsThoughts To be so rid o' th' business. Exit ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe.
high for one so tender- cleft the heart I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead May walk again. If such thing be,
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire thy mother
Blemish'd his gracious dam. This is not, no, Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
Laid to thy answer; but the last- O lords, So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
When I have said, cry 'Woe!'- the Queen, the Queen, Sometimes her head on one side some anotherI
The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
For't not dropp'd down yet. So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes,
FIRST LORD. The higher pow'rs forbid! Like very sanctity, she did approach
PAULINA. I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath Prevail not, go and see. If you My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me;
can bring And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon
Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus,
As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Upon a barren mountain, and still winterIn storm perpetual, could not move the gods Is counted lost for ever, Perdita
To look that way thou wert. I prithee call't. For this ungentle business,
LEONTES. Go on, go on. Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt seeThy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks,
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd She melted into air. Affrighted much,
All tongues to talk their bitt'rest. I did in time collect myself, and thought
FIRST LORD. Say no more; This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I' th' boldness of your speech. I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
PAULINA. I am sorry for't. Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them. Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
I do repent. Alas, I have show'd too much Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
The rashness of a woman! He is touch'd Either for life or death, upon the earth
To th' noble heart. What's gone and what's past help Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction [Laying down the child] There lie, and there thy character; there these
At my petition; I beseech you, rather [Laying down a bundle] Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
Let me be punish'd that have minded you And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch,
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
The love I bore your queen- lo, fool again! But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
I'll not remember you of my own lord, The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have
Who is lost too. Take your patience to you, A lullaby too rough; I never saw
And I'll say nothing. The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage clamour!
LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well Well may I get aboard! This is the chase;
When most the truth; which I receive much better I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me Enter an old SHEPHERD
To the dead bodies of my queen and son. SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and twenty, or that youth would
One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child,
The causes of their death appear, unto wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now! Would any but these
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt this weather? They have scar'd away two
The chapel where they lie; and tears shed there of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where I
Shall be my recreation. So long as nature have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! What have
Will bear up with this exercise, so long we here? [Taking up the child] Mercy on's, a barne! A very pretty barne. A boy or a
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one- sure, some scape. Though I am not
To these sorrows. Exeunt bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work,
SCENE III. some trunk-work, some behind-door-work; they were warmer that got this than the poor
Bohemia. The sea-coast thing is here. I'll take it up for pity; yet I'll tarry till my son come; he halloo'd but
Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!
Enter CLOWN In fair Bohemia; and remember well
CLOWN. Hilloa, loa! I mention'd a son o' th' King's, which Florizel
SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and I now name to you; and with speed so pace
rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man? CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
and by land! But I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues
firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. I list not prophesy; but let Time's news
SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it? Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which
CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! follows after,
But that's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow,
'em, and not to see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the If never, yet that Time himself doth say
land service- to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for He wishes earnestly you never may. Exit
help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman! But to make an end of the shipto see SCENE II.
how the sea flap-dragon'd it; but first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mock'd Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES
them; and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO
than the sea or weather. POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying
SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? thee anything; a death to grant this. CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my
CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights; the men are not yet cold country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones
under water, nor the bear half din'd on the gentleman; he's at it now. there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows
SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man! CLOWN. I would you had been I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure.
by POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving
the ship-side, to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing. me now. The need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee
SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou than thus to want thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can
met'st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the
bearing-cloth for a squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered- as too much I
let's see- it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling. cannot- to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping
Open't. What's within, boy? friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee, speak no more; whose very naming
CLOWN. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled
live. Gold! all gold! king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be
SHEPHERD. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so. Up with't, keep it close. Home, afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no
home, the next way! We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have
Let my sheep go. Come, good boy, the next way home. approved their virtues.
CLOWN. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone from the CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his happier affairs may be
gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst but when they are hungry. If are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and
there be any of him left, I'll bury it. is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES. I
SHEPHERD. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care, so far that I have eyes under my
is, fetch me to th' sight of him. CLOWN. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i'th' ground. service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is
SHEPHERD. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't. seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say, that from very nothing,
Exeunt and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.CAMILLO.
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note. The
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.
BY PROJECT POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks
GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION. our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what
ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy
READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my present partner in this
YOUR OR OTHERS business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command.
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves.
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR Exeunt
DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> SCENE III.
ACT IV. SCENE I. Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage
Enter TIME, the CHORUS Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing
TIME. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror When daffodils begin to peer,
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Now take upon me, in the name of Time, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
To me or my swift passage that I slide The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Of that wide gap, since it is in my pow'r Doth set my pugging tooth on edge,
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
The times that brought them in; so shall I do While we lie tumbling in the hay.
To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of
The glistering of this present, as my tale service.
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing The pale moon shines by night;
As you had slept between. Leontes leavingTh' And when I wander here and there,
effects of his fond jealousies so grieving I then do most go right.
That he shuts up himself- imagine me, If tinkers may have leave to live,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be And bear the sow-skin budget,
Then my account I well may give Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit
And in the stocks avouch it. SCENE IV.
My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father nam'd me Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage
Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA
unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you
silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway; beating and hanging are Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora
terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Enter CLOWN Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; And you the Queen on't.
fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If the springe hold, PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord,
the cock's mine. CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to buy for To chide at your extremes it not becomes meO,
our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice- what will pardon that I name them! Your high self,
this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd
she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the shearers- three-man With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts
Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the In every mess have folly, and the feeders
warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; race or two of Digest it with a custom, I should blush
ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun. To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think,
AUTOLYCUS. [Grovelling on the ground] O that ever I was born! CLOWN. I' th' name of me! To show myself a glass.
AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! FLORIZEL. I bless the time
CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have When my good falcon made her flight across
these off. Thy father's ground.
AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes I have PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause!
received, which are mighty ones and millions. CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating To me the difference forges dread; your greatness
may come to a great matter. Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble
AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these To think your father, by some accident,
detestable things put upon me. Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates!
CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? How would he look to see his work, so noble,
AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold
a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, The sternness of his presence?
lend me thy hand. [Helping him up] AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! FLORIZEL. Apprehend
CLOWN. Alas, poor soul!AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
blade is out. Humbling their deities to love, have taken
CLOWN. How now! Canst stand? The shapes of beasts upon them: JupiterBecame a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune
AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir [Picks his pocket]; good sir, softly. You ha' done me a A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
charitable office. Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet As I seem now. Their transformations
sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
unto whom I was going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires
pray you; that kills my heart. Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? Burn hotter than my faith.
AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him PERDITA. O, but, sir,
once a servant of the Prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis
but he was certainly whipt out of the court. Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King.
CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the court. They cherish One of these two must be necessities,
it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life.
AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well; he hath been since an FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita,
ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not
Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair,
flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. Or not my father's; for I cannot be
CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. Mine own, nor anything to any, if
AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. I be not thine. To this I am most constant,
CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big and spit at Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
him, he'd have run. Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way, and That you behold the while. Your guests are coming.
that he knew, I warrant him. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day
CLOWN. How do you now? Of celebration of that nuptial which
AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk. I will even take my We two have sworn shall come.
leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's. PERDITA. O Lady Fortune,
CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? Stand you auspicious!
AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir. FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach.
CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
sheep-shearing. And let's be red with mirth.
AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit CLOWN Your purse is not hot enough to purchase Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised;
your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS
out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unroll'd, and my name put in the SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon
book of virtue! This day she was both pantler, butler, cook;
[Sings] Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all;
Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here
And merrily hent the stile-a; At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle;
A merry heart goes all the day, On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire
With labour, and the thing she took to quench it Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady
She would to each one sip. You are retired, Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
As if you were a feasted one, and not The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack
These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend
A way to make us better friends, more known. To strew him o'er and o'er!
Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself FLORIZEL. What, like a corse?
That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on;
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried,
As your good flock shall prosper. But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs.
PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. Methinks I play as I have seen them do
It is my father's will I should take on me In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine
The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] Does change my disposition.
You're welcome, sir. FLORIZEL. What you do
Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep I'd have you do it ever. When you sing,
Seeming and savour all the winter long. I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Grace and remembrance be to you both! Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs,
And welcome to our shearing. To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
POLIXENES. ShepherdessA A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do
fair one are you- well you fit our ages Nothing but that; move still, still so,
With flow'rs of winter. And own no other function. Each your doing,
PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, So singular in each particular,
Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season That all your acts are queens.
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, PERDITA. O Doricles,
Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Your praises are too large. But that your youth,
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not And the true blood which peeps fairly through't,
To get slips of them. Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd,
POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
Do you neglect them? You woo'd me the false way.
PERDITA. For I have heard it said FLORIZEL. I think you have
There is an art which in their piedness shares As little skill to fear as I have purpose
With great creating nature. To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray.
POLIXENES. Say there be; Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair
Yet nature is made better by no mean That never mean to part.
But nature makes that mean; so over that artWhich you say adds to nature, is an art PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em.
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
A gentler scion to the wildest stock, Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems
And make conceive a bark of baser kind But smacks of something greater than herself,
By bud of nobler race. This is an art Too noble for this place.
Which does mend nature- change it rather; but CAMILLO. He tells her somethingThat makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is
The art itself is nature. The queen of curds and cream.
PERDITA. So it is. CLOWN. Come on, strike up.
POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic,
And do not call them bastards. To mend her kissing with!
PERDITA. I'll not put MOPSA. Now, in good time!
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.
No more than were I painted I would wish Come, strike up. [Music]
This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES
Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; Which dances with your daughter?
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself
And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs To have a worthy feeding; but I have it
Of middle summer, and I think they are given Upon his own report, and I believe it:
To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter;
CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
And only live by gazing. Upon the water as he'll stand and read,
PERDITA. Out, alas! As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain,
You'd be so lean that blasts of January I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flow'rs o' Who loves another best.
th' spring that might POLIXENES. She dances featly.
Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it
That wear upon your virgin branches yet That should be silent. If young Doricles
Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall Which he not dreams of.
From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, Enter a SERVANT
That come before the swallow dares, and take SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, grew to his tunes.
That die unmarried ere they can behold 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 AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Let's have some merry
lamentably. SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit ones.
his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a
which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you.
her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.
foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago.
puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. Have at it with you.
POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. SONG
CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go
wares? Where it fits not you to know.
SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than all the DORCAS. Whither?
lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' gross; inkles, MOPSA. O, whither?
caddisses, cambrics, lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you DORCAS. Whither?
would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well
the square on't. Thou to me thy secrets tell.
CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither
use no scurrilous words in's tunes. MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill.
Exit SERVANT CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill.
sister. AUTOLYCUS. Neither.
PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. DORCAS. What, neither?
Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing AUTOLYCUS. Neither.
Lawn as white as driven snow; DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be.
Cypress black as e'er was crow; MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me.
Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Then whither goest? Say, whither?
Masks for faces and for noses; CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the gentlemen are in sad
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy
Perfume for a lady's chamber; for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls.
Golden quoifs and stomachers, Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em.
For my lads to give their dears; Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing
Pins and poking-sticks of steelWhat Will you buy any tape,
maids lack from head to heel. Or lace for your cape,
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Any silk, any thread,
Come, buy. Any toys for your head,
CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?
enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. Come to the pedlar;
MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. Money's a meddlerThat doth utter all men's ware-a.
DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA. He hath paid you Re-enter SERVANT
all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three
again.CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and
they they have dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not
should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for some that know
kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our little but bowling, it will please
guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more. plentifully.
MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know,
CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my money? sir, we weary you.
AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of
wary. herdsmen.
CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd before the King; and
AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' squier.
CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads? SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but
MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for then we are sure they are quickly now.
true. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit
AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of Here a dance of twelve SATYRS
twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she long'd to eat adders' heads and toads POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] O, father, you'll know more of that
carbonado'd. hereafter.
MOPSA. Is it true, think you? [To CAMILLO] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much.
AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. [To FLORIZEL] How now, fair shepherd!
DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! Your heart is full of something that does take
AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young
honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? And handed love as you do, I was wont
MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd
CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
anon. To her acceptance: you have let him go
AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the And nothing marted with him. If your lass
fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the Interpretation should abuse and call this
hard hearts of maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish for Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as For a reply, at least if you make a care
true. Of happy holding her.
DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know
AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold. She prizes not such trifles as these are.
CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart, which I have given already, FLORIZEL. No, he must not.
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve
Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem, At knowing of thy choice.
Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not.
As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Mark our contract.
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call;
By th' northern blasts twice o'er. thou art too base
POLIXENES. What follows this? To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir,
How prettily the young swain seems to wash That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,
The hand was fair before! I have put you out. I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but
But to your protestation; let me hear Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
What you profess. Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. The royal fool thou cop'st withSHEPHERD.
POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? O, my heart!
FLORIZEL. And he, and more POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made More homely than thy
Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: state. For thee, fond boy,
That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never
That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession;
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Without her love; for her employ them all; Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.
Commend them and condemn them to her service Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
Or to their own perdition. Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,
CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too
SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Say you the like to him? Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou
PERDITA. I cannot speak These rural latches to his entrance open,
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out I will devise a death as cruel for thee
The purity of his. As thou art tender to't. Exit PERDITA. Even here undone!
SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! I was not much afeard; for once or twice
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I was about to speak and tell him plainly
I give my daughter to him, and will make The self-same sun that shines upon his court
Her portion equal his. Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
FLORIZEL. O, that must be Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come
I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead,I shall have more than you can dream of yet; of this. Beseech you,
Enough then for your wonder. But come on, Of your own state take care. This dream of mineBeing
Contract us fore these witnesses. now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; But milk my ewes and weep.
And, daughter, yours. CAMILLO. Why, how now, father!
POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Speak ere thou diest.SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think,
Have you a father? Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, You have undone a man of
FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? fourscore-three
POLIXENES. Knows he of this? That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,
FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. To die upon the bed my father died,
POLIXENES. Methinks a father To lie close by his honest bones; but now
Is at the nuptial of his son a guest Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the
Is not your father grown incapable Prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone!
Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me?
Know man from man, dispute his own estate? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am:
But what he did being childish? More straining on for plucking back; not following
FLORIZEL. No, good sir; My leash unwillingly.
He has his health, and ampler strength indeed CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord,
Than most have of his age. You know your father's temper. At this time
POLIXENES. By my white beard, He will allow no speech- which I do guess
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong You do not purpose to him- and as hardly
Something unfilial. Reason my son Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear;
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason Then, till the fury of his Highness settle,
The father- all whose joy is nothing else Come not before him.
But fair posterity- should hold some counsel FLORIZEL. I not purpose it.
In such a business. I think Camillo?
FLORIZEL. I yield all this; CAMILLO. Even he, my lord.
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus!
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint How often said my dignity would last
My father of this business. But till 'twere known!
POLIXENES. Let him know't. FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by
FLORIZEL. He shall not. The violation of my faith; and then
POLIXENES. Prithee let him. Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. Of every wind that blows.
From my succession wipe me, father; I CAMILLO. Then list to me.
Am heir to my affection. This follows, if you will not change your purpose
CAMILLO. Be advis'd. But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia,
FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason And there present yourself and your fair princessFor
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes.
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, She shall be habited as it becomes
Do bid it welcome. The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. Leontes opening his free arms and weeping
FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' As 'twere i' th' father's person;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, kisses the hands
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him
Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides He chides to hell, and bids the other grow
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath Faster than thought or time.
To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, What colour for my visitation shall I
When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not Hold up before him?
To see him any more- cast your good counsels CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father
Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir,
Tug for the time to come. This you may know, The manner of your bearing towards him, with
And so deliver: I am put to sea What you as from your father shall deliver,
With her who here I cannot hold on shore. Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down;
And most opportune to her need I have The which shall point you forth at every sitting
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd What you must say, that he shall not perceive
For this design. What course I mean to hold But that you have your father's bosom there
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor And speak his very heart.
Concern me the reporting. FLORIZEL. I am bound to you.
CAMILLO. O my lord, There is some sap in this.
I would your spirit were easier for advice. CAMILLO. A course more promising
Or stronger for your need. Than a wild dedication of yourselves
FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain
CAMILLO. He's irremovable, To miseries enough; no hope to help you,
Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if But as you shake off one to take another;
His going I could frame to serve my turn, Nothing so certain as your anchors, who
Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Do their best office if they can but stay you
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know
And that unhappy king, my master, whom Prosperity's the very bond of love,
I so much thirst to see. Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, Affliction alters.
I am so fraught with curious business that PERDITA. One of these is true:
I leave out ceremony. I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
CAMILLO. Sir, I think But not take in the mind.
You have heard of my poor services i' th' love CAMILLO. Yea, say you so?
That I have borne your father? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such.
FLORIZEL. Very nobly FLORIZEL. My good Camillo,
Have you deserv'd. It is my father's musicTo speak your deeds; not little of his care She is as forward of her breeding as
To have them recompens'd as thought on. She is i' th' rear o' our birth.
CAMILLO. Well, my lord, CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity
If you may please to think I love the King, She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress
And through him what's nearest to him, which is To most that teach.
Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for thisI'll blush you thanks.
If your more ponderous and settled project FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita!
May suffer alteration, on mine honour, But, O, the thorns we stand upon! CamilloPreserver
I'll point you where you shall have such receiving of my father, now of me;
As shall become your Highness; where you may The medicine of our house- how shall we do?
Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;
There's no disjunction to be made but by, Nor shall appear in Sicilia.
As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; CAMILLO. My lord,
And with my best endeavours in your absence Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes
Your discontenting father strive to qualify, Do all lie there. It shall be so my care
And bring him up to liking. To have you royally appointed as if
FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir,
May this, almost a miracle, be done? That you may know you shall not want- one word.
That I may call thee something more than man, [They talk aside]
And after that trust to thee. Re-enter AUTOLYCUS
CAMILLO. Have you thought on AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple
A place whereto you'll go? gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass,
FLORIZEL. Not any yet; pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring,
But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had
To what we wildly do, so we profess been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My clown, who wants but
something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song that he would Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD
not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church,
herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinch'd a placket, session, hanging, yields a careful man work.
it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the King she's
off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the a changeling and none of your flesh and blood.
nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and cut most of their festival SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me.
purses; and had not the old man come in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's CLOWN. Nay- but hear me.
son and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. SHEPHERD. Go to, then.
CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the
CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there King; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. found about her, those secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done, let
FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your the law go whistle; I warrant you.
father. SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may
PERDITA. Happy be you! say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's
All that you speak shows fair. brother-in-law.
CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him; and then
We'll make an instrument of this; omit your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce.
Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies!
AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. CAMILLO. How now, SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel will make him scratch
good his beard.
fellow! Why shak'st thou so? AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my
Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. master.
AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace.
CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet for the outside AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me
of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly- thou must pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard] How now, rustics! Whither
think there's a necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though the are you bound?
pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. [Giving money] SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship.
AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place
CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd already. of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is
AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. fitting to be known- discover.
FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee. CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir.
AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it becomes none but
CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle. tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamped
FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie.
Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the
Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself manner.
Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?
And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court
Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives not thy
The truth of your own seeming, that you mayFor nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou,
I do fear eyes over- to shipboard for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am
Get undescried. courtier cap-a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there;
PERDITA. I see the play so lies whereupon I command the to open thy affair.
That I must bear a part. SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King.
CAMILLO. No remedy. AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him?
Have you done there? SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you.
FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father, CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none. SHEPHERD. None,
He would not call me son. sir;
CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat.[Giving it to PERDITA] Come, lady, come. Farewell, my I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.
friend. AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men!
AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir. Yet nature might have made me as these are,
FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Therefore I will not disdain.
Pray you a word. [They converse apart] CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier.
the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. CLOWN. He seems
Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail to bethe more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking
To force him after; in whose company on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that box?
I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must know but
I have a woman's longing. the King; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him.
FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side. SHEPHERD. Why, Sir?
CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better. AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge
Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know
it. To the King is full of grief.
have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have married a shepherd's
nose is requisite also, to smell out work for th' other senses. I see this is the time daughter.
that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have,
is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.
anything extempore. The Prince himself is about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from CLOWN. Think you so, sir?
his father with his clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but
acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and those that are germane to him, though remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the
therein am I constant to my hangman- which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old
profession. sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some
say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd!
sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me
son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter
AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,
the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then Say so but seldom.
recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady.
the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun You might have spoken a thousand things that would
looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd
death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, Your kindness better.
their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you PAULINA. You are one of those
have to the King. Being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, Would have him wed again.
tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man DION. If you would not so,
besides the King to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him gold; and though Of his most sovereign name; consider little
authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue,
your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd May drop upon his kingdom and devour
alive. Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy
SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I Than to rejoice the former queen is well?
have. I'll make it as much more, and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. What holier than, for royalty's repair,
AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised? For present comfort, and for future good,
SHEPHERD. Ay, sir. To bless the bed of majesty again
AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? With a sweet fellow to't?
CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be PAULINA. There is none worthy,
flay'd out of it. Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him, he'll be made an example. Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes;
CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our strange sights. He must For has not the divine Apollo said,
know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as Is't not the tenour of his oracle,
much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your That King Leontes shall not have an heir
pawn till it be brought you. Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall,
AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right-hand; I Is all as monstrous to our human reason
will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may As my Antigonus to break his grave
say, even blest. SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. And come again to me; who, on my life,
Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel
would My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion- Oppose against their wills. [To LEONTES] Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir.
gold, and a means to do the Prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back Great Alexander
to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor
think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the King concerns Was like to be the best.
him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against LEONTES. Good Paulina,
that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There may be Who hast the memory of Hermione,
matter in it. Exit I know, in honour, O that ever I
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now,
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
BY PROJECT Have taken treasure from her lipsPAULINA.
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READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth.
YOUR OR OTHERS No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse,
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit
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ACT V. SCENE I. PAULINA. Had she such power,
Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES She had just cause.
Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS LEONTES. She had; and would incense me
CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd To murder her I married.
A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make PAULINA. I should so.
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark
More penitence than done trespass. At the last, Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't
Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil; You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears
With them forgive yourself.LEONTES. Whilst I remember Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd
Her and her virtues, I cannot forget Should be 'Remember mine.'
My blemishes in them, and so still think of LEONTES. Stars, stars,
The wrong I did myself; which was so much And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;
That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and I'll have no wife, Paulina.
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man PAULINA. Will you swearNever to marry but by my free leave?
Bred his hopes out of. LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit!
PAULINA. True, too true, my lord. PAULINA. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.
If, one by one, you wedded all the world, CLEOMENES. You tempt him over-much.
Or from the all that are took something good PAULINA. Unless another,
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd As like Hermione as is her picture,
Would be unparallel'd. Affront his eye.
CLEOMENES. Good madamPAULINA. You, gracious couple, do. And then I lostAll
I have done. mine own folly- the society,
Yet, if my lord will marry- if you will, sir, Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
No remedy but you will- give me the office Though bearing misery, I desire my life
To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young Once more to look on him.
As was your former; but she shall be such FLORIZEL. By his command
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him
LEONTES. My true Paulina, Give you all greetings that a king, at friend,
We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. Can send his brother; and, but infirmity,
PAULINA. That Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd
Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; His wish'd ability, he had himself
Never till then. The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
Enter a GENTLEMAN Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves,
GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres
Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she And those that bear them living.
The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access LEONTES. O my brotherGood
To your high presence. gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir
LEONTES. What with him? He comes not Afresh within me; and these thy offices,
Like to his father's greatness. His approach, So rarely kind, are as interpreters
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,
'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too
By need and accident. What train? Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage,
GENTLEMAN. But few, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
And those but mean. To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him? Th' adventure of her person?
GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright FLORIZEL. Good, my lord,
on. She came from Libya.
PAULINA. O Hermione, LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus,
As every present time doth boast itself That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd?
Above a better gone, so must thy grave FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his,
Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself parting with her; thence,
Have said and writ so, but your writing now A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd,
Is colder than that theme: 'She had not been, To execute the charge my father gave me
Nor was not to be equall'd.' Thus your verse For visiting your Highness. My best train
Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
To say you have seen a better. Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam. Not only my success in Libya, sir,
The one I have almost forgot- your pardon; But my arrival and my wife's in safety
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Here where we are.
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, LEONTES. The blessed gods
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Purge all infection from our air whilst you
Of all professors else, make proselytes Do climate here! You have a holy father,
Of who she but bid follow. A graceful gentleman, against whose person,
PAULINA. How! not women? So sacred as it is, I have done sin,
GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman For which the heavens, taking angry note,
More worth than any man; men, that she is Have left me issueless; and your father's blest,
The rarest of all women. As he from heaven merits it, with you,
LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes; Worthy his goodness. What might I have been,
Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on,
Bring them to our embracement. Exeunt Still, 'tis strange Such goodly things as you!
He thus should steal upon us. Enter a LORD
PAULINA. Had our prince, LORD. Most noble sir,
Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd That which I shall report will bear no credit,
Well with this lord; there was not full a month Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,
Between their births. Bohemia greets you from himself by me;
LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st Desires you to attach his son, who hasHis
He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, dignity and duty both cast offFled
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches from his father, from his hopes, and with
Will bring me to consider that which may A shepherd's daughter.
Unfurnish me of reason. LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak.
Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him.
ATTENDANTS I speak amazedly; and it becomes
They are come. My marvel and my message. To your court
Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince; Whiles he was hast'ning- in the chase, it seems,
For she did print your royal father off, Of this fair couple- meets he on the way
Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,Your father's image is so hit in you The father of this seeming lady and
His very air, that I should call you brother, Her brother, having both their country quitted
As I did him, and speak of something wildly With this young prince.
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me;Whose honour and whose honesty till now
And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas! Endur'd all weathers.
I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth LORD. Lay't so to his charge;
Might thus have stood begetting wonder as He's with the King your father.
LEONTES. Who? Camillo? Hermione's; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with it, which
LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother;
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding; and many other
Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth; evidencesproclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did
Forswear themselves as often as they speak. you see the meeting of the two kings?
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them SECOND GENTLEMAN. No.
With divers deaths in death. THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of.
PERDITA. O my poor father! There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seem'd
The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of
Our contract celebrated. eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such
LEONTES. You are married? distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready
FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his
The odds for high and low's alike. son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old
LEONTES. My lord, shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never
Is this the daughter of a king? heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description
FLORIZEL. She is, to do it.
When once she is my wife. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?
LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed, THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking the shepherd's son, who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but
Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows.
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? THIRD GENTLEMAN.
That you might well enjoy her. Wreck'd the
FLORIZEL. Dear, look up. same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the
Though Fortune, visible an enemy, instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But,
Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye
Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She
Remember since you ow'd no more to time lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her
Than I do now. With thought of such affections, to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing.
Step forth mine advocate; at your request FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for
My father will grant precious things as trifles. by such was it acted.
LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angl'd for mine
Which he counts but a trifle. eyes- caught the water, though not the fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's
PAULINA. Sir, my liege, death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the King, how
Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did with
Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes an 'Alas!'- I would fain saybleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most
Than what you look on now. marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have
LEONTES. I thought of her seen't, the woe had been universal. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court?
Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping
your father. of Paulina- a piece many years in doing and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work,
I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape. He so near to Hermione
I now go toward him; therefore, follow me, hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer-
And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Exeunt thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup.
SCENE II. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath
Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed
Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing?
AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an
by eye
at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's
whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only along.
this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child. AUTOLYCUS. I would most Exeunt GENTLEMEN AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would
gladly know the issue of it. preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the Prince; told him
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the
the King and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on shepherd's daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much sea-sick, and
one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained
language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of a world ransom'd, or one undiscover'd. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it
destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that would not have relish'd among my other discredits.
knew no more but seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in the Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN
extremity of the one it must needs be. Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the
Enter another GENTLEMAN blossoms of their fortune.
Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero? SECOND SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all
GENTLEMAN. gentlemen born.
Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd: the King's daughter is found. Such a deal CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was
of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no
Enter another GENTLEMAN gentleman born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie,
Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a
This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is instrong suspicion. gentleman born.
Has the King found his heir? CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.
THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy.
hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the King's son took
me by the hand and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd my father brother; I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me
and then the Prince, my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father.And so we For being more stone than it? O royal piece,
wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. There's magic in thy majesty, which has
SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more. My evils conjur'd to remembrance, andFrom thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. Standing like stone with thee!
AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to PERDITA. And give me leave,
your worship, and to give me your good report to the Prince my master. And do not say 'tis superstition that
SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady,
CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life? Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship. Give me that hand of yours to kiss.
CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as honest a true fellow as PAULINA. O, patience!
any is in Bohemia. The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it. Not dry.
CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it: I'll swear it. CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son? Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his So many summers dry. Scarce any joy
friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou Did ever so long live; no sorrow
wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be But kill'd itself much sooner.
drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. POLIXENES. Dear my brother,
AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power. Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r
CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder how thou dar'st venture To take off so much grief from you as he
to be drunk not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our Will piece up in himself.
kindred, are going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy good PAULINA. Indeed, my lord,
masters. Exeunt If I had thought the sight of my poor image
SCENE III. Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mineI'
Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house d not have show'd it.
Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, LORDS and LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain.
ATTENDANTS PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort May think anon it moves.
That I have had of thee! LEONTES. Let be, let be.
PAULINA. What, sovereign sir, Would I were dead, but that methinks alreadyWhat
I did not well, I meant well. All my services was he that did make it? See, my lord,
You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd, Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins
With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Did verily bear blood?
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, POLIXENES. Masterly done!
It is a surplus of your grace, which never The very life seems warm upon her lip.
My life may last to answer. LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't,
LEONTES. O Paulina, As we are mock'd with art.
We honour you with trouble; but we came PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain.
To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery My lord's almost so far transported that
Have we pass'd through, not without much content He'll think anon it lives.
In many singularities; but we saw not LEONTES. O sweet Paulina,
That which my daughter came to look upon, Make me to think so twenty years together!
The statue of her mother. No settled senses of the world can match
PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless, The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.
So her dead likeness, I do well believe, PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but I could afflict you farther.
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon LEONTES. Do, Paulina;
Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it For this affliction has a taste as sweet
Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel
Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well. Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
[PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE For I will kiss her.
standing like a statue] PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear.
I like your silence; it the more shows off The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege. You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own
Comes it not something near? With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
LEONTES. Her natural posture! LEONTES. No, not these twenty years.
Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed PERDITA. So long could I
Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she Stand by, a looker-on.
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender PAULINA. Either forbear,
As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing For more amazement. If you can behold it,
So aged as this seems. I'll make the statue move indeed, descend,
POLIXENES. O, not by much! And take you by the hand, but then you'll thinkWhich
PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence, I protest against- I am assisted
Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her By wicked powers.
As she liv'd now. LEONTES. What you can make her do
LEONTES. As now she might have done, I am content to look on; what to speak
So much to my good comfort as it is I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, To make her speak as move.
Even with such life of majesty- warm life, PAULINA. It is requir'd
As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her! You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
Or those that think it is unlawful business GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE WITH PERMISSION.
I am about, let them depart. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE
LEONTES. Proceed. READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR
No foot shall stir. YOUR OR OTHERS
PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music] 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
approach; COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
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I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away. DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from himDear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. 1609
[HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal] Start not; her actions shall be holy as A LOVER'S COMPLAINT
You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her by William ShakespeareFrom off a hill whose concave womb reworded
Until you see her die again; for then A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale,
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand. My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded,
When she was young you woo'd her; now in age And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale,
Is she become the suitor? Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
LEONTES. O, she's warm! Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain,
If this be magic, let it be an art Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Lawful as eating. Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
POLIXENES. She embraces him. Which fortified her visage from the sun,
CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck. Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
If she pertain to life, let her speak too. The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd, Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Or how stol'n from the dead. Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage
PAULINA. That she is living, Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age.
Were it but told you, should be hooted at Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Like an old tale; but it appears she lives Which on it had conceited characters,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine
Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel, That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,
And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; And often reading what contents it bears;
Our Perdita is found. As often shrieking undistinguished woe,
HERMIONE. You gods, look down, In clamours of all size, both high and low.
And from your sacred vials pour your graces Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride,
Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own, As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend;
Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd To every place at once, and nowhere fixed,
Myself to see the issue. The mind and sight distractedly commixed.
PAULINA. There's time enough for that, Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride;
Your joys with like relation. Go together, For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat,
You precious winners all; your exultation Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,
My mate, that's never to be found again, Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
Lament till I am lost. A thousand favours from a maund she drew
LEONTES. O peace, Paulina! Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, Which one by one she in a river threw,
As I by thine a wife. This is a match, Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; Like usury applying wet to wet,
But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, Or monarchs' hands that lets not bounty fall
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.
A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek farFor Of folded schedules had she many a one,
him, I partly know his mind- to find thee Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood;
An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone,
And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Is richly noted, and here justified Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood,
By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. With sleided silk feat and affectedly
What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons, Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy.
That e'er I put between your holy looks These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear;
And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, Cried, 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Lead us from hence where we may leisurely Ink would have seemed more black and damned here!
Each one demand and answer to his part This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first Big discontents so breaking their contents.
We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,
THE END Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM Of court, of city, and had let go by
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS PROVIDED The swiftest hours observed as they flew,
BY PROJECT Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe. Like fools that in th' imagination set
So slides he down upon his grained bat, The goodly objects which abroad they findOf lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned;
And comely distant sits he by her side; And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
When he again desires her, being sat, Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.
Her grievance with his hearing to divide. 'So many have, that never touched his hand,
If that from him there may be aught applied Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,'Tis promised in the charity of age. My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
The injury of many a blasting hour, What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Let it not tell your judgement I am old: Threw my affections in his charmed power
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power. Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.
I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Love to myself, and to no love beside. Finding myself in honour so forbid,
'But woe is me! too early I attended With safest distance I mine honour shielded.
A youthful suit- it was to gain my graceO, Experience for me many bulwarks builded
one by nature's outwards so commended Of proofs new-bleeding, which remained the foil
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face. Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
Love lacked a dwelling and made him her place; 'But ah, who ever shunned by precedent
And when in his fair parts she did abide, The destined ill she must herself assay?
She was new lodged and newly deified. Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls; To put the by-past perils in her way?
And every light occasion of the wind Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. For when we rage, advice is often seen
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find: By blunting us to make our wills more keen.
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind; 'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood
For on his visage was in little drawn That we must curb it upon others' proof,
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn. To be forbod the sweets that seems so good
'Small show of man was yet upon his chin; For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
His phoenix down began but to appear, O appetite, from judgement stand aloof!
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Whose bare out-bragged the web it seemed to wear: Though Reason weep, and cry it is thy last.
Yet showed his visage by that cost more dear; 'For further I could say this man's untrue,
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
If best were as it was, or best without. Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew;
'His qualities were beauteous as his form, Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Yet if men moved him, was he such a storm Thought characters and words merely but art,
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be. 'And long upon these terms I held my city,
His rudeness so with his authorized youth Till thus he 'gan besiege me: "Gentle maid,
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
'Well could he ride, and often men would say, And be not of my holy vows afraid.
"That horse his mettle from his rider takes: That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, For feasts of love I have been called unto,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a Till now did ne'er invite nor never woo.
question takes '"All my offences that abroad you see
Whether the horse by him became his deed, Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Or he his manage by th' well-doing steed. Love made them not; with acture they may be,
'But quickly on this side the verdict went: Where neither party is nor true nor kind.
His real habitude gave life and grace They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
To appertainings and to ornament, And so much less of shame in me remains
Accomplished in himself, not in his case, By how much of me their reproach contains.
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, '"Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,
Pierced not his grace, but were all graced by him. Or my affection put to th' smallest teen,
'So on the tip of his subduing tongue Or any of my leisures ever charmed.
All kind of arguments and question deep, Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harmed;
All replication prompt, and reason strong, Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep. And reigned commanding in his monarchy.
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, '"Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
He had the dialect and different skill, Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Catching all passions in his craft of will, Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
'That he did in the general bosom reign Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted, In bloodless white and the encrimsoned moodEffects
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain of terror and dear modesty,
In personal duty, following where he haunted. Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted, '"And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
And dialogued for him what he would say, With twisted metal amorously empleached,I have receiv'd from many a several fair,
Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey. Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched,
'Many there were that did his picture get, With the annexions of fair gems enriched,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; And deep-brained sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. Each cheek a river running from a fount
'"The diamond? why, 'twas beautiful and hard, With brinish current downward flowed apace.
Whereto his invised properties did tend; O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
The deep-green em'rald, in whose fresh regard Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend; That flame through water which their hue encloses.
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
With objects manifold; each several stone, In the small orb of one particular tear!
With wit well blazoned, smiled, or made some moan. But with the inundation of the eyes
'"Lo, all these trophies of affections hot, What rocky heart to water will not wear?
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender, What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not, O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
But yield them up where I myself must renderThat Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.
is, to you, my origin and ender; 'For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
For these, of force, must your oblations be, Even there resolved my reason into tears;
Since I their altar, you enpatron me. There my white stole of chastity I daffed,
'"O then advance of yours that phraseless hand Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise; Appear to him as he to me appears,
Take all these similes to your own command, All melting; though our drops this diff'rence bore:
Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise; His poisoned me, and mine did him restore.
What me your minister for you obeys 'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Works under you; and to your audit comes Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
Their distract parcels in combined sums. Of burning blushes or of weeping water,
'"Lo, this device was sent me from a nun, Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note, In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
Which late her noble suit in court did shun, To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 'That not a heart which in his level came
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
To spend her living in eternal love. Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
'"But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave And, veiled in them, did win whom he would maim.
The thing we have not, mast'ring what not strives, Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
Playing the place which did no form receive, When he most burned in heart-wished luxury,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves! He preached pure maid and praised cold chastity.
She that her fame so to herself contrives, 'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The scars of battle scapeth by the flight, The naked and concealed fiend he covered,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might. That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,
'"O pardon me in that my boast is true! Which, like a cherubin, above them hovered.
The accident which brought me to her eye Who, young and simple, would not be so lovered?
Upon the moment did her force subdue, Ay me, I fell, and yet do question make
And now she would the caged cloister fly. What I should do again for such a sake.
Religious love put out religion's eye. 'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
Not to be tempted, would she be immured, O, that false fire which in his cheek so glowed,
And now to tempt all liberty procured. O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
'"How mighty then you are, O hear me tell! O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed,
The broken bosoms that to me belong O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,
Have emptied all their fountains in my well, Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed,
And mine I pour your ocean all among. And new pervert a reconciled maid.'
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest, THE END
As compound love to physic your cold breast.
'"My parts had pow'r to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when they t'assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place,
O most potential love, vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
'"When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth,
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame. And sweetens, in the
suff'ring pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks and fears.'"Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine, -------------------------------------------------------------------------
And supplicant their sighs to your extend, Mail: Prof. Michael Hart
To leave the batt'ry that you make 'gainst mine, P.O. Box 2782
Lending soft audience to my sweet design, Champaign, IL 61825
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, This "Small Print!" by Charles B. Kramer, Attorney
That shall prefer and undertake my troth." TEL: (212-254-5093)
'This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount, -------------------------------------------------------------------------
Whose sights till then were levelled on my face; ©By Buli / ibmbuli@aol.com